Cheating Ex-husbands

Liar.

Not a single word from Grayson's mouth was ever true.

I pulled myself free from his embrace and forced a smile.

"Alright. I won't make trouble anymore."

For the first time, genuine relief softened Grayson's face. He pinched my cheek lightly, his voice tinged with guilt. "I have dinner with Shawn tonight. It might run late, so don't wait up. Get some rest."

I nodded obediently.

The moment they left, I dialed my lawyer best friend. "I want a divorce."

With her by my side, I once again stepped into the obstetrics and gynecology department.

The doctor assured me that the baby inside me was perfectly healthy.

But my lips curved into a bitter smile. "Doctor, this child came at the wrong time. Please schedule the procedure."

Unfazed, the doctor set the operation for three days later.

Leaving the hospital, I was about to hail a cab when I saw Grayson walk into a revolving restaurant, hand in hand with a woman.

I would never forget that face. The very same woman who once clung to my ex-husband's arm, taunting me with smug defiance.

I drew a deep breath, steadied myself, and walked straight toward the restaurant.

I chose a quiet, hidden corner and sat down.

Grayson and Kayla faced each other at a table. His eyes brimmed with tenderness as he slid a beautifully wrapped gift box toward her.

"Today's your birthday. I got you something."

Her face lit up in delight as she hurried to unwrap it. But inside was nothing… only a sheet of blank paper.

Confused, Kayla feigned a pout and huffed.

"Grayson! If you don't want to give me a gift, fine, but don't mock me like this!"

Grayson's eyes crinkled with a smile. He brushed his finger playfully along her nose.

"It's not that I won't give you a gift. It's that whatever you want, you can have. Write it on this paper. Even if it's the stars in the sky, I'll pluck them for you."

"Really!?" Her squeal was full of joy. She bent over the paper and began to write.

The longer she wrote, the longer his gaze lingered—indulgent, overflowing with adoration.

I pulled out my phone and recorded the scene.

I couldn't make out what she had written. But when she finally handed the paper back, Grayson's eyes flew wide in astonishment, his hands trembling with excitement.

Just then, my phone buzzed.

It was a message from him.

Grayson: [Lydia, I'll be out late tonight with clients. I'll just stay at a hotel nearby. Don't wait up. Get some rest.]

I gripped the phone tight and typed a single word in reply: [Alright.]

When their meal ended, I rushed to their table the moment they left.

The sheet of paper was still there.

It was filled from top to bottom—luxury brand jewelry, couture gowns, priceless paintings. There was nothing Kayla couldn't demand.

But one line at the very bottom snatched the breath from my lungs: I wish Grayson could spend one full day and night with me.

My vision went black, the room spun—and I collapsed.

In my dream, I watched myself—eight months pregnant—thrown into the air by a speeding car again and again.

The scene replayed endlessly, blood spattering, bones breaking, a slow torture grinding away the last shred of feeling I still held for Grayson.

The shrill ring of my phone dragged me from the nightmare.

The moment I answered, a woman's sultry moans filled my ear. Breathless, she cried out Grayson's name.

Expressionless, I ended the call.

Beside me, my friend quietly handed me the freshly printed divorce papers.

I murmured a thank you, took the documents, and returned home.

…

The next afternoon, Grayson finally came through the door.

I was sitting on the sofa. He swooped down, pulling me into his arms.

"Lydia, I drank too much last night. That's why I didn't come home. You're not angry, are you?"

His voice brimmed with remorse.

To me, it sounded absurd.

Drank too much? More likely, he was drunk on her perfume, lost in her embrace.

I pushed him away, ready to pull out the divorce papers, but he caught my hand.

"To make it up to you, why don't I take you to see the fireworks?"