Divorcing My Scumbag Husband

I was cornered.

He towered over me, standing at 1.86 meters tall. His broad shoulders blocked all my views. Even though there was still some space between us, my face felt like it was on fire, as if he had pulled me directly into his embrace.

“Why does it feel like you seem to dislike me?” he whispered.

That wasn’t true. Truthfully, I was captivated by his good looks, but I knew better than to get close to him. We were from completely different worlds, and I didn’t want to provoke his dislike—or cause trouble for Thalia.

“Senior, please don’t joke around. We’re just not close,” I explained.

But he simply laughed, stepped back, and let me go.

I almost collapsed to my knees, gasping for fresh air while simultaneously feeling a sense of loss.

Before my mind could catch up, he suddenly grabbed my hand.

“You silly girl. Someone says something to you, and you don’t even fight back? Watch me take care of it for you.”

Before I could react, he pulled me into a private room.

His hand was cool but large enough to completely envelop mine.

All the sweetness from before felt like a double-edged sword.

The sound of the door opening snapped me out of my memories.

A nurse walked in, and Owen immediately turned to her. “My wife isn’t feeling well. Her complexion is very pale.”

The nurse checked my temperature and inspected my wound.

Exhausted, I closed my eyes, unwilling to say anything more.

He stood by my side the whole time. After a long silence, he gently squeezed my hand. “Alicia, don’t be like this.”

The fire in my chest flared up, surging to my throat, and I exploded. “Owen, let’s get a divorce.”

Owen refused to agree, sending my sister and mother to take turns persuading me.

My sister, who had benefited from Owen’s help over the past two years, immediately painted a rosy picture. “Men have social obligations, it’s inevitable they’ll have some flings. Your Owen is rich and handsome—how can you expect him to stay loyal to just one woman? As long as he doesn’t bring it to your face, you’re still Mrs. Stokes. Don’t stir things up—be grateful for your blessings.”

Blessings? I raised my eyes to look at her. “Would you like these blessings? Last time a female client called your husband late at night, didn’t you storm into his office?”

She looked embarrassed and muttered under her breath, “That’s different.”

Then my mother started crying. “Your sister has a point. If you really get divorced, what about Allison? Have you thought this through?”

“The Stokes family would never give you custody of the child. If Owen remarries, Allison will have to live with a stepmother. Won’t that break your heart?”

Her words sent a chill down my spine.

I had been so focused on wanting a divorce that I hadn’t thought about the practicalities.

Who would get custody? How would marital assets be divided?

No wonder my sister accused me of spoiling Owen. Over the years, I had settled into the role of a full-time wife and lost any sense of financial independence.

If Owen truly wanted a divorce, he might compensate me financially, but he clearly didn’t.

Even if I got custody, how would I raise my child without money?

This realization brought my divorce plans to a halt. Anxiety gripped me.

Every time I thought about Owen pressing Viviana against the wall and kissing her, I felt suffocated.

Could I really stay trapped in this marriage, wasting away day by day, living as a couple that despised each other?

No, this wasn’t the life I wanted.

But when I thought about leaving the man I had loved for so many years, the home I had carefully decorated, and the child I had carried for ten months—it felt like my heart was being ripped out.

Suddenly, I just wanted to go home.

After sending my family away, I called Owen, hoping to have a proper conversation with him.

But he didn’t answer.

Frustrated, I hailed a cab and went straight home.

I dragged my aching body up the stairs. My heart softened at the sight of the bunny-shaped paper cutout pasted on the door.

It was something the three of us had made together as a family. The bunny looked more like a dog, but it was brimming with love and happiness.

I entered the door code and opened it. Inside, I saw Owen's shoes.

He was home. So why hadn’t he answered my calls?

As I bent down to change my shoes, muffled voices came from the bathroom—accompanied by soft, feminine gasps.