Divorced on Our Daughter’s Birthday,My Ex-Husband Paid in Blood

I fought to keep my composure.

A soft laugh came through the phone.

"Talia's having an asthma attack? Please. You'd do anything to save this marriage—cry wolf enough times and no one believes you anymore."

In my arms, my daughter let out a feeble whimper. Something inside me snapped.

"Make him come back! She needs help! This is his own daughter! Rebecca, you'll pay for this!"

Rebecca just laughed, her voice dripping with contempt.

"Honestly? It'd be better if she died. Victor's going to have a new child anyway."

Click.

The line went dead.

I stood there in the bitter wind, clutching my daughter as her body went limp in my arms. The hatred that surged through me in that moment—it eclipsed even my terror.

Victor. Rebecca.

If anything happens to my daughter tonight, I will bury your entire family with her.

In the end, that ambulance with its flashing blue lights became the regret I would carry for the rest of my life.

The doctor emerged from the ER, pulled down his mask, and shook his head.

The world didn't collapse. It simply went silent. Completely, utterly silent.

I didn't cry. I just felt something blunt push into my chest and start sawing back and forth until the pain turned to numbness.

I went through the motions mechanically—paperwork, selecting a burial plot, arranging the cremation.

Every form required a family member's signature. The pen trembled so violently in my hand I could barely write.

Somewhere in that haze, I called Victor.

I wanted to tell him our daughter was gone.

I wanted him to see Talia one last time.

First call—rejected.

Second call—rejected.

The third time, my phone buzzed with a text notification.

Victor: Stop calling to harass me. Talk to my lawyer if you have something to say. When you've come to your senses, meet me at the county clerk's office.

I stared at those cold words until my eyes burned dry. Not a single tear fell.

I typed back: Fine. Monday. County clerk's office. I'll be there.

This time, he replied instantly—a voice message.

I pressed play. His tone was mocking, impatient.

"Odette, you'd better not be stalling. If you stand me up, I have ways to make you regret it."

I didn't respond. I just turned off my phone.

The days that followed passed in a blur. I drifted through the empty villa like a ghost.

The funeral was simple—just a few bouquets of lilies, Talia's favorite flower.

I knelt before her casket, burning paper offerings through the endless nights.

Victor never came.

Not a single text asking what happened. Not one phone call.

Nothing.

On the day of the burial, the sharp click of heels echoed from outside the funeral home.

Crisp. Grating.

I looked up.

Rebecca stood in the doorway wearing a crimson dress, a designer bag dangling from her arm, sauntering in like she owned the place.

Her gaze landed on the black-and-white portrait at the center of the room. She pressed a hand to her lips in mock surprise, but her eyes glittered with undisguised satisfaction.

"Oh my. She actually died?"

She walked over and stood above me, looking down at where I knelt, her tone as casual as if she were discussing the weather.

"I was worried this little brat would fight my son for the family inheritance someday. Well, problem solved. Saves me a lot of trouble."

She tilted her head, a saccharine smile spreading across her face.

"Don't be too sad, Odette. It's called survival of the fittest. She was just making room for a child who actually deserves to be blessed."

My fingers tightened around my phone until my nails broke the skin of my palm. Blood seeped through the gaps between my fingers and dripped onto the floor.