My Future Self Warned Me Don't Divorce Him, He Dies Firs

The day my husband drove me to my prenatal checkup, I found a condom wrapper tucked under the passenger seat.

Second pregnancy, and I'd caught him cheating again. I broke down, hemorrhaging like the first time.

Only this time, Jude Gilbert didn't flinch. He just dropped the divorce papers in front of me.

"Divorce or stay married. That's on you."

"I'm not the broke kid I used to be. You can't expect me to spend my whole life on one woman."

I looked at my own reflection, pale and worn out, and picked up the pen with a shaking hand. Just as I was about to sign, my phone rang.

The woman on the video had my face exactly, but she was flushed and glowing, dripping wealth.

The first words out of her mouth were, "Alma James. I'm you, ten years from now."

I stared at how poised and put-together she looked and asked, "If I have it that good later, is it because I divorced him?"

Her face changed instantly, and she snapped at me,

"Divorce, my foot! Put that pen down!"

"Hold on one more month. Jude's going to throw a secret wedding banquet with that woman, and at the table he'll accidentally drink the counterfeit liquor his mistress bought. The scumbag drops dead on the spot, the mistress rots in prison. And you walk away sitting on a fortune, plus a million in compensation!"

"The one thing you should be doing right now is not divorcing him. It's rushing out to buy an accident policy on our dear dead husband!!"

I was quiet for a few seconds. Then I raised my hand and tore the papers to shreds.

When Jude came back and saw the floor littered with scraps, he let out a cold laugh.

"What, weren't you the one who had a problem with me seeing someone?"

I smiled, gentle and soft.

"I didn't understand things before. Men are men. As long as he still comes home in the end, that's enough for me."

"..."

The sneer on Jude's face froze for a second, like he hadn't expected me to suddenly turn so agreeable.

He watched me for a long time, and the contempt in his eyes slid into wariness.

"Alma, quit playing the good little wife."

"Let me spell it out for you. Bridget Fox's pregnant."

My fingers stilled a little.

He'd finally hit the sore spot, and the corner of his mouth curled up at once.

"Three years ago you forced her to get rid of it once. This time, I will never let you touch the baby in her belly."

I froze where I stood, and almost without thinking, my hand went to my own stomach.

Bridget's baby wasn't the one I'd killed.

But my baby—she and Jude had killed that one together.

The first time I was pregnant, I came home so happy, holding the test results.

The moment I opened the door, what I saw was my husband and his newly hired secretary tangled up in my bed.

Back then Jude wasn't like this, wearing that couldn't-care-less face.

He was terrified. He didn't even bother with his clothes, dropped to his knees in front of me, clutching the hem of my dress for dear life, swearing on everything, crying that he'd been wrong, begging me not to leave.

I hemorrhaged and passed out.

While I was unconscious, he took Bridget straight to the hospital for an abortion and had her driven out of Harbor City.

When I woke up, what I saw was my poor baby, not even fully formed.

And that lump of flesh in Bridget's belly.

Now he was taking the very thing he'd done to prove his loyalty and pinning it on me.

I tugged at the corner of my mouth and said calmly,

"Fine. Then let her have it."

His expression locked up completely.

I pressed on.

"What? Or do you want me to nurse her through the month after she gives birth too?"

Jude's brow twitched hard, and there was anger in his voice when he asked,

"If you're so generous, why not let her move in and rest here through the pregnancy?"

I gave him a considerate little smile.

"If that's what you want, of course. It's your home, after all. I can't stop you."