My Ex-Husband Begged for a Second Chance, But I Refused

Because the family ties had been severed, the elder Swansons forbade her from ever setting foot in the Swanson house again.

Bartholomew had gone out with them to look for Sonia.

Mavis dragged herself up from the floor inch by inch, but a flood of dark red blood seeped from between her thighs.

Her vision went black, and she collapsed completely.

When she woke again, the servants had already carried her to the bed. The family doctor finished examining her and said, with concern,

"Mrs. Henson, you've just suffered a miscarriage. The bleeding hasn't fully passed, and with such violent swings in your emotions, if this keeps up, I'm afraid you'll be left with permanent damage."

Permanent damage?

All these years, she'd been schemed against by Sonia, in the open and behind her back. The wounds on her body were too many to count.

Before she could say a word, the television in front of her blared out the hottest headline of the moment.

"Breaking news: Mavis Swanson, eldest daughter of the Swanson Group, is a fake heiress who has secretly bullied the true heiress, Sonia Swanson, for years."

What followed was a barrage of video "evidence," shot from every angle, of her tormenting Sonia.

There was even official confirmation from Bartholomew and the Swanson parents. Just like that, she had become the wicked woman on everyone's lips.

The family doctor was on fairly good terms with Mavis, and offered kindly,

"Mrs. Henson, would you like me to tell Mr. Henson that you've only just had a miscarriage, so that he'll take better care of you?"

Mavis shook her head. "Thank you for your kindness, but please don't tell him I was pregnant. When the time is right, I'll tell him myself."

The doctor didn't understand, but respected her wishes.

"All right. This is a private matter between you and Mr. Henson, so I won't say a word."

Weak as she was, Mavis slept through the entire afternoon.

When she woke that evening and came downstairs to find something to eat, she happened to see Bartholomew walking in with Sonia.

Sonia pointed at Mavis and said,

"Bartholomew, you said it yourself. My sister has to be my maid for seven days."

Bartholomew noticed how pale Mavis looked, and felt a flicker of reluctance.

Sonia caught the man's hesitation and pretended to be hurt.

"Never mind. If you don't want to, I won't force it. I just don't know how my dear sister will bully me next time."

At that, Bartholomew immediately caved.

"Fine, fine, I promise you. She really was in the wrong this time, and she really does owe you some kind of amends."

The two of them simply made the decision for Mavis, as though she weren't even there.

"Bartholomew," Mavis said, "what gives you the right to decide for me?"

"I did nothing wrong, and there's no way I'm playing Sonia's maid to apologize. Dream on, both of you!"

With that, Mavis turned to leave, only for Bartholomew to seize her arm.

"Mavis, don't be ridiculous. You were a counterfeit heiress to begin with, and now you've hurt Sonia again. What's wrong with being her maid and letting her vent a little?"

Mavis's throat closed up, every word she wanted to say jamming in her mouth.

The day her identity had been exposed, this man had said the one he loved would always be her, no matter who she was.

Now it was clear. All of it had been garbage.

Mavis drew in a deep breath. Perhaps she should end this as quickly as possible.

"You want me to be her maid? Then sign something for me."

Mavis went into the room, took out the divorce agreement, flipped straight to the last page, and held out a pen.

Bartholomew didn't flip through it. He cared about only one thing. "Once I sign this agreement, you'll agree to be Sonia's maid?"

Mavis answered without a shred of hesitation. "Yes."

Sonia tugged at the corner of Bartholomew's shirt, wheedling,

"Bartholomew, hurry and sign it."

Bartholomew didn't hesitate. He didn't even read a single line. He simply signed his name.

Watching the man's signature land on the page, Mavis's throat went dry and raw.

Once, to marry him, she had stolen the family's household registration book, and Bartholomew had clawed his way up through years of grueling struggle.

And now, divorcing was this effortless.

Mavis took the divorce agreement and turned to go.

But at that very moment, the pregnancy test slip from before slipped free and fell, and Bartholomew, a step quicker than she was, saw what was written on it.

His expression turned grave in an instant.

"Mavis, you were pregnant?"