My Husband Abandoned Me to Save His Childhood Friend's Do

The warm, radiant little sun in my life had turned into a cold, pale moon.

I didn’t know how long I sat there crying—until my tears ran dry. That’s when a notification lit up my phone screen.

It was a public post from Leanna.

The photo showed two people kissing tenderly, their fingers interlocked.

The caption read. [Congratulations, Dr. D, for passing my final test! I’ve always been your first choice, again and again. Even without a title, I’m willing to grow old with you.]

My gaze fell on the wedding ring in the photo—one I knew all too well. It stabbed into my chest like a blade.

But none of it mattered anymore.

The children I loved most were gone forever.

'Franco... I don’t want you anymore.'

—

When I woke the next morning, a bowl of hot porridge sat on my nightstand.

A string of messages from Franco lit up my phone.

[Mara, something urgent came up. I’m going on a short business trip. I left you breakfast and hired a top-tier maternity nurse and a care worker to look after you.]

[By the way, the maternity ward is really short on beds. Since you had a natural birth, don’t take up the hospital bed any longer. As my family member, you should understand—it reflects badly on me. Please check yourself out.]

[Be good. I’ll bring back gifts for you and the babies.]

I stared at the high-end maternity nurse standing in the doorway and felt a bitter laugh rise in my throat.

Sure enough, the next thing I saw on my phone was another show-off post from Leanna.

[Feel better soon, my little pups! Daddy even took two whole days off to care for you~ You’re so lucky to have a daddy who loves you this much!]

The photo was of Franco, crouching patiently as he bottle-fed a puppy.

My nails dug deep into my palms. My heart grew heavy.

I dismissed the nurse.

Despite the doctor strongly advising I stay hospitalized for at least a month, I refused.

I had a funeral to prepare—for three children.

—

Three days later, I dragged my weakened body to the funeral home.

When I came out, I was holding three still-warm urns—the last warmth they would ever give me.

“Let’s go home, my babies.”

Back at the house, I placed the three white porcelain urns neatly on the coffee table. Beside them lay a divorce agreement.

The house was eerily silent. I glanced at the photo wall in a daze.

A new picture had been added just a month ago: a family portrait taken on Alec’s seventh birthday. The three of us were smiling, frozen in time.

Now, my tears splashed heavily onto the urns.

I sent Franco a text. [Let’s get a divorce.]

It took him a while to reply.

[Don’t be dramatic. I’m away on business. We’ll talk when I’m back.]

Then he sent a photo—three tiny gold lock pendants.

[Mara, look! Aren’t these cute? I picked them for the kids. I got one for you too. It’ll be a surprise!]

The kids?

Coming from his mouth, that word was pure mockery.

All three of our children were dead—because of him.

And now he had the nerve to act like some doting father?

I stared closer at the gold pendants, and rage surged through me like a tidal wave.

Those exact pendants had been on the necks of Leanna’s puppies just yesterday.

Eight puppies. One gold lock each.

So even this shallow gesture of “love for the children” had been repurposed—from her dogs?

Tears blurred my vision.

I took one last look around the house that had held ten years of my marriage. Then I picked up the urns, turned my back, and closed the door behind me without hesitation.

Half an hour later, I parked outside Leanna’s apartment complex.

There they were—Franco and Leanna—pushing a stroller, walking their dogs, basking in the sunshine like the perfect couple.

A security guard chuckled as they passed.

“Wow, you two really spoil your pets. That bottle you’re using to feed the dogs—I didn’t even buy one that expensive for my daughter. Costs more than a month’s salary!”