Betrayed by My Husband, I Left With Everything

She thrust her phone at Lambert. "I didn't want to tell you. I wanted to suffer through it quietly. But this time… she's really trying to destroy me."

Lambert took the phone. His eyes swept the screen and his face went so dark it could have curdled.

He raised his hand and cracked me across the face.

"Ellie, I don't even recognize you!"

"You've been doing this behind my back—humiliating Lydia like this? We got divorced. She's not dead. How the hell dare you!"

The blow stunned me for a second. It wasn't until he shoved the phone in front of my eyes that I understood what had happened.

According to the messages, I had been anonymously harassing Lydia for weeks. Calling her a cheap piece of filth, a whore who sold herself, trash that deserved to be ridden by a thousand men and mounted by ten thousand more.

Saying Lambert would sooner fuck a pig on the side of the road than spare her a glance. Saying if she was that desperate to get scratched, she should go spread her legs in the street—plenty of stray dogs to keep her satisfied.

Saying if she ever went near Lambert again, I'd hire a hundred men to fuck her to death.

I whipped my head toward Lydia, still kneeling on the floor.

She tilted her head and flipped me off.

"Apologize to Lydia!"

Blood was spreading through my mouth. I pressed my lips together. "I didn't do it. Why should I apologize to a homewrecker?"

Lambert's hand flew at me again, then froze midair. His fingers clenched into a fist and dropped.

"Ellie… don't push me."

He helped Lydia up, voice turning soft as he murmured comfort to her.

They leaned into each other, cooing and flirting right in front of me, every low laugh like a thin needle twisting deeper into my chest.

Maybe Lambert had never had room for me at all.

Fine. Then I was done wanting him.

"Once the divorce is done, you two can cling to each other all you want. But right now, stop making me sick."

A ringing phone cut me off.

I answered. A nurse from the hospital. "Ms. Winfield, we're calling to follow up on your abortion. How have you been feeling…"

The word *abortion* hit the air, and Lambert's head snapped toward me. "What abortion?!"

I said I was fine, hung up, and shrugged. "Scam call."

Lambert watched me, half-suspicious, but my face gave nothing away, and he let it go.

His expression stayed hard. "Ellie, don't let me hear the word 'divorce' again."

I didn't answer. He didn't look at me again. He soothed Lydia with a few more gentle words, then personally escorted her home.

The two of them chatted the whole way out, laughing and easy, like a devoted couple who had never been apart.

I watched their silhouettes disappear. Then I looked down and carefully rolled up my pant leg.

The impact had gone straight into my belly, still raw from the abortion. Blood had already run down my thigh.

It hurt.

It hurt so much the tears wouldn't stop.

I curled up on the floor for a long time before Lambert called.

He apologized for the slap. Said he shouldn't have hit me. But at the end of the day, I'd brought it on myself—those disgusting threats had put Lydia in real danger, and he needed to stay with her the next few days to keep her safe…

I didn't finish listening. I hung up.

I contacted Attorney Bennett to draft the divorce papers, then passed out.

Lambert didn't come home for days.

The online storm around Lydia had already been smoothed over by him.

On the fifth day, he texted me a bar address. Said Lydia had forgiven me. Told me to come out and have some fun—put it behind us, all friends now.

I picked up the divorce papers and went.

Outside the private room, through the glass, Lydia was having the time of her life. She yanked off her jacket in one motion, leaving nothing but a lace bra hanging from her shoulders.

She spun a bottle. "Let's make it interesting. Whoever can unhook my bra with their mouth gets three months of home-cooked meals from me!"

The bottle landed on another man. Lambert reached over, casual as anything, and nudged it with his knuckle until the neck pointed straight at himself.

The room hit a fever pitch, everyone egging them on with lewd whoops and jeers.

Lydia raised an eyebrow, like this was exactly what she'd been waiting for.

She lay back on the sofa amid the noise, and Lambert leaned slowly toward her.

Her top had a front clasp. The way they were positioned had already crossed from suggestive into obscene.

A soft snap, and the clasp came undone.

Lambert froze for a second, clearly not expecting it to open that easily.

He grabbed his jacket and threw it over her.

Then he caught it—someone off to the side, smirking, phone raised.

Lambert's face went ugly in a way I'd never seen before.

"Delete it!"

The guy laughed. "Delete what? Lydia, babe, this is premium dirt. I'm saving this shit forever!"

Everyone could tell it was a joke. Lambert grabbed the ashtray and hurled it at the man's head.

By the time anyone reacted, the guy was on the floor, blood running down his face.

"Lambert!"

Lydia pulled him back hard, wrapping her arms around him.

Like some kind of miracle, he went still in her arms.

"Lydia, I won't let anyone bully you."

"I know."

The words hung there, and the whole room went quiet.

I'd always known Lambert cared about Lydia. I still hadn't expected him to lose control like that.

The viciousness in his eyes the instant that ashtray left his hand was something I'd never seen before.

When we were still in love, someone had nearly groped me, and all he did was call a lawyer to handle it.

So it wasn't that he couldn't lose control. The person he cared enough to lose it for just wasn't me.

What a joke. This whole marriage—and in the end, I was the one who felt like the other woman.

I gripped the divorce papers tight and walked in.

"Looks like I picked a bad time."