End My Marriage While Mourning My Daughter

My chest felt tight, like someone had wrapped a band around it and kept pulling. I lowered my gaze, acting as if I hadn’t noticed the shift in the room—but Nikolai noticed.

His tone hardened instantly. “If this is how you’re going to treat Camille, then don’t expect us to keep coming back here.”

Silence fell like a curtain. Then Mr. Sokolov slammed his palm against the table. The sharp crack made me jump.

“Mind your tone,” he barked. “Are you seriously saying you’d abandon your own family for her?”

I instinctively tried to step back, but Nikolai caught my hand and laced his fingers through mine, anchoring me in place.

“Father,” he said, his voice low but unwavering, “I’ve told you over and over—Camille is the woman I love. She’s the one person I refuse to hurt. I don’t even raise my voice at her, yet every time we come here, you treat her like she’s invisible. Do you have any idea what that does to me?”

His grip tightened around my hand.

“If this happens again, I won’t just leave tonight. I’ll cut ties with this family completely.”

The same man who could order someone’s death with a glance now sounded like a husband ready to torch everything for me.

It would’ve been touching… if I didn’t know the truth.

The room stayed heavy after his words. He stood in front of me like a shield, the perfect picture of devotion. But instead of feeling protected, I just felt exhausted.

Mrs. Sokolov let out a stiff sigh. “Fine. Let’s eat.”

Dinner was painfully quiet. The only sounds were forks tapping against plates and the faint clink of glasses. Mrs. Sokolov kept sighing under her breath, small irritated noises that scraped against my nerves. I knew what was coming.

She finally set her fork down with a deliberate clatter.

“It’s been nine months,” she said coolly. “You’ve mourned long enough. Yes, you lost a daughter. But it’s time to give this family a grandson. The Sokolov name can’t end here.”

Mr. Sokolov’s stare pinned me in place. “That child died because you failed to take care of her properly. A stomach ache shouldn’t end in a funeral. Stop acting like you’re the only one who suffered. Try again—and this time, don’t make mistakes.”

The words tore straight through me.

Before I could respond, Nikolai calmly placed his fork down. His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried an edge.

“I’ve already said this. Camille is afraid of going through that pain again. I won’t force her. If we never have another child, then so be it.”

His parents’ expressions darkened, disappointment and anger mixing together. They were ready to argue again.

That’s when I spoke.

“You’ll have your grandchild within half a month.”

Everything stopped.

All three of them stared at me.

Nikolai squeezed my hand, his face softening into that familiar mask of concern. “Sweetheart… you don’t need to pressure yourself for me. I’ll handle it. I’ll protect you.”

Protect me?

He couldn’t even stop himself from running to Vanessa whenever she called.

Still, I smiled faintly. “You want a grandson that badly. I’ll make sure you get one.”

His parents relaxed almost immediately, satisfied with my answer. But Nikolai looked uneasy, like he sensed something shifting beneath the surface.

Then his phone vibrated.

He glanced at the screen. I caught the name.

Vanessa.

A message preview flashed briefly: Some guy’s asking for a quick one. Is that okay?

I started counting silently. One. Two. Three.

Right on cue, Nikolai stood up. “Camille, something urgent came up at the office. Finish dinner here. I’ll come back to pick you up.”

He didn’t wait for a reply. He grabbed his coat and left.

The door hadn’t even fully shut before the polite expressions disappeared.

“We’re giving you less than a month,” Mrs. Sokolov said coldly. “If you don’t get pregnant again, don’t bother stepping foot in this house.”

Mr. Sokolov didn’t hold back. “You came from nothing. No family name. No wealth. Both your parents gone. Without Nikolai, you are nothing. Don’t think we’ll put up with you forever.”

Each sentence felt like another blade.

The walls seemed to close in.

And Nikolai?

He never came back to get me.

---

He returned that evening as if nothing had happened—calm, composed, unbothered.

We got into the car. The seats were still warm from sitting under the sun all afternoon.

I kept my gaze on the passing streets. “Done with work?” I asked casually.

There was the slightest pause before he answered. “Yeah.”

His fingers tapped lightly on the steering wheel. Slow. Rhythmic. That tiny habit of his always showed when he was in a good mood.

After a while, he glanced at me. “Did my parents say anything after I left?”

I was about to respond when something caught my eye beneath the passenger seat.

A pair of silk stockings.

Ripped.

They weren’t mine.

So this was where he’d gone.

I knew about Vanessa. But I hadn’t imagined he would use this car.

Seven years of marriage, and I’d always tried to be careful, reserved. I wasn’t bold or adventurous. Sometimes I even asked him if he wanted me to change—if he was bored of me.

Back then, he would pull me into his arms and kiss my hair.

“Sweetheart, I only want you. Even if you wore rags, you’d still be the one I’d choose. Don’t try to be someone else for me. I love you exactly as you are.”

Now those words felt like smoke.

I swallowed hard. “What do you think?” I asked quietly.

He assumed I meant his parents. He had no idea I’d already seen enough.

Without warning, he hit the brakes and pulled me into a tight embrace.

“I’m sorry, Camille. I shouldn’t have left you alone with them. It won’t happen again. I promise.”

His arms wrapped around me like iron bars.

I gently pushed against his chest until he let go.

“Just drive, Nikolai,” I said softly. “I’m tired.”

Because somewhere deep inside, I already knew.

There was nothing left to save.