Divorcing My Husband After the New Year

After setting off the firecrackers, the New Year’s Eve dinner was served. A spread of meat and vegetarian dishes that looked so good it could have been straight out of a food magazine.

Since I was pregnant, I got hungry quickly. After a long day of traveling, I was starving. I kept my head down, focused on eating, and didn’t bother engaging much with the chatter around me.

But Cindy, of course, couldn’t let me enjoy even one moment of peace.

“David, don’t you think your wife’s being a little rude?” Cindy sneered, her voice loud enough to cut through the chatter. “Look at her—just sitting there, stuffing her face without saying a word to anyone. People who know us might think we’re chill, but strangers? They’ll probably assume you married someone who doesn’t even know how to speak!”

Her words cut through the festive atmosphere like a knife. I froze mid-bite, slowly put my fork down, and glanced at David, silently pleading for him to say something—anything—in my defense.

To my utter shock, he sided with her.

“Well, she’s not wrong, Elaine,” David said, barely glancing in my direction. “My grandparents are here. You should greet them before you start eating. People are watching, you know.”

I froze, stunned, but when I looked around, I caught the sharp, judgmental stares of his relatives. Their eyes bore into me like I was some kind of zoo exhibit. The suffocating discomfort settled heavily in my chest.

Reluctantly, I stood up and did as David suggested, offering a few polite greetings to the elders. Then, desperate for an escape, I made a quick excuse about feeling full and wanting to rest.

As I turned to leave, the whispers began.

“She calls herself a city girl? She doesn’t even know basic manners. Even my dog barks to greet people when they come over, but she acts like we’re invisible!”

I paused mid-step, my fists clenching at my sides. I took a deep breath, forcing myself to stay calm. It wasn’t worth it. All I had to do was wait for David to finish eating, and then we could leave.

But then another voice chimed in, sharper and more cutting than the last.

“You don’t get it, do you? She’s doing it on purpose—giving us the cold shoulder because she looks down on us country folk. Bet you didn’t know that!”

That was it. I couldn’t help but laugh out loud—not because I found it funny, but because I was so done.

Where did these people even come from?

They were masters at turning nothing into the most dramatic soap opera imaginable.

I turned and started heading upstairs, determined to ignore them. But then, out of nowhere, I felt a hard shove from behind. Before I knew it, I was falling.

The force sent me stumbling forward, my feet slipping out from under me as I tumbled onto the stairs.

Pain shot through my hands as they scraped against the rough edges, and my heart raced with panic. Instinctively, I curled in, shielding my belly. Thankfully, I managed to protect it just in time.

Behind me, the triumphant, gleeful laughter of a little boy echoed through the room.

Clutching my stomach, I struggled to steady myself and get back on my feet.

Right away, David rushed over in concern. He turned to his nephew, Ryan, and snapped, “What the hell are you doing? Don’t you know your aunt is pregnant?”

Ryan’s chubby face twisted into a smug grin, his squinty eyes narrowing until they nearly disappeared.

“I know. I did it on purpose,” he said, his tone so casual it made my blood boil.

David froze, clearly caught off guard by the boy’s brazen confession.

When he finally spoke, his voice was hesitant and weak, like he didn’t know how to handle the situation. “What you did is dangerous, Ryan. What if you hurt her? You can’t do that again, okay?”

But Ryan wasn’t done. He shrugged and added, “I read in a book that if a pregnant woman falls, she’ll have a miscarriage. I wanted to see if Elaine would have one.”

My head spun with rage. Without thinking, I slapped him across the face, the sharp sound slicing through the air and silencing the room. Then, fueled by anger, I kicked him in the stomach. He doubled over, clutching his belly, and started crying.

When I’d been shoved down the stairs, not one relative had moved to help me—not a single one.

But now?

Now they swarmed me like vultures, their outrage deafening.

“How could you do that? He’s just a child!” David's aunt said.

“Exactly! Did you have to hit the kid that hard? You’re heartless!” Linda, David's mom, added.

Cindy interjected, “You didn’t give birth to him, so you don’t care, huh? Look at what you’ve done to poor Ryan. Let me tell you—siblings or not, debts need to be settled. You’re going to pay for his medical expenses!”

The loudest voice, unsurprisingly, belonged to Cindy. Her face was twisted with anger, and she looked ready to rip me apart with her bare hands.

That was it. That was my breaking point.

They could insult me all they wanted. Judge me. Whisper behind my back. Throw their petty little remarks my way.

But harming my child? That was a line no one crossed.

“Medical expenses?” I said, my voice cold, trembling with fury. “Fine. Let’s call the police right now and see how they handle your son’s deliberate assault on me!”

I was shaking with rage as I yanked my phone out of my pocket. My hands trembled so badly that I nearly dropped it. But I didn’t care anymore.

They wanted to play games? Fine. Let’s see who came out on top.