I Chose Death When He Decided to Marry Again

After five years of playing the devoted husband, Erick brought his mistress home.

"Sabrina is pregnant. I need to protect her reputation," he said with practiced calm, as if rehearsed in front of a mirror.

Bianca's response was swift and unexpected. "Sure," she said, her tone as serene as the surface of a still pond.

Erick faltered, caught off guard by her lack of outrage. He had braced himself for tears, accusations, or even shattered glass. Instead, she stood there, unshaken and smiled faintly, as if he'd merely asked her to pass the salt.

"I still love you," he blurted, rushing to fill the silence. "Once some time passes, I'll divorce her and marry you again."

Bianca's smile lingered, but she said nothing.

What Erick didn't realize—what he couldn't realize—was that the future he so confidently described would never come to pass. Soon, he would receive a call that shattered his world: his ex-wife and her unborn child were gone.

And by then, he wouldn't even have the right to decide how she'd be laid to rest.

***

"Sorry, Bianca, I have to work late again tonight."

At 10 p.m., Erick placed a glass of warm milk on the bedside table. He leaned down, brushing a hand softly over Bianca's hair, his touch almost tender.

"Drink this and go to bed early," he murmured. "Don't wait up for me."

At 10:05 p.m., the sound of water filling the bathtub echoed through the quiet house. Erick prepared the bath himself, adding drops of lavender and chamomile oil, the same blend that always lulled Bianca to sleep.

"Sweet dreams, Bianca," he said, his voice low, almost reluctant, as he pulled the door closed behind him.

At 10:10 p.m., he kissed her forehead, the faintest brush of his lips, before stepping out into the night.

If anyone had been watching, they would have thought Erick was the epitome of a loving husband—a man devoted to his wife in every gesture, every word. Bianca might have believed it, too, if it weren't for the hundreds of photos stored on her phone, each one a damning fragment of the life Erick lived beyond their home.

As the front door clicked shut, the tears Bianca had held at bay broke free, tracing silent paths down her cheeks. She stared after his retreating figure, her voice a broken whisper.

"I never doubted you," she murmured, the words more for herself than anyone else.

Her quiet sobs escalated, raw and desperate, as she grabbed her phone and hurled it across the room. It struck the floor with a sharp crack, but the impact did nothing to shatter the haunting images seared into her mind. Each photo—a kiss, an embrace, a laugh that wasn't hers—looped endlessly in her thoughts, vivid and cruel.

Three years. Erick had been unfaithful for three out of the five years they'd been married. She could hardly comprehend it. How could love—real love—wither in just two years?

Bianca sank to the floor, her arms wrapped around herself as memories of the past invaded her thoughts. She was nineteen when her world began to fall apart.

Her adoptive family, the Harpers, had finally found their long-lost biological daughter and Bianca, who had spent years as the eldest daughter, was suddenly rendered invisible. Soon, whispers began circulating: she didn't belong; she was merely a replacement.

When the day came that the Harpers nearly threw her out, it was Erick who intervened.

"I'm going to marry Bianca someday," he had declared with defiance. "If you kick her out now, don't even think about working with the West Group again!"

His words had shielded her, giving her a place to stay when she had nowhere else to go. In the days that followed, Erick confessed his feelings, his cheeks flushed as he poured out years of admiration.

"Bianca, I've always liked you," he said, his voice trembling. "But we're still young. Let's wait a few years and then we'll get married."

That moment had changed everything. His earnestness planted a seed of hope in Bianca's heart and over the years, it grew into love.

The path to their union hadn't been easy. The Harpers, reluctant to accept their adopted daughter as Erick's wife, threw obstacle after obstacle in their way. Erick had worked tirelessly to overcome them, vowing to silence every objection.

Bianca had watched him push himself, leaving early, coming home late, sacrificing sleep to take control of the West Group. He had seemed unstoppable, all for her. Or so she thought.

Now, Erick still left early and returned late, but Bianca knew it wasn't work that kept him away.

Her phone buzzed on the floor, dragging her back to the present. She wiped her swollen eyes and reached for it, ignoring the jagged crack across the screen. A new photo stared back at her—a private investigator's latest update.

Erick stood in the photo, locked in a passionate kiss with another woman.

Bianca's chest tightened as she recognized the woman. It was the Harpers' long-lost daughter. Her so-called sister.

Her body began to tremble, the image burning itself into her mind like a brand. Each pixel felt like a dagger, twisting deeper into the wounds she didn't know could hurt more.

Why? The question rang in her head, sharp and unrelenting. Why would the man who once claimed to love her—who promised her a forever—betray her like this?

She clutched her chest, gasping for air as sobs wracked her body. Her tears fell harder, faster, until they blurred into laughter—cold, bitter laughter that echoed through the empty house.

The vows they had exchanged, the life they had built, now felt like a cruel joke. Five years of marriage reduced to nothing but lies.

Outside the window, the night stretched dark and silent. Inside, Bianca's laughter faded into a chilling quiet. For the first time, she began to see her path forward. And it would no longer include Erick.