After His Mistress Pushed Me Downstairs I Divorced Him

I was turned over to Grant Duncan by my parents because he was the only one who could save our family’s struggling business. I was still in college when they informed me during Thanksgiving that the next day, I would be marrying a man. My protests were futile; perhaps it's more accurate to say I didn’t protest at all.

That was the first time I saw Grant Duncan since graduating high school. He sat on the couch, initially glancing up at me. Yet I felt an invisible grip tighten around my neck. He seemed so high and mighty, while I was just a nominal "wife" with no real power. I couldn't interfere with his life, even when I found out in our first week of marriage that he was seeing another woman. I couldn’t call home to complain because my parents were the biggest beneficiaries of my marriage to Grant.

I felt the constant warmth of his presence behind me when a hand suddenly rested on my stomach, unmoving, just lingering there. This simple act brought back the image of Grant in the hospital today, his hand gently placed on Harlow Graham’s stomach. A wave of nausea hit me.

I placed my hand over his and gently moved it away. “It’s a bit warm; let’s just keep a bit of distance,” I suggested.

Instead, Grant held me tighter. “Are you not feeling well? You looked pale today. Did you get sick while I was away on business?”

As he spoke, his hand wrapped around my waist. “Let’s get some sleep.”

At least it wasn't back on my stomach. I fought the growing unease inside me, trying to lull myself into sleep with a mental refrain: "Fall asleep, fall asleep."

Eventually, I drifted off, a fog of disorientation enveloping me. In my dreams, I recalled the first time Grant held me while we slept. I’d blushed fiercely, lying stiff as a statue in his arms while he chuckled softly, "Don’t be so tense, just sleep."

Only a week later did I discover he’d met up with Harlow Graham the morning after. It struck me: perhaps he only needed a companion for sleep and nothing more. In my naivety, I had thought there could be love after marriage.

The next morning, Grant had already left, as he always did. After freshening up, I went downstairs to make myself some lunch. Unexpectedly, Amanda Hall was there. She was the only one among the staff who treated me as if I mattered.

“Amanda,” I greeted.

She looked up and smiled warmly at me. “Oh, Mrs. Duncan, the lady of the house is visiting today, so I came by to check if anything’s needed.”

Grant’s mother was coming over. I nodded in acknowledgment.

“Are you having lunch, Mrs. Duncan? I can make something for you.”

When Amanda offered, there was no changing her mind. I thanked her with a smile and took a seat in the living room to wait.

Before long, she brought over a bowl of pasta. “Here you go, Mrs. Duncan. I’ve added some extra seafood for you. You don’t look too well; I’ll make you some chicken soup for dinner.”

Her hand gently patted my head before she returned to her duties. I took a bite of the pasta and paused. The taste was so familiar.

On our first wedding anniversary, I had prepared a gift and waited for Grant all day. But by ten o’clock at night, he still hadn’t come home. I knew he was likely with Harlow Graham, having completely forgotten the significance of the day. Exhausted, I went to bed past midnight, still no sign of him.

The next morning, Amanda had watched over a bowl of pasta, waiting for me to wake up. “Mrs. Duncan, you’re finally up. Mr. Duncan made this for you himself. He returned very late last night and had to rush off to the office this morning, but he made sure to leave this for you.”

I ate that bowl of pasta while crying, foolishly believing I still held a place in Grant’s heart. But Amanda’s well-intentioned lie was revealed today by her own doing. Grant probably never came home that night, but she’d felt sorry for me waiting all day and made up the story to comfort me.

I shook my head to clear the thoughts and finished my meal, washing the dishes in the kitchen. Then I heard the sound of the door opening. Curiosity got the better of me, and I peeked out to see Grant had returned.

He seemed ready to march straight upstairs but changed course when he saw me. His presence exuded an intimidating aura, anger rolling off him as he approached.

Startled, I took an involuntary step back. “Xyla, are you hiding something from me?” he demanded.

Hearing him call my name made me shiver. He rarely used my full name, only when he was serious, usually on the verge of anger. Like when I foolishly asked him to stop seeing Harlow.

“What?” I asked, trying to maintain my composure.

He stepped forward, grabbing my wrist, the other hand landing on my stomach. At that instant, I knew he was aware of my miscarriage.

“When did you get pregnant? Did you go behind my back?”

His first concern upon learning of my miscarriage was how I’d gotten pregnant in the first place. I let out a bitter laugh, pondering how my marriage over the past two years had become nothing but a joke.