The Day My Baby Died, My Husband Was Proposing to Another Girl Under Fireworks

If Phil Gilbert didn't want to build a home with me, then he could go sleep under a bridge and live on cold air for all I cared.

I'd spent three days in the hospital, and not a single thing in the apartment had changed.

A sour ache spread through my chest as I dumped every flower I'd left drying on the balcony into the trash.

I'd been such a fool back then. Four years we'd known each other, and Phil had never once given me a flower, never once said anything sweet.

So when he suddenly walked in with a bouquet, how could it possibly have been a gift for me?

It could only have been something someone else didn't want, something he was too cheap to throw away.

A sneer pulled at my lips as I tore the couple's photo off the wall and ripped it to shreds.

The door creaked open. I turned on instinct and met Phil's eyes.

He had a takeout box in one hand, and his gaze kept skittering away from mine.

"Agnes, did you see the bank withdrawal notice?"

I nodded, but I had no desire to press him about it.

After all, according to my childhood friend, that girl liked to coo and push some can't-lose, get-rich-quick venture.

And somehow, inexplicably, she got people to sign predatory loan contracts.

Phil opened the takeout box and took my hand to pull me down beside him.

I slipped out of his grasp without making it obvious, keeping a careful distance between us.

The mingled smell of food filled the air, and my stomach turned, bile rising in my throat.

The logo on the box belonged to the five-star restaurant I went to most often, and I couldn't help finding it absurd.

Phil only ever splurged on me on payday, taking me to the little food stalls downstairs to eat our fill.

And even then, the bill had to stay under a hundred dollars.

Last month I'd suggested taking him out for sushi, and he'd balked at the price, dragging me through an entire evening of calculating how much three thousand dollars could buy.

In his eyes, every dollar I spent was a mistake.

And the photos Chloe had sent me showed that in these three days, Phil had spent nearly a million dollars on the girl named Winona Cooley.

He'd poured eight hundred and eighty thousand into that bottomless-pit venture, fifty thousand on a designer bag for her, and another hundred and ten thousand on hotels and dinners while he kept her company.

Three years married to him, and I'd barely spent a cent of his money. I'd even subsidized him.

My eyes stung. I turned my face away and wiped the tears.

Guilt flickered in Phil's eyes. He actually thought I was crying because I was touched.

He took my hand and swore up and down.

"Babe, that eight hundred and eighty thousand went into a friend's venture, and she promised me the final payout would be five times what I put in."

"Once I get that four point four million, we'll get a new place and throw the wedding we never had."

I scoffed and watched, silent, as Phil put on his little performance.

He'd never been willing to spend a dime on me before. The moment he actually had money, the first thing he'd do was dump me and go chase his "true love."

Sure enough, Phil pulled a set of divorce papers out of his bag.

He pressed his lips together and looked at me with all the sincerity he could fake.

"But babe, every investment carries risk. I don't want to drag you down with me."

"Let's divorce first. Once it all pays off, we'll remarry."

The memory of how Phil had proposed flashed through my mind.

He'd held up three fingers and sworn that even if he amounted to nothing his whole life, he would never leave me, never abandon me.

My eyes went red, tears falling like beads from a snapped string.

Phil shoved the divorce papers into my hands and urged me on.

"Babe, you'll just have to put up with this for a little while."

"The company's been cracking down lately, and that demotion out of nowhere, it was probably someone reporting our office romance."

"Divorcing now is better for both of us."

With trembling fingers I picked up the pen, a sneer curling my lips.

"Right. A divorce is better for both of us."

The moment Phil saw me sign without resistance, his face split into a grin.

He snapped a photo and sent it to Winona like he was reporting a job well done.

Chloe told me Phil had booked a wedding banquet at a hotel for the weekend.

He'd already bought the tickets for his parents, relatives, and friends, planning to formally introduce Winona to everyone.