He Chose Her, I Chose Me

My husband makes me quit my job to care for his deceased friend's wife after she's given birth. Yet, she deliberately breastfeeds to his face.

He can't take his eyes off her, yet he has the nerve to call me petty. He even says I'm asking for trouble.

Later, I get a divorce and sell the house. I return to my hometown and make it big there. That's when he begs me to take him back.

Two months ago, Tyler Parham's childhood friend—practically his brother—died in a car accident, leaving behind a pregnant wife.

She traveled hours by bus from her village just to find my house.

Tyler told me, "This is my best friend's wife. Now that he's gone, it's only right that I take care of her."

And just like that, with a single word from Regina Baldwin, my master bedroom became her bedroom. My makeup became her makeup. Even my underwear became hers.

That evening, just as I was getting home from work, Tyler stopped me outside.

"Lisa, Gina's getting discharged from the hospital after giving birth. Why don't you quit your job and stay home to take care of her during her recovery?"

I let out a cold laugh. "And why would I do that?"

He softened his voice and tried to convince me. "Gina's got it rough on her own. You're a woman too, so you know how hard postpartum recovery is. Can't you be a little more understanding?"

I met his gaze, unimpressed.

He pressed on. "And don't worry about your job. I'm getting promoted soon. I'll get you a position as my assistant. You'll get five grand a month. That's better than what you're making now, isn't it?"

Ah. A jab at my salary.

Annoyed, I shot back, "She's your responsibility. If she needs help, you take care of her."

Tyler's expression darkened. "Lisa, you've changed. You used to be so kind and considerate. What happened? Gina's been handling everything at home while we're out working.

"She cooks for you, reheats your food, and even does your laundry. And now, all I'm asking is for you to help her for a month, and you're refusing?"

I smirked. "Tyler, the food's from a delivery app. The laundry's from the dry cleaners. And the money? My money.

"Regina's been living in my house, eating my food, using my things—for free. And now you want me to quit my job and wait on her? Give me a break."

Tyler's face fell even further.

Lowering his voice, he tried pleading. "Fine, forget quitting. But can you at least take some time off? Just a long leave. Help Gina recover, and whatever salary you lose, I'll make it up to you."

I was so pissed I actually laughed.

His salary was supposed to be our shared income.

So basically, he was saying I should use my money to compensate myself, all while playing caretaker to someone else's postpartum recovery?

What kind of twisted logic was that?

I opened my mouth, ready to fire back, but just then, his phone rang.

Tyler pressed it to his ear, murmured a few quick "okays", then hung up and immediately shoved me into the car.

"That's settled. We're picking up Gina now. You can send in your resignation later."

His overbearing attitude drained whatever urge I had to keep arguing.

Honestly, I'd already written my resignation letter. But not to take care of Regina.

I was leaving him.

The car rolled to a smooth stop in front of the hospital. A woman stood at the entrance. She was cradling a newborn in her arms.

Tyler rushed over and took the baby from her. "Didn't I tell you not to come outside? You're still recovering. Being out in the cold air isn't good. Why don't you ever listen?"

Dressed in postpartum clothes and a maternity cap, Regina beamed up at him. Her face was glowing with happiness.

Anyone who didn't know better would think they were a perfect little family.