Pregnant With Her Mother's Murderer, I Divorced My Wife

Abigail slammed her palm on the table, leaned across, and hissed into my face.

"I said your whole family is vicious. Your mother deserved to be run over!"

Smack!

I struck her across the face with everything I had. The sound cracked through the room.

Stunned, Abigail's head whipped to the side. For a heartbeat she froze, then clawed toward my face.

"Julian, you bastard—how dare you hit me?!"

The commotion woke Jane. She came running on bare feet, eyes wide with panic.

"Mommy, don't hit Daddy!"

Abigail's hand stopped midair. She looked at the child, clenched her jaw, then shoved me to the floor.

"You'll regret this, Julian."

The front door slammed so hard the walls shook.

I held Jane in my arms, my teeth grinding, my chest trembling.

'Regret? No, Abigail. The one who will regret this is you.'

That night, the surveillance footage of my mother-in-law's accident shot up the trending searches.

Her brother stormed into my place with his phone in hand, his whole body quaking with fury.

"Those bastards! My sister died so horribly, and now they twist the story like this? Do they even have a shred of humanity left?"

I poured him water, then took the phone.

Unlike the footage I saw at the police station, the version circulating online is vague, carefully angled to hide the part where my mother-in-law was just tying her shoelaces. The clip slows down, and the added subtitles frame it as if she was preparing to scam someone.

If I hadn’t watched the original surveillance myself, I might have believed it too.

No wonder the comments are full of curses aimed at her.

[They say it’s not that people get bad when they grow old, but that bad people simply grow old.]

[Look at that movement—she's obviously a habitual offender!]

[Probably wanted to squeeze some money for her children before she died. What a noble mother, dying for justice!]

I should have been devastated.

But knowing Abigail was the one orchestrating this—because in her eyes, the victim wasn't her mother, but mine—killed the grief before it could rise.

Her uncle slapped his thigh in outrage, yelling at me.

"Julian, call Abigail right now. Tell her to send a lawyer's letter, sue those swines immediately!"

I couldn't bring myself to tell him that the "swine" he cursed might very well be his own niece.

Before I could lower the phone, the police station called.

"Mr. Mendez, we're following up about your mother-in-law's case. You said you'd discuss with your wife whether to press charges. Have you reached a decision?"

I wanted to tell them to ask Abigail directly.

But before I could speak, her uncle bellowed into the receiver,

"Of course we're pressing charges! Arrest him immediately! How dare he kill my sister and still smear her online?"

"Excuse me, and you are...?"

"I'm the victim's brother. Her only brother. My words are my niece's words too."

He hung up before they could say more, then grabbed my arm.

"Come with me—we're going to Abigail's firm."

At the law office, her assistant jumped nervously in front of us.

"Mr. Shaw, Mr. Mendez—you can't just barge in like this. The president is in a meeting—"

"Meeting my ass!" he snapped, shoving her aside. "Do you even know who I am? I'm her uncle, and this man is her husband. If you've got eyes, use them—or do you not want this job anymore?"

Without waiting for her reply, he shoved the office door wide open.

Inside, Abigail sat leisurely in her leather chair. And bent over her, propped on the armrest, was Dylan—feeding her cookies from his mouth to hers.

Her uncle froze for half a second. Then he lunged, yanked the boy off her, and began beating him.

"You worthless mutt! Seducing a married woman in broad daylight?"

"Ah! Abby, save me!"

The boy cried as he stumbled back, shielding his head, wailing for Abigail's help.