Divorce from Deceitful Husband

Two days after the knife incident with Miriam, I found myself in the kitchen again, preparing dinner for one. The house felt like a battlefield, and I was tired of being caught in the crossfire.

I chopped vegetables with mechanical precision, the knife hitting the cutting board in a steady rhythm. The routine motion helped clear my head. Outside, twilight painted the sky in shades of purple and orange, but inside, the atmosphere remained thick with tension.

The soft pad of footsteps made me turn. Miriam stood in the doorway, one hand resting protectively over her stomach. Her eyes followed my movements with calculated interest.

"Making dinner?" she asked, her voice deceptively casual. "How domestic."

I didn't respond, focusing instead on the onion I was slicing. The sharp scent filled the air as I blinked back tears.

"Matteo never liked your cooking," she continued, moving closer to the counter. "Too bland. Too predictable."

I set down the knife carefully. "I'm not making this for Matteo."

"No, I suppose not." Her lips curved into a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "You never really satisfied him, did you? In any way that matters."

The knife felt heavy in my hand. I turned away slightly, unwilling to give her the satisfaction of seeing my reaction.

"It must be killing you," Miriam pressed, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Knowing you were always just a means to an end. A stepping stone."

I took a deep breath. "I don't need to listen to this."

"Oh, but you do." She moved closer, her presence suffocating. "You need to understand what's happening here. This baby—" she stroked her stomach with deliberate slowness, "—will be the real heir to everything your family built. Everything you gave Matteo."

Something inside me snapped. I turned to face her fully, the knife still in my hand.

"Get out of my kitchen," I said, my voice steadier than I felt.

Miriam's expression shifted, her eyes narrowing. "Your kitchen? Nothing here is yours anymore, Adelaide."

I stepped back, knife held at my side. "I said get out."

She moved suddenly, with surprising speed. Before I could react, she lunged forward—not away from the knife, but toward it. The blade sank into my left shoulder with sickening ease.

Pain exploded through my body. I stumbled backward, my hand flying to the wound. Blood seeped between my fingers, warm and terrifying.

"What are you doing?" I gasped, shock rendering me nearly speechless.

Miriam stood there, her eyes wild with triumph. "What does it look like? I'm protecting myself."

The knife had fallen from my hand. I pressed against the counter, trying to stay upright as blood continued to seep through my fingers.

"Help!" I screamed, my voice echoing through the house. "Somebody help!"

Footsteps thundered down the stairs. Matteo appeared in the doorway, his expression alarmed—until he saw Miriam standing there, her hand on her stomach.

"What happened?" he demanded.

"She attacked me," Miriam cried, her voice trembling with manufactured fear. "She came at me with the knife!"

"No!" I protested, struggling to stay conscious as blood continued to flow. "She stabbed me! Matteo, she stabbed me!"

But Matteo wasn't looking at me. He was cradling Miriam, his hand protectively covering hers on her stomach.

"Are you hurt?" he murmured to her. "Is the baby okay?"

"She's lying!" I cried, desperation making my voice crack. "Matteo, please!"

He finally looked at me, his eyes cold with accusation. "You attacked Miriam first," he said flatly. "You tried to harm the baby."

The room began to spin. I slid down against the counter, my strength fading.

"Call an ambulance," I pleaded.

"No one's calling anything," Matteo replied dismissively.

"Someone call 911!" A neighbor's voice shouted from outside. "We heard screaming!"

More voices joined in—people gathering on the sidewalk, peering through the windows.

"If you don't call for help," a man's voice threatened, "we will! And then we'll call the police too!"

Matteo's jaw tightened. With visible reluctance, he pulled out his phone.

At the hospital, the knife wound required immediate surgery. The blade had missed any major arteries, but the damage was still significant.

When the police arrived to question Miriam, she sat perfectly composed in the waiting room, Matteo at her side.

"She attacked me," Miriam told them, tears streaming down her face. "She's been so jealous since finding out about the baby. I was just defending myself."

"Mrs. Hudson has been acting erratically," Matteo added smoothly. "We've been concerned about her mental state."

With no witnesses and Matteo backing her story, the investigation stalled before it even began.

I lay in the hospital bed, my shoulder heavily bandaged, wondering how my life had unraveled so completely in just a few days. The red threads had shown me the truth—but at what cost?