Too Late For Regret: My Ex-Husband's Downfall

The next morning, a courier delivered a thick manila envelope. The divorce agreement. Colette signed her copies and put Edwardo's in her purse. She drove herself to the hospital.

She went to his office first. His secretary, Pat Jennings, a woman who had always been kind to her, smiled warmly.

"He's not here, Mrs. Lucas. He's up in the VIP wing. Visiting his sister-in-law." Pat lowered her voice. "He's been so devoted. Since she was admitted yesterday, he's spent almost all his free time with her."

"I'm sure he does," Colette said, her voice tight.

She took the elevator to the VIP wing. As she stepped into the corridor, she saw her mother, Marion Bentley, pacing anxiously outside a room.

"Colette!" Marion cried, rushing toward her and grabbing her arm. "Thank God you're here! It's Cleo... she's taken a turn for the worse!"

Colette looked at her mother's overwrought performance and felt nothing.

Marion dragged her toward the room. "The doctors suspect acute hemolysis," Marion said, her voice rising with manufactured panic. "Her platelet count is dropping fast. They need a directed transfusion from a relative to stabilize her while they run more tests, and the matched blood from the bank hasn't arrived yet!"

Inside the room, Cleo was lying in bed, looking pale and fragile. But when she saw Colette, a flicker of triumphant malice lit her eyes. Edwardo was standing by the bed, his expression a mask of grave concern.

"Colette, you and Cleo have the same blood type," Marion pleaded, her grip on Colette's arm tightening. "You're a perfect match. You have to give her a directed donation. You're the only one who can save her!"

Colette pulled her arm free. "A matched blood delay? At New York-Presbyterian? One of the best-supplied hospitals in the country? That's a new one, Mom."

Marion's face flushed. "I don't care! She is your sister! You will help her!"

Colette turned her gaze to Edwardo. His eyes darted away for a second. He knew her health wasn't perfect. He knew she shouldn't be donating blood.

But then Cleo let out a soft, pathetic moan, and Edwardo's resolve hardened.

He cleared his throat, adopting his authoritative doctor's tone. "Colette, a directed donation is the fastest and safest option. Cleo's condition is critical. We can't afford to wait."

He took a step toward her, his voice softening into a manipulative caress. "I know you've been under stress lately, but this is a matter of life and death. Don't be selfish."

She looked at the three of them. Her mother. Her sister. Her husband. The three people who were supposed to love her most. All of them, demanding a piece of her. Demanding her very blood for the woman who had ruined her life.

A laugh escaped her lips. It was a raw, humorless sound.

"No," she said. The word was quiet, but it echoed in the silent room.

"How can you be so heartless?" Marion shrieked.

Edwardo's face darkened with anger. "Colette, stop this nonsense. This is about Cleo's health."

"Is it?" she shot back, her voice like ice. "I would think that as my husband, you'd be more concerned with my health."

She held up the manila envelope. "I didn't come here to play nurse. I came here on business."

"Whatever it is, it can wait," he snapped, his patience gone. "Cleo is what's important right now." He turned to a nurse in the doorway. "Prep for a directed transfusion."

That was it. The final confirmation. In his world, she would always come last.

She turned and walked out of the room.

"Colette Bentley!" he yelled, following her into the hall and grabbing her arm to stop her. His face was contorted with rage. "What the hell has gotten into you today?"