Divorcing My Scumbag Husband

So even mistresses have their pride.

The room still carried an unpleasant stench that turned my stomach. I pressed the call button.

When the nurse came in, she asked, "What's wrong?"

"Please open the windows," I replied calmly. "There's a foul smell in here."

Not long after, Owen returned—but without our daughter.

He placed a thermos and his car keys on the table, his expression tense.

I could guess why—Viviana must have already gone to him.

I sneered internally. So this was what it felt like to have a once-intimate husband shared with someone else. It was like a beautiful cake falling into dog poop.

But Owen wasn’t an impulsive boy anymore. He suppressed his anger as he poured soup from the thermos, speaking in an even tone.

"I dropped Allison off at Mom's place."

"Which mom? Yours or mine?" I quirked my eyebrow.

He looked up, his brow furrowed. "Of course her grandmother's house."

His tone carried a sharp edge.

I half-closed my eyes and said flatly, "There’s a nurse here to look after me. You can go back too."

His lips pressed into a thin line, and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he hesitated. Finally, he asked, “Did Viviana come to see you?”

“She did,” I said, meeting his gaze. “Did she tattle on me? Tell you I suggested she film your little trysts so I could see them myself?”

The bowl of soup he was holding slammed heavily onto the table, splashing broth everywhere.

He stared at me, his eyes flickering with anger. "Alicia, do you plan to use those videos to force me into leaving with nothing? Or do you want to blackmail me?"

"What else?" I replied coldly. "A man who cheats is like cash smeared with excrement—who would want to keep holding it?"

For a moment, he was speechless, his eyes wide with disbelief.

I suddenly felt weary of it all.

"Owen," I said quietly, "your mistress had the audacity to confront me in my hospital room, and yet your only concern is whether I’ll go after your money. Is that who I am to you?"

The brightest moon was only seen in the darkest night; the closest of bonds could turn to the coldest of relationships.

When the sweetness of a marriage was gone, what was left was bitterness—more venomous than between enemies.

His eyes grew red as his grip on my arm loosened. He rubbed his face and muttered, "I’m sorry."

Did I need his apology?

---

Owen and I were college classmates. He was a senior when I was a freshman.

One of my dorm mates, Thalia, had started dating one of his friends and often dragged me along to their gatherings. That was how I first met him.

He always had an aloof demeanor, rarely speaking much, yet he stood out in any crowd.

On Thalia’s birthday, I arrived late, bundled up in a thick down jacket. As soon as I stepped into the private room, my glasses fogged up. Someone pulled me to sit down beside them.

There was a woman at the table who seemed to target me for no reason. I didn’t even know her, yet she kept making snide remarks, practically accusing me of being some public flirt.

I was so angry I was on the verge of tears.

Someone patted my shoulder comfortingly. Following the hand upward, I realized it was Owen.

No wonder that woman had been going after me—it was because of him.

I excused myself to the restroom. Standing at the sink, I took off my glasses and saw that my eyes were red.

"You look like a little rabbit, hiding here to cry," a voice said unexpectedly.

Startled, I turned around to see Owen leaning against the wall, a cigarette between his fingers.

With his pale complexion, long lashes, and flushed lips, he looked like a character out of a poem—as graceful as jade, unmatched in the world.

That was when I realized he had been using me as a shield.

I put my glasses back on and made them leave, but he blocked my way.

With a nudge, he extended his arm toward me.