My Ex-Husband's Regret

"Bad luck, be gone. Good things, come my way."

I liked the motivational post without much thought, but the next second, my boss's latest update popped up on my feed.

It was a photo-a seemingly innocent snapshot. In it, a young woman was sound asleep, looking utterly unguarded and ridiculous. Landon Stephens, our esteemed CEO, was smiling down at her with an almost indulgent fondness.

The more I stared at the image, the more my stomach sank. That woman... wasn't that me? From a few nights ago, after I'd had too much to drink?

1

The day I discovered Connor Curtis was cheating on me, he slapped me across the face.

"Always looking for drama, aren't you? What's the big deal? Men have business dinners; it's perfectly normal," he sneered. "Lucia is my boss! What I'm doing could practically be called 'sacrificing for the greater good'."

I was so angry that my chest tightened, leaving me gasping for air. I'd always had a tendency to hyperventilate when overwhelmed, and this time was no exception.

Meanwhile, Connor lounged on the sofa, one leg crossed over the other, lighting a cigarette as if my fury were nothing more than background noise.

"If you were smart," he continued, exhaling a puff of smoke, "you'd turn a blind eye. Let's not ruin what little dignity we've got left, huh? Do you think it's easy for a man to earn money and support a family? A lot of women would just look the other way."

The smug look on his face-tinged with mockery-made me feel physically sick. I stumbled backward, retching.

He raised an eyebrow. "What's this? You're not pregnant, are you? Speaking of which, I've been meaning to ask-how do you plan to manage if we have a kid? Expenses are only going to go up. Without me, you'd be helpless."

Having finished his cigarette, he shoved past me without waiting for a response and disappeared into the bathroom.

I collapsed onto the floor, my mind a chaotic mess.

2

Connor and I had been college sweethearts-the kind of couple everyone envied.

Back then, he was the epitome of dedication, whether it was his studies or his relationship with me. He remembered every little anniversary and kept track of all my quirks and preferences.

I used to marvel at how lucky I was to have found someone like him.

After graduation, we tied the knot almost immediately.

The early days of our marriage were blissful and simple. With help from both sets of parents, we managed to buy a cozy two-bedroom apartment, and I threw myself into decorating it, turning it into our little haven.

At first, we worked together.

We shared the same field-pharmaceutical research-and even held similar roles in the same company.

Six months ago, though, I quit my job to focus on starting a family. Both sets of parents had been urging us to have kids, and Connor had bombarded me with sweet words and heartfelt pleas until I finally gave in.

At the time, I'd just started to gain some traction in my career. We'd recently made a significant breakthrough on a project together, but Connor assured me he could handle the remaining work on his own.

"It's all for us," he'd said. "We're a team, aren't we? Any success I have is our success."

His sincerity and the combined pressure from my mom and mother-in-law wore me down. Deep down, I'd always loved kids, so I told myself it was the right decision.

I could still remember the way he kissed me that day-his eyes brimming with emotion. It was one of those rare moments of warmth in the grind of our everyday lives.

They said a woman's love would grow over time, while a man's love would fade. Over the three years we'd been married, the balance in our relationship had shifted.

Where he used to prioritize me, I now found myself doing all the heavy lifting to keep our connection alive.

At the time, I refused to believe that two people who loved each other could fall out of love. I couldn't imagine that someone I'd shared seven years of my life with-my husband-would betray me.

I reassured myself, thinking maybe Connor was just going through a rough patch at work. I told myself things would get better with time.

But what came instead wasn't change. It was the news of his affair.

3

The video came from my best friend, Rosalie Robinson.

It showed Connor locked in a passionate kiss with someone else, right there on the street. The scene was so dramatic, it felt straight out of a late-night TV drama-intense, over-the-top, and impossible to look away from.

I couldn't believe it-Connor, the man who claimed he was too drained and stressed every night, apparently had enough energy to put on such a display.

I replayed the video frame by frame, desperately hoping for some clue, some detail that might prove it wasn't him. But reality was cruel. After two years of dating and five years of sharing a bed, I knew every nuance of Connor better than anyone.

It was him.

Tears blurred my vision and dripped onto my phone screen, pausing the video on a particularly gut-wrenching moment-Connor gazing at her with unguarded tenderness.

Rosalie tried to talk sense into me, urging me to stay calm and think through my options-dividing assets, proving fault in court. But her words were just noise.

All I could think about were memories of us.

A snowy day outside the dorm, the comforting warmth of a hot coffee in my hands, and his shy, blushing face.

Him pedaling a bike around campus, promising me one day I'd be riding in a convertible, both of us laughing so hard our sides hurt.

Our hands tightly clasped, bodies pressed close, transforming from awkward college students to husband and wife on our wedding day.

And now, Connor-kissing another woman in public like none of that had ever happened.

As always, my body betrayed me before I could even process the pain. My stomach churned violently.

"Mabel, what are you going to do?" Rosalie asked gently. "Take him to court. If he's heartless, you should be ruthless. File for divorce."

I shook my head. Seven months, I might have been able to let go of. But seven years?

From 18 to 25-nearly my entire youth, my best years, were tied to him.

"I need to hear it from him," I said finally.

4

What I got instead was a slap across the face.

Oddly, once the nausea subsided, the sting of his slap seemed to jolt me awake, snapping me out of the haze.

People didn't always need a reason to fall out of love. If he had just said he no longer cared, I might have walked away peacefully.

But cheating? That was a line he had no right to cross.

I began packing my things without a word. When Connor emerged from the bathroom, he scoffed at the sight of me shoving clothes into a bag. Without so much as a question, he flopped onto the bed, scrolling through his phone like I wasn't even there.

It wasn't until I slung the bag over my shoulder and walked toward the door that he finally spoke.

"Don't think you can use this as leverage. You walk out that door, and don't come crawling back later."

His tone dripped with disdain. "What are you going to do? You're a jobless, pregnant divorcée-who's going to want you? Your freeloading parents? Your snitch of a best friend?"

His sneering contempt gave me a sudden jolt of courage.

I stormed into the kitchen, grabbed a knife, and hid it behind my back. Marching up to the bed, I raised my hand and slapped him as hard as I could.

Connor's eyes widened in disbelief. I stared at him, realizing how utterly unfamiliar his face had become to me.

Maybe the slap left him a little too stunned. Anger could sometimes bring out unexpected strength. After that slap, my hand felt numb.

When he finally snapped out of it and raised his hand to hit me back, I screamed, brandishing the knife.

"Don't even think about it," I growled. "I've got nothing to lose. If you're not scared of me showing this video to your entire office-if you're not terrified of being branded 'the married man who can't get it up'-then go ahead and try me."

His jaw clenched, his teeth grinding audibly. For a long moment, he just glared at me, his eyes a strange mix of fury and panic.

"Divorce," I said coldly. "And you leave with nothing."

With that, I turned on my heel and walked out.

Rosalie was waiting outside the door. I managed to keep it together as we made our way to her car. Once inside, she glanced at me, hesitant to say anything.

I was about to crack a joke-something lighthearted to ease the tension-when I looked down and realized I was still clutching the kitchen knife, my hands trembling uncontrollably.

That was it. The dam broke. I couldn't hold it in any longer. I burst into tears.