My Husband Turned My Mother’s Funeral into His Secretary's Birthday Party

My heart tightened as I watched him hold the last box of cake my mother had made for me.

"You can’t take it! This is all I have left from my mother!" I reached out, desperate to stop him.

Before that, Luther kicked me hard in the stomach, his voice venomous.

"You’re making a big deal over a cake? It’s your mother’s blessing that Stella even wants to eat something she made!"

The force of the kick sent me crashing to the ground and my head slammed into the corner of the table. Blood began to drip from my forehead, staining the floor beneath me.

As I saw my blood mix with the memories of my mother’s body being torn apart by the wild dog, I felt something inside me snap.

I screamed, my voice raw and fury. "Luther, you're not human! You're a monster!"

"I want a divorce! I can’t stay with you anymore!"

"Fine! I’ll sign it right now!" Luther’s tone was dismissive, almost bored.

He quickly pulled out two sheets of paper, scribbled his name and cruelly pressed his fingerprints into the blood pooling on the floor.

He sneered at me, his words dripping with scorn. "Priscilla, if you have the guts, go ahead and draft the divorce papers."

"You’re nothing. Pregnant with someone else’s child. Who would want you if you leave me?"

With that, he slammed the door and walked out without a second thought.

Luther did not return for days.

I did not care. I dragged my exhausted body and began packing.

It felt oddly freeing when he was not here and I no longer had to endure his indifference and cruelty.

It was not until the early hours of the morning, just before I left, that he came back, holding a crumpled bag in his hands.

Seeing the large suitcases by the door, he looked at me in surprise. "Where are you going?"

I answered calmly, without a hint of emotion. "Back to my hometown."

I expected at least a few questions, maybe even a touch of concern. However, all he did was nod and hand me the bag.

"I was loud the other day... don’t be angry."

I had seen that bag on Stella’s WhatsApp Status the day before, tossed carelessly next to a discarded Hermès bag.

I did not even spare him a glance, simply replying, "Put it on the table."

He mistook my indifference for acceptance, sighing in relief before continuing. "Are you leaving today? If you are, then you need to reschedule. You and I are going to meet some clients at noon."

I responded calmly, "Socializing? Isn’t that Stella’s job as your secretary?"

His face hardened at my words, his tone suddenly stiffening.

"Stella got gastroenteritis from eating your mother’s cake, so she can’t drink."

"It’s all your mother’s fault. You need to make up for her sins."

I looked at him steadily, choosing not to challenge the absurdity of his words.

After Stella returned from abroad, Luther had arranged for her to join the company as his secretary.

But whenever there were social events involving alcohol, he would drag me along, letting other people drink me under the table while he and Stella laughed and chatted, completely indifferent to my discomfort.

It was not Stella who could not drink. It was clear that Luther did not want her to.

"The doctor said I can’t drink because of my condition," I said, gesturing to my forehead and stomach.

His eyes followed my hand to my stomach and for a brief moment, he seemed taken aback.

Today, I wore a tight dress and my belly, once slightly swollen, was now flat.

If he had any care for me at all, he would have noticed the change in my body.

After a beat, Luther spoke again, "If we drink red wine, it won’t affect the child."

I could not help but let out a bitter smile, but he took it as agreement, grabbing my hand and leading me out the door.