Divorcing My Unfaithful Billionaire Husband

Athena’s P.O.V

Red…

That seemed to be the most prominent color in my life at the moment. Yesterday, it spilled down my thighs, painting my skin in a horrifying crimson river that stole my future.

Today, it bloomed vibrantly in a dozen roses sitting arrogantly on the tiny side table, the only color in the otherwise chrome room. My hands pressed over my swollen stomach and tears welled in my eyes, blurring the edges of the crimson petals.

Were they the same shade? I wondered. The roses and the life I bled out alone… at the bottom of the stairs. Guess I’d probably never know. I wasn’t sure if I’d tripped or if the world had just decided to tilt beneath my feet. One moment, I was leaving our bedroom, heading downstairs to the kitchen to get water, and also calling my husband to remind him about our anniversary dinner tomorrow. I knew he’d likely forgotten while hyper-focusing on his billion-dollar deals and mistresses.

The next, I was sprawled at the bottom of the grand staircase, my flimsy nightgown barely protecting my skin from the cold I couldn’t even feel. I screamed, but it died in the vastness of our fucking house. Even if my voice could escape our house, there were no neighbors to hear. The fucking secluded mansion in the woods. It was a decision I had always hated, moving us into this mansion last year.

‘I love the privacy and it’s the space you’ve always wanted away from my family’ he had said.

Well, it cost us our baby.

A choked sob escaped me as my brain trapped me in the past.

One wrong step. That was the only explanation the cops could offer. They said the cameras in our mansion confirmed only that I’d fallen. They said the pressure I’d felt against my back, shoving me forward was all my imagination. I was stressed, they said–all my imagination.

But the fucking impact when I landed on the floor wasn’t a fantasy. The world dissolved into a white-hot spark of agony and crimson bloomed where white had been…the floor…my gown…my skin…red… I fucking hate that color so much. It stole everything from me!

“Please,” I rasped, the word tearing at my raw throat as I lay immobile, bleeding, pregnant with a broken ankle. “Please, I would give my life to Christ if you save her. Please God, not the baby. You can take anything but not my baby.”

I screamed like one who had lost her mind. “Help me! Help! Help!” But the echoes of my own voice mocked me, told me how vain and useless I was.

Then came the weakness, my eyes drifting close, my body threatening to shut down from the blood loss. I knew I would die right there on this floor if I didn’t help myself.

So I did. Tears poured down my eyes as I dragged red strokes across the white tiles, finally reaching the front door where the intruder alarm button mocked me. Teeth gritted, I leaned up as far as my fingers would reach and slammed it into the red button.

Sirens wailed not quite long after and everything went dark. When I regained consciousness, I screamed for the doctors, yelling for my baby. And the fragile hope that had kept me sane was yanked from me. The doctor’s words echoed in my brain–I’m so sorry, Mrs. Havilliard, but we weren’t able to save the baby. I’m so sorry.”

“No…doctor…this can’t be true. Please do something. Check again…I swear my baby’s fine…” I held onto his arms, shaking my head as tears flew down my cheeks. But his answering sad nod fell my arms to my side. God! My baby. Gone. It did nothing. It was innocent.

A shout down the hallway snapped me out of my reverie and my eyes blinked, taking in the hospital room and then tracked down to my wrist where an I.V was hooked and then to the card held between my fingers

–Happy Anniversary, my love. Rest well and return home soon.

Those were the only words scribbled on the card. A bitter chuckle escaped my lips. He didn’t even know. He thought I was in the hospital for some elaborate bed rest. He didn’t know I’d lost our baby. I could bet my right arm he wasn’t even the one who picked out the flowers. My favorite flowers were tulips and he knew this. He must have sent his assistant or something.

Tears streamed down my face, hot and angry as I ripped the card into tiny pieces. I dragged my knees up to my chest and hugged myself tight as the tears burned a hot track on my cheeks. Why? Why did this have to happen to me? Why didn’t my husband care?

When my eyes grew too brittle for tears, I unfurled and sat up on the hospital bed. With trembling hands, I picked up my cell phone and dialed the number he worshiped more than anything, his office line.

After a few rings, the call went through and I didn’t wait for the voice on the other end to speak before I whispered. “I want a divorce, Rhys.”

“Oh my god.” his secretary’s voice gasped and I could hear a few whispers as she probably placed her hand over the mouthpiece. “Sir…your wife…yes…divorce…”

When the voice returned, it was my husband’s and he said. “As you wish.”