My Sober Divorce Will Be His Lifetime Hangover

Rianne’s POV

Each tug of the bandage sent a jolt of pain through me, making my whole body tremble.

Beside me, the two nurses were chatting casually.

“Did you hear? In the VIP suite upstairs, Mr. Morrison is absolutely spoiling the patient. She just said it hurt, and he had someone bring in this year’s entire luxury collection for her to pick from!”

“I know, right? He goes with her to every prenatal check-up, personally. And when she gets injections, I swear, he looks like he’s in pain himself. He must really love her.”

As I listened, I glanced down at the countless wounds covering my body. I couldn’t help but let out a soft, bitter laugh at myself.

‘So this is the difference between being cared for… and not,’ I thought to myself. ‘But it doesn’t matter anymore. I don’t want him.’

The hospital was crowded, and by the time I got home, it was already late at night.

I opened the door—and there she was. Luella. Sitting comfortably on the couch I had chosen myself.

She jumped up the moment she saw me.

“Rianne! You’re back! Nigel’s in the kitchen making chicken and collard green soup for me. Want a bowl too?”

Before I could even respond, Nigel appeared in a hurry.

“Rianne, the doctor said she’s been having some antenatal depression and hasn’t been sleeping well. I thought it’d be best to bring her here for a few days,” he explained.”

He even hurriedly promised, “I promise, once her due date gets closer, I’ll take her somewhere else. You—”

I cut him off by pulling a blank divorce agreement from my bag.

“I don’t really mind,” I said, “but you need to sign this first.”

He froze. Just as he was about to look at it, Luella called out sweetly from the living room.

“Nigel, the baby’s hungry! Is the soup ready yet?”

Without hesitation, he signed his name and turned back toward the kitchen.

I stood there, watching the man whose hands I’d always protected now awkwardly stirring a pot on the stove.

Seven years of marriage. And this was the first time he’d ever cooked.

“Rianne,” Luella said, her voice dripping with pride, “aren’t you jealous? Nigel said he’s going to take care of me and the baby from now on.”

I turned and met her gaze—bitchy and full of challenge.

All I felt was disgust.

The home that Nigel once said belonged to just the two of us… had changed beyond recognition.

I walked upstairs, eager to pack and leave as quickly as possible.

But when I got to the door, I found all my belongings shoved into a messy pile outside.

Even our wedding photo had been torn to pieces and thrown in the trash.

“Nigel said I could choose any room,” Luella said as she followed me upstairs. “This one’s big, so I picked it. He said the extra stuff could be thrown out.”

She looked pleased with herself as she added, “Oh… was this your and Nigel’s bedroom? I didn’t know. I’m so sorry. I can move my things if you want…”

A year ago, I might’ve argued, screamed, and confronted them.

But now—I was leaving. Whoever lived here, whatever happened in this villa… it had nothing to do with me anymore.

“You don’t have to,” I said calmly. “This room suits you.”

Then, right in front of her, I tossed everything else into the trash.

I was about to step into the room and take my mother’s photo with me.

But when I opened the drawer… it was empty!

In a panic, I dropped to my knees and began searching through the mess.

Then I felt a presence beside me.

I looked up. Luella stood over me, holding a familiar frame in her hand.

“Looking for this?” she asked.

I stood up, but before I could reach her, she let it go, letting the frame crash to the floor and shatter.

“Oh no—sorry! My hand slipped! Honestly, that thing gave me the creeps. I was worried it might be bad for the baby, so I told Nigel… and he said I could throw it out. Anyway, Rianne, who’s this dead person in the photo? Someone you knew?”

I looked up at her fake-innocent expression, and something in me snapped.

I raised my hand to slap that bitch across the face.