He then seemed to realize that the call hadn’t ended. His voice turned rough as he said, “Tess, I’ll bring back some roasted chicken—your favorite.”
“No need,” I curtly said before hanging up on the call.
My vision blurred. I couldn’t tell whether it was from my tears or the rain. I used to be afraid of thunder, too. But for the past three years, I’d been alone every stormy night. As such, I wasn’t afraid anymore.
When my cramps were so bad that I fainted during my period, Sebastian just said, “Does it hurt that much? Or are you faking it?”
Sometimes, he’d mock me, saying, “You bleed every month but can never get pregnant.”
I guessed I never should’ve kept quiet about his low sperm count.
I placed my hand over my flat belly and thought of the child I lost—the one it took so much to conceive. I collapsed in the rain.
My best friend, Sheryl Jacobson, pulled up in her car, cursing as she jumped out.
“Sebastian’s a damn jerk. He’s changed after becoming rich. You’re barely a month past a miscarriage, and he’s already putting you through hell. Does he have any conscience?”
Fearing Sheryl might erupt with anger, I quickly tried to calm her down. “Don’t mention him. After the divorce, he’ll just be a stranger.”
She snorted coldly. “Damn right. Once you leave him, let him rot. You should take that sexy younger guy who’s been flirting with you and ride off into the sunset. Sebastian’s 32. I bet he’s already useless in bed.”
I was speechless when I heard her remarks.
Sheryl dropped me off and handed me the divorce papers. “The sooner you’re out of this marriage, the better.”
But Sebastian didn’t come home for two whole months. When he finally did, he was carefully helping Roxanne through the door.
Roxanne looked at me, her smile smug. “Tessa, I’m pregnant. Mr. Chesson was worried, so he insisted I stay here to rest.”
My phone slipped from my hand and shattered on the floor.
Sebastian picked it up. “Actually—”
But Roxanne cut him off with a dramatic yelp as she clutched her belly. She whined, “Mr. Chesson, it hurts.”
“Tess, I bought roasted chicken for you,” he muttered before scooping Roxanne up and rushing into the master bedroom.
As I walked past her, I heard her whisper tauntingly, “All cluck, no eggs.”
I opened the takeout bag to find the roasted chicken stone-cold, a greasy white film sticking to it. That cold, congealed chicken looked just like our broken relationship.
From upstairs, Sebastian shouted, “Tess, make some oatmeal. Rox’s craving it.”
When I brought the oatmeal up, I deliberately spilled it all over him.
Roxanne cried out, her voice full of hurt, “Tess, if you’re mad, take it out on me. Don’t hurt Mr. Chesson!”
“It’s fine,” Sebastian said, flustered, trying to wipe off the mess. “My clothes are thick and absorbed most of the spill. I’m not hurt.”
While he was distracted, I opened the divorce agreement to the signature page and handed it to him. “Your assistant dropped off some documents just now and said that you need to sign.”
This kind of thing had happened before. He didn’t think twice and just signed it before walking into the bathroom to clean himself up.
