I Divorced My Sister's Boyfriend

Upon hearing this, the room fell into stunned silence. Ryan’s parents exchanged glances, their expressions lighting up with unexpected joy.

“Really?” his mother asked eagerly as if she could hardly believe her good fortune.

Ryan, however, stared at me in disbelief. “Emma, are you serious? It’s one thing to mess around with me, but why bring this nonsense to my parents?”

He turned his head, explaining to his parents and forcing a laugh. “Don’t listen to her, Mom, Dad. She’s just throwing a tantrum.”

Before they could respond, he grabbed my hand and pulled me toward his room, slamming the door behind us.

“Alright, Emma. What exactly do you want from me?” His frustration radiated off him.

The burning pain in my stomach flared again, sharp and unforgiving. I clutched my abdomen.

“I didn’t have breakfast. My stomach hurts. Can you make me a bowl of noodles?”

His expression hardened. “Cut it out, Emma. Don’t play these little tricks. You’ll survive missing one meal. This isn’t the time for noodles. Why are you really insisting on this divorce?”

I gave him a bitter smile, feeling the last bits of warmth drain from me. “That’s exactly why I want a divorce.”

Ryan raised an eyebrow, a mocking laugh slipping from his lips. “All because of a bowl of noodles? Are you kidding me?”

Well, it’s all because of a bowl of noodles.

He was about to say something else when he was interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Ryan! Come quick—Chloe’s stomach is acting up!”

His face immediately shifted to panic and without another word to me, he rushed out of the room, leaving me behind once again.

I had no idea where he took Chloe. But honestly, I no longer cared.

I calmly pulled out my phone and dialled a number. With the indifference of Ryan’s family weighing heavy in the air, I quietly made my way to the front door, clutching my aching stomach.

Lucas arrived to pick me up, just like I knew he would. He handed me a bag as I slid into the passenger seat.

“You left in a hurry this morning. I brought you some breakfast,” he said softly.

“You must don’t want to make yourself sicker.”

I took the food with a faint smile and thanked him again.

As I sipped the warm soy milk, the warmth spread through me, easing some of the pain in my stomach. Lucas scrolled through his phone as I ate.

On his screen, I caught a glimpse of Chloe’s social media post—a photo of a kitten resting under a hand with long, slender fingers.

The caption read: [Chloe Caldwell finally met his daddy—he’s so happy!”]

That hand, unmistakably Ryan’s, wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. Instead, it wore the same bracelet Chloe had given him years ago. When I asked before, he said that Chloe personally went to the temple and begged for him and that it had been many years and had never been taken down.

I had begged him for years to get a cat, but he’d always refused, saying they were dirty. Now I knew—it was never about hygiene. It was a promise between him and Chloe, one he had no intention of sharing with anyone else.

Lucas noticed me watching and turned off his phone. “Sorry.”

I shook my head. There was nothing to apologize for.

He started the car and drove silently until we arrived at a familiar building—one I didn’t expect. It was the best cancer hospital in the city.

When the doctor diagnosed me with early-stage stomach cancer, I hadn’t told anyone. But Lucas had already known about it as well. In the early stages of stomach cancer, there was hope that it could be cured if it was treated aggressively.

“Come on,” he said, parking the car. “I made an appointment with a specialist. Let’s get you checked out.”

I stared at him, feeling a strange mix of surprise and gratitude, realizing he didn’t seem as simple as he looked. He noticed my expression and grinned. “What’s with the look? Don’t you want to cure yourself?”

With no more excuses, I let him guide me inside. Step by step, I followed his lead through the check-ups. It was only when we sat down with the consulting doctor that reality sank in. The doctor explained that my cancer was treatable, but I should need surgery to remove part of my stomach. The sooner, the better.

Hearing this, it felt like a heavy weight had been lifted from my chest. For the first time in days, I could breathe freely.

Lucas noticed my relief and gave me a small, satisfied smile. “Now you can feel relieved, right? Are you going to tell Ryan?”

I hesitated. “I’ll let things unfold naturally. It doesn’t matter anymore if I tell him or not.”

“Still…” I looked at him, my voice soft with genuine gratitude. “Thank you. Really.”

He smirked. “If you’re really grateful, maybe you could cook me something when you get better?”

I blinked, caught off guard by his request, then smiled. “Of course. After I recover.”

He insisted on driving me home. On the way, he offered to cook me dinner first, worried I wouldn’t eat properly.

When we reached the house, he checked the fridge. The food I’d kept there was all gone, likely used up by Ryan during his last visit. Lucas rolled up his sleeves and prepared a bowl of noodles for me instead.

As he brought the bowl to me, the steam rising in delicate wisps, I reached out to take it. But the hot bowl slipped slightly and I flinched, letting out a small gasp.

Lucas immediately set the bowl down and grabbed my hand, inspecting it with concern. “Are you okay?”

At that exact moment, the front door swung open.

Ryan stood in the doorway, his expression hardening as his eyes locked onto us—Lucas’s hands gently holding mine. The warmth in the room evaporated instantly, replaced by a cold tension.

His voice dropped, sharp and accusing. “What the hell is going on here?”