Leaving My Husband Behind: My Freedom, His Loss

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you. I just….” My words trailed off as I hesitated, clutching the test pack in my hand.

The timing did not feel right—not with his cold demeanor and frustration written all over his face.

My eyes wandered to the digital calendar on his desk, and I noticed tomorrow’s date: the 1st.

It clicked in my mind—our usual appointment with the gynecologist, a routine check requested by the Clifton family to monitor our fertility.

‘What a perfect moment,’ I thought.

“I just wanted to ask what time we’re going to the gynecologist tomorrow,” I said quickly, slipping the test pack behind my back. “So, I can get ready.”

Lewis ran a hand through his hair, visibly annoyed. “Oh, that annoying monthly check-up. Let’s see if I have time,” he muttered, clearly uninterested.

“I’ll ask my assistant to call you tomorrow and let you know when I’m free.”

He did not even look at me as he added dismissively, “Now, get out of my sight. I’m going to my room to sleep.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat, nodded, and turned to leave.

His words stung, but I forced myself to push the pain aside. The next day would be different. I just knew it.

As I entered my room, I gently placed a hand on my stomach, the tiny spark of life within me giving me a sense of strength and hope.

“Let’s surprise Daddy tomorrow, baby,” I whispered, a small smile forming on my lips. “Now, let’s sleep.”

It was barely dawn when I woke, a faint hope lingering in my heart that everything I heard outside the study last night was just a nightmare.

So, I instinctively rubbed my stomach. “We will check your condition to a doctor today, please don’t be afraid, it’s not scary at all.

“So, let’s get ready today.”

Though I was still early in my pregnancy and there was no visible sign, I felt the delicate life growing within me—a tiny soul that was now my reason to keep going.

By seven, I made my way downstairs to the dining room for breakfast. Lewis was already there, seated at the table with his phone in hand, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

I did not need to ask who he was texting—his glowing expression said it all.

It was not a nightmare. Everything from last night was real.

The warmth and love he reserved for my twin sister Ruby were genuine. Also, the disdain he had for me was not a figment of my imagination.

I quietly moved to my seat, not saying a word, but the sound of my chair scraping the floor startled Lewis.

“Why are you so late?” he asked coldly, barely sparing me a glance as he typed on his phone.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and replied curtly, “I am sorry.”

At the start of our marriage, Lewis and I had never shared meals. He would either avoid me or stay holed up in his study.

But ever since his mother began dropping by unannounced in the mornings, he insisted we have breakfast together, if only for appearances.

The maid soon began serving breakfast, and silence enveloped the room once more.

Lewis focused on his phone, barely touching his food, while I stared at my plate, my appetite nonexistent.

I tried to eat anyway, but the moment the first bite passed my lips, a wave of nausea hit me.

I clamped my hand over my mouth and bolted toward the kitchen, barely making it to the nearby restroom before emptying the contents of my stomach.

It felt endless, my body heaving until there was nothing left to give.

Weak and drained, I splashed cold water on my face before returning to the dining room.

Lewis was gone.

The maid approached with a sad look on her face, carrying away his untouched plate. “Mr. Clifton said he had no appetite after hearing you vomit, so he left immediately.”

I sighed, sinking back into my chair. My heart clenched at the sheer indifference of his actions, but I was too exhausted to let it weigh me down.

The maid hesitated. “Are you okay, ma’am?”

I forced a small smile, shaking my head lightly. “Yes, I’m fine. Sorry to worry you.”

She nodded reluctantly before leaving me alone at the table. I picked up my fork, determined to eat again for the sake of my baby.

In my heart, I whispered softly, “Don’t worry, baby. If you don’t like it, you can take it out. Your dad isn’t being mean; he’s probably just busy with something important.”

As I forced down a few more bites, I was relieved when my stomach finally settled. A bittersweet smile formed on my lips.

“Thank you for accepting it, little one,” I murmured. “You’re already stronger than me.”

After I finished breakfast, I was still feeling suffocated with everything that had happened in the morning.

So, I decided to retreat to the garden house—a sanctuary I had lovingly nurtured within the villa grounds.

It was the one place where I could breathe, a place where the chaos of my life seemed to fade away.

The garden was my escape. Among the neatly arranged rows of roses, jasmines, daisies, and other flowers, I found solace.

Each bloom carried a piece of my heart, cared for with the kind of love and tenderness I could not express elsewhere.

I had always wanted to take care of a cat or a dog, but Lewis was allergic to fur, so I poured my affection into the plants instead. They became my companions, my silent children.

By the afternoon, the maid arrived with tea and biscuits, her gentle smile breaking through the quiet.

“This garden is very beautiful, just like the one who takes care of it,” she said, her voice warm.

I offered a faint smile, cradling the tea in my hands. “Thank you.”

I glanced at the sky and realized it must be nearing noon, the time when Lewis usually took a break from his work at the office.

Hoping he had not forgotten, I turned to the maid and asked, “Did anyone call home, or did Lewis’ driver come to pick me up?”

The maid hesitated, her expression uncertain. “No, ma’am. Nothing happened before I came to the garden house to bring you tea.”

My heart sank a little, but I forced a small smile. “Oh, maybe Lewis is still busy. Could you pass me my mobile?”

The maid nodded and quickly fetched my phone from the table, handing it to me.

‘Let’s just ask the assistant to make sure,’ I thought, scrolling through my contacts to find Lewis’ assistant’s number.

When the call connected, I didn’t waste any time. “Sorry to bother you, but could I know what time Lewis will be free? We have a gynecologist appointment today.”

There was a pause on the other end, followed by the assistant’s hesitant response. “I’m sorry, Madam, but Mr. Clifton has been free since earlier. He instructed me to clear his schedule because… he needed to pick someone up at the airport.”

My grip on the phone tightened, and my heart dropped. “What did you say?”