The Wife He Chose to Erase

The memorial service for my child was only halfway through when my husband, business tycoon Brett Prescott, rushed off to be with his chief of staff, Sienna Shaw.

I stood alone in the memorial garden I’d built for our baby, crying before the small headstone. Meanwhile, he was on the phone, explaining that Sienna had fumbled a major project and was having a breakdown. He had to go to her.

I played my last card, threatening that if he walked out, we were finished. He just hung up.

The betrayals didn't stop. After a cocktail party, Sienna "accidentally" noticed a tattoo on Brett's arm—a design symbolizing our family of three. When she suggested it made her feel "excluded," he casually told me he was having it changed to a "more professional company logo."

When Sienna proposed demolishing my memorial garden to build a tennis court for a client, Brett sided with her, urging me not to be so emotional.

That day, a bulldozer crushed the headstone engraved with my child's name. As I knelt in the mud, trying to gather the broken fragments, my husband finally arrived. He just stared at me, filthy and weeping, then frowned and instinctively tugged at the hem of his expensive suit.

He gazed down at my grief-stricken, mud-caked form and said coolly, "It is what it is, Juliana. Time to move on."

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1

I packed the fragments of the headstone into a box, drove to my lawyer's office, and blocked Brett on everything.

Throughout the drive, Brett's apology email replayed in my mind. He claimed he’d had to miss the memorial because of an impromptu international video conference.

But I knew damn well the "conference hall" he mentioned was Sienna's private apartment.

It was only in that moment that I truly understood. It wasn’t that Brett was forgetful; it was that he didn’t care about anything that involved me.

After so many years together, I knew Brett’s memory for personal matters was appalling. He forgot my birthdays, our anniversaries, and even needed his secretary to remind him of my due date when I was pregnant.

But when it came to Sienna, his memory was suddenly flawless. He could recall the deadline for every project she managed, her coffee preference, and even the name of her yapping little dog.

Only now did I see the truth behind his "selective memory."

Halfway through the service, Brett's personal phone had rung. He answered, his brow furrowed. "What? The contract was canceled?"

I watched the color drain from his face. "Sienna's having a breakdown? Okay, I'm on my way."

After hanging up, he rushed to explain, "Juliana, the big project Sienna's handling just hit a wall. The client is threatening to pull the plug. She's falling apart and needs my support right now."

I stood before our child's headstone, my vision blurred with tears. "Brett, this is our child's memorial."

He straightened his suit. "I know, but Juliana, this is a billion-dollar deal. Sienna can't handle this alone. She needs me."

My mind flooded with all the moments he'd missed. Every prenatal check-up, an "urgent meeting." Our wedding anniversary, a last-minute flight for Sienna's project presentation. The night I miscarried, an all-nighter for one of her "creative ideas."

My voice trembled. "If you walk out that door today, our marriage is over."

Brett shot me an impatient glance. "Juliana, don't be so dramatic. I'll be back as soon as I can."

With that, he strode out of the memorial garden without a second glance.

I completed the farewell ceremony for my child alone. It was a familiar feeling—I had faced every kick and endured every wave of morning sickness alone, too.

From beginning to end, I was the only one who had cherished our child's arrival and mourned their departure.

A quick call to Brett's secretary confirmed my suspicions. His first stop after leaving the memorial was Sienna's luxury apartment on the Upper East Side.

That night, I had Manhattan's top divorce lawyer draft a detailed separation agreement.

When I returned home the next day, I saw Brett walk into the living room with Sienna. She looked exhausted, but a triumphant glow radiated from her.

Sienna's clothes were slightly rumpled, but her eyes glittered with satisfaction. She clung to Brett's arm, staking her claim.

Instead of taking Brett to task for abandoning his own child's memorial, his family praised him for salvaging a major project.

Brett's grandmother, the family matriarch, even turned on me. "Juliana, you're being far too sensitive. Brett is at a critical stage in his career. You should be more supportive, not add to his burdens."

She paused, her tone hardening. "You need to focus on getting healthy and providing another heir for the Prescott family as soon as possible."

I felt their expectant gazes, as if my only purpose was to be a breeding vessel for the next Prescott heir.

"I'm not having any more children." My voice was quiet but firm.

The matriarch's expression froze; she clearly couldn't comprehend such defiance.

Brett hurried over, trying to smooth things over. "Grandma, Juliana is still hurting. Let's give her some time and talk about another baby later."

He turned to me, lowering his voice. "Juliana, you know how much the family wants an heir. We can't let them down."

I pulled the thick legal document from my Hermès handbag and slapped it into his hand.

I looked at his and his entire family's stunned faces and said calmly, "Sign it. If you want an heir, have one with someone else."