DEAR EX HUSBAND, YOU LOVED ME TOO LATE

ANIKA'S POV

"What?"

He said it like he could not believe what I was saying, which, to his credit, was understandable. In his wildest dreams, he had probably never imagined that I would ask for a divorce.

Unfortunately for him, I was no longer the person I used to be.

Now, I could not care less about him.

Simon stared at me like I had just announced that the sky was green, like I had just made the most absurd statement imaginable.

He probably thought I was insane.

After all, I was Anika—the woman who loved him so much it was pathetic.

The same girl who used to follow him around like a lost puppy.

The same girl who begged him to marry her.

The same girl who tolerated every insult, every humiliation, every late night he never explained.

And now, that same girl was asking him for a divorce.

I could practically see the disbelief swirling inside his head.

I watched his face carefully.

Just observing.

Because I knew exactly what he expected.

He was waiting for me to take it back.

To laugh and say I was joking.

To apologize.

To tell him I was being irrational.

I was supposed to beg for his forgiveness like always.

But I didn't.

Instead, I stood there with my arms folded, staring him directly in the eyes as though I had simply stated a fact.

"You can't be serious, Anika," he said.

I hissed before I could stop myself.

"I am dead serious, Simon. I can't keep doing this with you."

The room went still.

Something dark flickered across his face.

Suddenly, he stepped forward and grabbed both my arms.

Hard.

His fingers dug painfully into my skin.

He looked like he was on the verge of losing control.

"What are you even talking about, Anika?" he demanded. "You are my wife."

My arms throbbed under his grip.

I struggled against him.

"Let go of me, Simon. You're hurting me."

He didn't.

So I yanked my arms back as hard as I could until they finally slipped free.

My skin stung where his fingers had been. I rubbed the sore spots gently.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" I asked.

He began pacing around the room like a trapped animal.

"You are seriously acting out right now," he muttered. "Is it because of something so trivial that you're doing this?"

For a second, I thought I had heard him wrong.

Trivial.

The word kept repeating itself inside my head like a cruel tune that would probably haunt me forever.

I scoffed, my eyes blazing.

I pointed at myself.

"I lost our child, Simon," I said, my voice trembling with disbelief. "I had a fucking miscarriage, and you're calling it trivial?"

The silence that followed felt heavy.

I thought he would at least pretend to feel remorse.

Even if it was fake.

But there was no sadness.

No guilt.

Nothing.

He just looked irritated.

Then, without warning, he grabbed both my hands.

"If it's about the baby, you don't have to worry," he said calmly. "We can always make more."

Before I could even process his words, he leaned forward and pressed his lips against mine.

My body froze.

I tried to move, but it was as if my limbs refused to cooperate.

Too many emotions crashed into me at once.

Disgust.

Anger.

Rage.

Everything exploded inside me.

I tried to push him away, but he only deepened the kiss, as though he thought I was playing some stupid game.

As though I was playing hard to get.

Without warning, my teeth sank into his lower lip.

He jerked back immediately.

His hand flew to his mouth.

He wiped at the blood with his thumb and glared at me.

"You—"

Before he could finish the sentence, my hand moved.

The slap echoed through the room.

His head snapped to the side.

For a moment, neither of us moved.

The silence was deafening.

Then he slowly turned back to face me.

"Why the fuck did you slap me?" he demanded.

My chest heaved with anger, and my eyes burned with unshed tears.

"You disgust me."

My words were sharp.

And I meant every single one of them.

The hatred in my voice surprised even me.

Simon stared at me as though he could not recognize the woman standing before him.

"You don't even care that our son is gone," I continued. "How shameless can you be?"

He folded his arms as though none of this mattered.

"I just wanted to spend some time with my wife," he said. "I don't see the problem with that."

I laughed bitterly.

"You're ridiculous. You don't even want me. Go to Bree."

The moment her name left my mouth, he paused.

A smug smile slowly spread across his face, as though he had finally solved a mystery.

"So that's what this is about," he said. "You're jealous of Bree?"

I didn't respond.

"She's your little sister, Anika. Stop being childish."

Still, I remained silent.

He actually thought I was jealous of my sister.

At this point, he could do whatever he wanted.

I wanted nothing to do with him anymore.

The fact that I had asked for a divorce should have made that clear enough.

He smirked.

"You said it yourself. Don't come bitching about it later."

Then he grabbed his keys and walked straight out the door.

I didn't stop him.

I simply stood there and watched him leave.

The house fell silent.

I remained standing there for a long time, staring at the door.

I expected disappointment.

I expected heartbreak.

Instead, that familiar hollow feeling settled in my chest once again.

Later that night, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling when my phone buzzed.

Once.

I ignored it.

Twice.

Then a third time.

Frowning, I reached for it.

A message from Bree.

Of course.

My stomach twisted as I opened it.

The first image loaded slowly.

Then the second.

Then the third.

My breath caught in my throat.

Bree was half-naked in bed.

Her hair was messy against the pillow.

The sheets barely covered her body.

And beside her...

Simon.

My husband.

Sleeping peacefully as though nothing in the world was wrong.

But that wasn't even the worst part.

It was the bright red hickey resting on her neck.

Visible.

Obvious.

Practically screaming for my attention.

My fingers began to tremble.

Another message appeared beneath the photos.

Bree: Guess where your husband is tonight?