On Our Anniversary, My Husband Publicly Announced His Affair

Alyssa's POV

"That year, when she was rushed in for the emergency C-section," Luke said, his voice disturbingly casual, "I told the doctor to remove her uterus. Figured it was convenient."

He continued, explaining to Regina, "I couldn't let someone like her, someone so low, carry my heir. She was always just a test subject to experiment with dog-training methods."

The words hit me like ice water. Sharp and merciless.

I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe.

My mind snapped back to that night. Uninvited, the memories came flooding in.

Debt collectors had broken down the door. I turned just in time to see one of them charging at me with an iron rod. I tried to shield my seven-month-pregnant belly, but the swing came anyway. The sound of my knee snapping still echoes in my nightmares.

I remembered collapsing to the floor, screaming. Crying.

"How much does Luke owe you?!" I begged through tears. "I'll pay it back—just please, don't hurt my baby!"

But there was no mercy.

The only answer was the dull thud of a fruit knife stabbing into my flesh.

I'll never forget that pain.

At first, when the blade sliced into my belly, it was icy cold. Then came the searing, bone-deep agony. Warm blood sprayed across my face as I watched them pull a shapeless mass of flesh from my body.

I couldn't pass out fast enough. I saw everything.

They ripped my baby from me like I was nothing more than an animal.

"Ah. It's a boy," one of them said, almost bored. He twirled the umbilical cord like a party ribbon, then tossed it in the trash.

A cracked rib had pierced my lung. Later, the ashen-faced surgeon showed me the X-rays and said it was a miracle I survived.

I was the one cut open and robbed of my child.

I was the one left with a permanent disability.

But somehow, Luke was the one who claimed to have trauma and developed autism after seeing me like that.

And I believed that pitiful lie.

I carried that guilt for three years, letting it rot me from the inside out.

As I lay in the hospital bed, my whole body shook uncontrollably.

Grief, deeper than death, hit me like a thousand sharp needles, piercing every part of me. My breath came in gasps, and tears poured down my face, impossible to stop.

I couldn't stop crying. The tears just kept coming, soaking my hospital gown and pulling me under.

And yet, nothing but silence remains.

Then Regina spoke, her voice trembling in disbelief. "Aren't you worried she'll find out the truth?"

Luke chuckled in amusement.

"Worried?" he echoed. "Please. I'm a billionaire. The spare change in my account could buy her entire family's lives."

He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms like he'd just won something. "People like them? You toss a few extra checks their way, and they'll cry and call it a blessing."

Time blurred after that.

Eventually, the hallway quieted.

Regina came back in. She didn't speak at first. She just stood there, running her fingers absentmindedly over the curve of her belly.

"Back then, that year…" she started, her voice faint, something almost vulnerable behind it.

But whatever emotion almost surfaced, she shut it down fast.

"Forget it," she snapped, her tone icy. "Just sign the divorce papers. Get out of our lives."

She turned to go but paused at the door.

"As compensation," she said coolly, "I'll give you $50 million."

Then she was gone.

...

The following morning, I canceled the budget flight and reserved three first-class tickets instead.

On the way to the airport, I passed a donation bin. Without a second thought, I dropped in the diamond ring Luke had once given me—the one he bought after working five jobs, the one he said symbolized 'forever.'

I didn't look back.

My phone buzzed nonstop.

Call after call.

Message after message.

Luke's name flashed on the screen like a warning sign.

It was enough to push me over the edge.

Without hesitation, I yanked the SIM card out, snapped it in two, and tossed the pieces—along with whatever was left of my love for him—into a storm drain.

...

Luke's POV

I sat behind my desk, my jaw clenching so tight it throbbed.

The 27th missed call stared at me from the screen, mocking me. For five years, she'd picked up on the first ring.

Now? Three hours. Nothing.

I slammed my palm against the desk, the sound cracking through the office like a gunshot in the dark.

"Go find out where my wife is," I snapped at my assistant. "Now."

I paused. "Wait, also... get the blue diamond necklace I bought for Regina ready."

My assistant hesitated, uncertain. "What color should the gift box be?"

My fingers froze mid-air. The realization hit me like a punch to the gut.

I had no idea what color Alyssa liked.

'Did I ever ask?'

I twitched, then waved him off. "Pink. I guess."

I quickly redialed Alyssa's number for the 28th time. This time, I cleared my throat, preparing to sound as apologetic as possible.

"The number you dialed is not in service. Please try again later."

The robotic voice landed like a death sentence.

Alyssa didn't just turn off her phone. She cut me off.

My hand curled into a fist. I grabbed the phone and hurled it across the room. It shattered against the wall, pieces bouncing across the floor.

I called my assistant again, "Go to the market! I don't care what you have to do—drag her back if you have to. Just bring Alyssa home!"

Then I waited.

Paced. Sat. Stood again.

Every second scraped against my nerves like glass.

Two hours passed, and a knock came.

"Come in!" I snapped, already rolling up my sleeves, picturing the lecture I'd give.

'How dare she leave! How dare she disobey.'

Right there, the door opened. It wasn't Alyssa.

It was just my assistant, pale and sweating like he'd seen something terrible.

"Sir…" he swallowed hard. "Miss Alyssa sold the stall."