I Taught 19 Men How to Moan My Wife's Name

Jarrett’s POV

Right after that, Jordan strolled into the hospital room with a grin, wrapped his arms around Fern, and leaned down to claim her lips like it was some kind of victory.

Their tongues tangled. They swapped spit like teenagers in a parking lot.

I’d seen this scene way too many times. It didn't make me jealous, territorial, or anything anymore.

They were in the middle of a torrid kiss when a knock on the door interrupted them.

A poised woman stepped inside, heels clicking softly against the tile.

“Atty. Gottstein,” I said, recognizing her instantly.

“Marlow?! What are you doing here?” Fern narrowed her eyes slightly, her face showing a trace of annoyance.

Marlow smiled, casual and professional at the same time. “Delivering the divorce papers.”

“The what?” Fern froze. For a second, her whole body stilled like she’d been slapped. Then her face went arctic.

I reached for the papers Marlow held out. “Thanks,” I said with a smile. “Dinner’s on me sometime.”

“No need.” She reached out, touched my forehead, and smiled faintly. “Glad the fever’s gone. Call me if you need anything, alright? Remember—you’re not alone.”

She had barely walked away when Fern’s eyes narrowed into daggers.

“What now?” she spat. “Planning to cling to Marlow next? You two were pretty chummy back in college. But someone like you? She’s probably just using you for fun.”

I wasn’t in the mood to argue. I simply handed over the papers.

“Sign this,” I said. “Let’s both be free.”

All the arguments… All the compromises... The attempts to please her…

I did it hoping Fern would snap out of it, take our marriage seriously, and give me time to find out the truth.

But it only made things worse.

The more I bent, the more she broke me. The more I loved, the more she hated.

Now I was just… tired. Utterly, bone-deep exhausted..

She never loved me, but instead of signing, Fern tore the divorce papers in half—then again and again—until the shredded pieces were raining down in my lap.

“You’re my dog!” she screamed. “You don’t get to pick your master!”

She turned to Jordan. “Take him to the car. I’ll handle the discharge papers.”

Jordan, smug and obedient, dragged me out like luggage.

But the second the doors shut and we were alone, his face twisted with something nastier.

He backhanded me hard.

“You fucking son of a bitch. Just seeing your face pisses me off!”

Same as the other eighteen before him. No reason. Just hate. Some weird reflex they all had when they realized I was still here.

I hated myself for still being this weak.

Eight years of swallowing bile and pretending it tasted fine would end here. Now, I finally gathered the strength to leave this fuckedup marriage.

“You know what?” he sneered. “I’m gonna fuck your wife tonight. That do anything for you? Huh? Excited? Jealous? Wanna watch?”

Hearing nothing from me, he snapped, “Say something!”

His fist went up again, but just then, the clack of heels echoed down the stairs.

Jordan’s eyes darted, and just like that, he threw himself backward and rolled out of the car, painting me as the villain again.

“Dude, I was trying to help you into the car—why’d you push me?”

Fern rushed over to help him up. And then she turned to me, yanked open the door next to me and dragged me out by the collar.

“You piece of shit! Picking on Jordan while I’m gone? You know what? You can sleep outside tonight!”

She cursed, yelling at me like I’d committed some crime.

I just gave her a bitter, tired smile. Didn’t bother explaining.

Because this wasn’t new.

Her first boyfriend accused me of pouring hot water on him. It was cold. But Fern didn’t care about facts and details.

Just like that, she beat me with a feather duster and made me kneel, head down, hands raised in apology.

The second said I stepped on his shoes on purpose.

Just like that, Fern made me kneel again—that time to lick them clean.

The third said I sprinkled too much salt in his food and accused me of trying to poison him.

Just like that, Fern shoved four tablespoons of salt down my throat. I landed in the ER that night.

The fourth screwed up a contract and blamed me. Fern didn’t confirm if it was the truth.

Just like that, she made me go to his office, kneel in front of his whole team, and issued a public statement calling it all my fault.

And that’s just the tip of the iceberg. I could write a whole book and still not cover it all.

In the beginning, I tried everything—explaining, swearing I was innocent, begging for my wife to forgive me.