I Tricked My Husband Into Signing Our Divorce Papers

I put down my luggage and accidentally caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My features were delicate and pleasant, but when my lips curled into a smile, it felt like a mask slipping into place. There was an unspoken weariness in my eyes. I forced a bitter smile; I hardly resembled someone in their late twenties. Just a little longer, and I'd finally be free.

I was lying in bed, nearly asleep, when Rhys suddenly burst through the door, panic written all over his face. "Adelaide, come with me! We need to take Bailee to the hospital; she burned her hand!"

I instinctively frowned, about to refuse, but Rhys had already started pulling me along.

"Mr. Kennedy, there's really no need for Adelaide to take me to the hospital; it's just a little... ouch..." Bailee winced, clutching her hand where a few drops of hot olive oil had splattered. It certainly looked painful.

"Burns can be serious; it might leave a scar," Rhys said urgently. As I watched the scene unfold, my mind wandered to the scar on the back of my own left hand.

That day, when Rhys had some friends over for a barbecue, Bailee had deliberately spilled a whole pot of boiling sauce on my hand. When I confronted her, Rhys protected her, looking at me with disdain and saying, "Bailee didn’t do it on purpose, and you're fine, so stop making a fuss."

I ended up numbing the pain with painkillers before taking myself to the hospital, leaving a scar on my hand.

Watching Rhys now, so anxious, I realized he actually knew that burns could leave scars. It only mattered because, this time, it wasn’t me who got hurt.

On the way to the hospital with Bailee, we hit rush hour. Rhys kept urging me to drive faster from the back seat. As the light turned green and I began to accelerate, a runaway sedan careened towards us. The collision was sudden, and I felt a crushing pain in my lower body.

Rhys’s voice came from the back seat, tense. "Adelaide! How do you feel? Hang in there, the ambulance is on its way!"

Hearing his unharmed voice, I remembered the rear of the car had taken the brunt of the impact.

"Adelaide..." Rhys began again, but Bailee's cries of pain distracted him.

"Bailee, where are you hurt? What hurts?" Rhys asked, his concern clear.

"I'm just sore in my hand; you don’t need to worry about me, really. Adelaide seems seriously hurt; you should check on her," Bailee said weakly.

Rhys's worry only deepened at her words. He asked Bailee to hold on a little longer, reassuring her the ambulance would be there soon.

When the ambulance finally arrived, Rhys pulled the medical personnel over, insisting, "There's someone hurt here! You have to check on them!"

The urgency in his voice suggested a severe case, prompting one doctor to follow him. Shortly after, I heard the doctor reprimanding him, "You’re wasting our time! This person is fine!"

Rhys, usually so concerned about his public image, started causing a scene at the crash site, threatening to report the doctor for neglect.

Reluctantly, the doctor bandaged Bailee's hand. As Rhys intended to take her to the hospital, he passed by me, just rescued moments before. Upon seeing the wounds on my legs, he froze, a look of genuine panic crossing his face for the first time. "Adelaide, are you in pain? I'll find the best doctor for you right away!"

Bailee then spoke softly, "I'm sorry, Adelaide. It's my fault; I shouldn’t have asked Mr. Kennedy to take me to the hospital. I should have endured the pain, then none of this would have happened."

Her pitiful look only deepened Rhys's concern for her, and he quickly turned back to comfort her, leaving my injuries forgotten.

When the medical staff asked if I had any family, I calmly closed my eyes and replied that I didn't. "Let's go."