Pregnant With Twins, I Run Away from My Treacherous Husband

My fingers were icy as I clutched the crumpled “voluntary confession” in my hand.

On the TV in the living room, my husband, Simon Alvaro, faced the camera with a look of righteous indignation.

“The company's money was embezzled by Reina. To escape punishment, she slandered Jasmine. Jasmine is my wife—she's carrying my child. I won't allow anyone to hurt her!”

Jasmine was my assistant.

The woman my husband had fallen in love with.

The woman who had stolen my identity as his wife.

I had stood by him for ten years. I even lost the use of my legs saving his life. And now, he had drugged me into signing this confession—just to take the blame for her crime.

What he didn't know my legs had been slowly recovering. And I was pregnant with his child as well.

A sharp-voiced reporter asked, “Mr. Alvaro, is it true that Ms. Reina is your legal wife, and that she was crippled while saving you? And that she's now pregnant?”

“That's total nonsense! She's delusional—that's why she thinks I'm her husband. She never saved me. The only woman I've ever loved, the only wife I have, is Jasmine!”

To prove his devotion, Simon kissed Jasmine in front of the cameras.

That night, faint breaths leaked from the half-closed study door next to our bedroom.

“Simon, I love you so much,” Jasmine's voice trembled with passion.

“Baby, you've been her assistant for ten years, taking care of that cripple—what a waste of you.” His voice was low, hoarse with desire.

“From now on, I'll make it up to you.”

The word cripple stabbed straight into my chest.

My nails dug deep into my palms as I listened.

The man I had loved for a decade, the man who swore to care for me after my accident, was now plotting—while I carried his child—to throw me in prison in place of his mistress.

The grief was so heavy I leaned back involuntarily, my wheelchair slamming against the entryway wall.

Simon's cold, alert voice cut through the air.

“Who's out there?”

I froze in place.

“Oh, who else could it be?” Jasmine laughed lightly.

“Simon, so what if she hears? She's a cripple—she can't do anything. Let's continue.”

Simon hesitated only briefly before sinking back into her arms.

“You're right. She has made you suffer long enough, always needing you to care for her. Letting her take the fall for you is just returning the favor. I've already arranged for a lawyer—she won't be out of prison for at least twenty years.”

His cruelty was a dull knife twisting in my already shredded heart.

Ten years ago, in that car crash... Even after I freed myself from the heavy debris crushing my legs, I crawled to him. He was trapped, barely breathing. I cut through the seatbelt strangling him until my vision went black.

When he woke up, he gripped my hand tightly, his eyes wet with tears.

“Reina, I'll never betray you for as long as I live.”

And for years, I believed him.

Through our marriage, he never mocked my disability. He even quarreled with his mother to defend me.

Once, a reporter caught him entering a hotel with another woman. I cried, confronted him, and he held me all night.

“She's just a business associate. The only woman I love is you.”

Two months ago, I went to the hospital alone and learned I was pregnant. I was overjoyed.

But when I came home—before I could even take out the test results—his secretary, Donald, was waiting in the living room with the confession papers already filled out with my name.

Looking at the paper, my face went pale.

“I don't believe this. Where's Simon? Why isn't he here?”

“Mr. Alvaro said he could've lived peacefully with you, but you shouldn't have hurt the woman he loves...”

And right then, the TV began playing his interview—those damning words.

All because I'd discovered Jasmine had stolen company funds, my husband was willing to destroy me.

I forced my wheelchair forward, shutting out the sound of their voices.

In the living room, the housekeeper was holding a pile of familiar clothes.

“What's going on?” I asked.

She looked embarrassed, and a flicker of pity gleamed in her eyes.

“Ms. Hayes said these clothes are outdated and don't suit her anymore.. so sir told us to throw them out and replace them with new ones.”

I stared at the clothes and handbags in her arms—every piece something I owned.

I rarely went out and cared little for such things, but Simon always insisted, “If others have it, you should too.”

I never doubted his love before.

Following the housekeeper, I entered Jasmine's room.

The moment the door opened, my breath hitched.

This wasn't an assistant's room—it was a queen's suite.

The vanity was piled high with luxury skincare and jewelry. The walk-in closet was stuffed with designer clothes and limited-edition handbags. Everything I had, she had... only better.

And then my eyes froze on the wall above the bed—a massive photo collage.

Every picture was Simon and Jasmine. The dates were all neatly labeled. Dinner dates, overnight stays...

He told me he avoided sleeping beside me so as not to injure my legs. I had been touched by his “consideration.” But it turned out, every night, he was lying in bed with her.

In one photo, he wore the loungewear I'd bought him; in another, Jasmine was draped in a silk nightgown. The way they gazed at each other was intoxicating.

The wall of photos seemed to mock me—mocked my ten years of blind devotion.

And now, he planned to divorce me, to lock me away.

No. For my child's sake, I wouldn't let them win.

I pulled out my phone, my cold fingers scrolling to a number I hadn't dialed in years.

“Brother...”

When the call connected, my throat was so dry I could barely speak. With all the strength I had left, I forced out the words, “I want to come home...”