My Ex-Husband's Biggest Regret

Vivian's pov

"Vivian, talk to me," Olivia urged, her voice cutting through the low hum of jazz from the speakers. "You can't just sit here drowning it all. What exactly did he say?"

I laughed, but it came out as a broken sob. My chestnut-brown hair fell across my face, sticking to the tear tracks on my porcelain skin. "He said I was useful, Liv. Useful for the cameras. That Vanessa gives him passion. An heir which i couldn’t”.

"I'll handle the divorce papers myself. But tonight? You're not going back there." She declared, no room for argument

I nodded numbly, the world tilting slightly as I stood. Olivia wrapped an arm around my waist, guiding me out into the cool New York night. The city lights blurred past as her driver took us to her apartment in a quieter part of Manhattan, far from the glittering penthouse that had once been my home.

Olivia's place was a sanctuary of soft throws and bookshelves overflowing with legal tomes. She helped me out of the ruined gown, sliding one of her oversized t-shirts over my head. It smelled of lavender detergent, a stark contrast to the lingering scent of Ryan's cologne that still clung to my skin. I collapsed onto the guest bed, the mattress dipping under my weight. My body felt heavy with exhaustion and betrayal.

But sleep didn't come easily. I lay there in the darkness, staring at the faint glow of city light filtering through the curtains.

My hand drifted to my stomach, flat and empty, the secret appointments I'd hidden flashing through my mind,doctor visits, hormone treatments, the quiet hope I'd nurtured alone while supporting him.

How had I failed? The question looped endlessly, guilt twisting like a vine around my heart.

Tears soaked the pillow as memories flooded in.

Our honeymoon in Paris, where we'd bought those matching silk pajamas, laughing over croissants at dawn.

Had any of it been real?

Or just a performance for him ?

Hours blurred.

I tossed and turned, the sheets tangling around my legs like restraints.

Olivia suddenly checked on me, pressing a glass of water into my hands and murmuring reassurances.

"You're stronger than this, Viv. Tomorrow , go pack. Then I would deal with the rest" Her words anchored me, a lifeline in the storm.

Eventually, exhaustion won.

My eyes grew heavy, then I suddenly drifted off.

I woke once, gasping, my heart pounding as if I'd run miles. The clock on the nightstand read 3:47 AM.

I showered in Olivia's bathroom, the hot water scalding my skin as if to wash away the night's filth. My reflection in the steamed mirror showed swollen eyes, disheveled chestnut hair, and a porcelain face etched with new lines of determination. I borrowed jeans and a simple blouse from Olivia, tying my hair back practically.

Olivia was already up, coffee brewing. She handed me a mug, her auburn hair pulled into a messy bun.

"Are you sure about going back there today? I can send someone."

I shook my head, sipping the bitter brew. It grounded me. "I need to do this myself. And I won't leave my research notes or Dad's documents behind."

Olivia hugged me tightly as I walked to her door.

"Call me the second anything happens," she said. "The papers will be ready by afternoon."

The cab ride back to the penthouse felt eternal. New York traffic hummed indifferently as skyscrapers loomed.

The elevator ascended smoothly, mirroring the one that had carried me down to hell the night before. The air smelled faintly of whiskey and sex, a nauseating reminder. I padded inside, heart hammering, and headed straight for the bedroom.

The door creaked open. Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows. My hands moved mechanically at first, opening the walk-in closet. I pulled out the suitcase, unzipping it with a sharp rip. Clothes flew in: blouses folded with precision, skirts stacked neatly. Each item carried weight.

The cashmere sweater Ryan had gifted me for our first anniversary,soft, expensive, now just fabric.

I folded it anyway, muscles tensing.

Hanging prominently were the matching pajamas from Paris.

Pale blue silk, embroidered with tiny stars. I ran my fingers over them, remembering his laugh as he'd chased me around the hotel suite.

"For our future nights," he'd whispered. A knife twist in my gut.

I stuffed them in fast , not gently.

On the dresser sat the small angel figurine from Italy. Its wings caught the light, innocent and mocking.

I picked it up, the cool porcelain smooth in my palm. We'd argued playfully over its placement, him insisting it belonged in the bedroom . Tears pricked again, but I placed it carefully into the suitcase's side pocket. Not for sentiment,for the memory of who I was before him.

Wall photos stared down: us at the beach, my head thrown back in laughter, his arm possessive around my waist, lips on my temple. The sunset had painted us golden. I didn't touch them. Let him keep the lies.

My breathing grew shallow as I moved to the dresser drawers. Personal belongings next,jewelry box, notebooks, the small stash of research printouts I'd kept here for late nights. My wedding ring caught the light as I opened the top drawer, the diamond glinting coldly. I left it there, a discarded symbol. Then, beneath some scarves, the marriage certificate.

With trembling hands, I picked it up. The paper was crisp, edges slightly worn from the one time I'd shown it to my father. Flipping to the first page revealed two young, radiant faces. My smile was bright, emerald eyes alight with hope. Ryan's blue eyes shone with what I'd thought was pure joy. To become the first couple to receive their marriage certificate that day, we'd woken at four in the morning, queuing in the chilly dawn, sipping coffee from a thermos I'd packed. He'd kissed me under the courthouse lights, promising forever.

I clutched the paper, knuckles whitening, tears threatening to spill once more. The weight of three years pressed down,late nights waiting with warm dinners, sidelined career, family dinners enduring Margaret's judgments and Edward's calculations. My resilient spirit stirred, pushing back the sorrow. This ends today.

The sound of footsteps on the stairs snapped me alert.

My heart stopped. Earlier, I'd heard the garage door rumble open faintly as I'd entered, but in my focus, I'd ignored it. Someone was here.

Before I could react, Vanessa appeared in the doorway. Her platinum-blonde hair was tousled from sleep, her curvy figure barely covered by one of Ryan's oversized shirts. It hung off one shoulder, exposing skin still marked faintly from last night. She leaned against the frame with a smug, predatory smile, one hand resting possessively on her still-flat stomach.

“Well, well. Look who came crawling back,” she sneered, blue eyes glittering with malice. “Couldn’t even last one night without him, huh? Pathetic. No wonder Ryan needed a real woman. You couldn’t even give him a child. Useless. A barren little wife who couldn’t keep her husband satisfied.”

Her words sliced deep. I bit my lip hard, the metallic taste of blood filling my mouth. Pain grounded me. I refused to break in front of her. My voice came out steady, though my hands shook slightly as I zipped a compartment. “Get out of my way, Vanessa. I’m leaving. I'mnot doing this with you.”

She laughed, a cold, crystalline sound that echoed off the walls. Stepping closer, her bare feet padding on the carpet, she invaded my space. The scent of her perfume,something floral and cloying,mixed with Ryan's. “Leaving? With what? Ryan owns everything here. You’re nothing without him. A washed-up scientist who couldn’t even produce an heir. I’m carrying the Lancaster legacy, and you? You’re just a placeholder I’m replacing.”

My chest tightened, but I kept packing, shoving a stack of notebooks in. The actions kept me focused,fold, place, zip. Don't engage fully. But she wasn't done.

Suddenly, Vanessa grabbed my arm aggressively, her long nails digging into my skin through the blouse. She yanked me forward with surprising strength, her face inches from mine. “You think you can just walk away? After everything? You…”

The sound of the front door opening cut her off. Sharp heels clicked on marble. Ryan's mother, Margaret Lancaster, walked in, elegant and commanding in her tailored cream suit, silver-blonde hair perfectly coiffed, sharp blue eyes scanning the scene like a queen entering her court.

“What is going on here?” Margaret demanded, her voice laced with authority and irritation.

In that instant, Vanessa released me with a theatrical gasp and dramatically fell backward onto the floor, clutching her stomach. Her cry of pain was pitch-perfect, fake sobs wracking her body.

“She pushed me! That vicious bitch pushed me! She tried to hurt my baby,your grandchild!”

I stood frozen in shock, arm throbbing where her nails had left crescents. “I didn’t..I…I didn't even touch her!”

Margaret’s face twisted with fury as she rushed to Vanessa’s side, kneeling in her cream suit without hesitation, helping her up with surprising gentleness.

“How dare you, Vivian! Trying to kill an innocent child because you couldn’t bear one yourself? You useless, barren woman! After everything my son has done for you and your pathetic father’s medical bills. You should be grateful we even let you stay this long.”

The insults landed like physical blows, each one reopening scars. My eyes burned with humiliated tears, but I held my ground, chest heaving with controlled breaths. The suitcase handle dug into my palm as I gripped it tighter. “This is a lie. She grabbed me. She’s manipulating..”

The door suddenly swang opened and Ryan suddenly walked in on the scene, his athletic frame filling the doorway.