The Divorce is Ready, My Ex-Husband

“I’m agreeing to your marriage offer now,” I said into the phone, my voice barely steady. “Just… hurry up and pick me.”

There was a pause. Then a deep, confused voice replied on the other end, “You’re agreeing now? After rejecting it before? What about Clinton?”

“I’m divorcing him,” I said firmly. “So if you still want to marry me, come pick me up after one week.”

I hung up before I could hear his response.

My hand trembled slightly as I lowered the phone. I sighed, not from relief—but from exhaustion. My body ached in places I couldn’t name, and my heart felt like it had been stitched together with pins and broken promises.

A soft knock at the door snapped me out of my thoughts. A nurse entered, offering me a gentle smile.

“You’re ready to be discharged, Miss Moore. Here’s the last scan from your check-up,” she said, placing a printed image into my hand.

It was the ultrasound of my baby—my last photo with the little soul I never got to meet.

I stared at the black-and-white image. Seven months. I was seven months pregnant when the accident happened. When I lost everything.

And it was Alynna’s fault. My half-sister. We were on our way home. She insisted on driving, even though she was clearly drunk. I told her to pull over. She didn’t listen. Then the headlights came out of nowhere.

Crash. Screams. Blood. Shattered glass.

When I woke up in the hospital, the baby was already gone.

But the worst part? Alynna lied. She told everyone I had been the one driving. That I was the one drunk. That the crash was my fault.

She pinned it all on me. My father didn’t even ask for my side of the story. He stormed into the hospital two days after the crash—red-faced, livid, and full of disgust.

“You’ve humiliated this family again,” he spat. “Your half-sister is injured because of you. Haven’t you done enough damage already?”

Not once did he ask how I was doing. Not once did he mention the baby. Not once did he look at me and see his daughter.

But then again, he never really did. He never loved me. Not even as a child. I was the reminder of everything he hated—of the woman he once married and lost.

He blamed me for my mother’s death. She died in a car accident too, trying to rush home from work when I had a fever. I was only eight, but he never forgave me, even after he married Alynna’s mother who was actually his mistress.

“She wouldn’t have died if it weren’t for you,” he had said once, in one of his quieter fits of anger. “You cursed everything you touched.”

No one stood by me. Not one soul came to ask how I was doing. Not after the miscarriage. Not after the surgery. Not even after I begged someone to call Clinton. But unfortunately, he was busy treating Alynna who was faking her injury.

It was in that silence I knew. I had to leave before they completely ruined me.

I grabbed my small duffel bag, filled with folded clothes and pills I could barely pronounce, and made my way down the hallway of the hospital.

But fate wasn’t finished with me yet. I heard it before I saw them—familiar voices just around the corner.

Alynna and Clinton.

I froze, pressing myself against the wall, heart pounding.

“What about Chloe?” Alynna said, her tone cautious. “She’s going to lose it once she finds out I’m pregnant.”

My breath caught.

“And why would she get mad?” Clinton replied, not even bothering to lower his voice. “Our baby died because of her. It was her fault you got into that accident and got hurt. He should be thankful that you’re giving me an heir.”

My mouth fell open. I gripped the ultrasound picture in my hand tighter, my nails cutting into the paper.

“Thankfully our baby is safe,” he continued. “And it’s not like I ever loved her.”

“She’s still your wife,” Alynna said, voice laced with something almost mocking. “If you don’t love her, why not just leave?”

“You know I can’t do that yet,” Clinton muttered. “My grandfather hates divorce, and he adores Chloe for some reason. Still don’t know why. Marrying her was a mistake from the beginning. But don’t worry…”

I leaned closer, nausea rising in my throat.

“…at my grandfather’s birthday party next week, I’ll slip something in her drink. Set her up with someone. Then my grandfather will have to believe she was cheating, and I’ll be rid of her for good.”

Laughter followed. Their laughter.

And then Clinton added, “Doctor said you’re already three months, right?”

“Three months,” Alynna confirmed, giggling. “Our little heir.”

I didn’t wait to hear more. I turned, walked down the hall with every ounce of dignity I had left, and stepped into the first cab I could find.

Tears blurred my vision, but I didn’t let them fall. Not yet.

I reached into my bag, pulled out my phone, and dialed a number I’d been avoiding for weeks.

“This is Chloe Rose Moore,” I said when the line picked up.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“I want to file for divorce,” I said. “Immediately.”