Double Divorce, Mother-Daughter Revenge

My mother and I married a father and son. I became the wife of architect Liam Ashford, while she married his father Julian, the firm's founder.

"What now, Chloe? We're saving Scarlett's assets. You'll have to wait."

During a wildfire, I, eight months pregnant, dragged my mother with her weak heart to safety. My husband and stepfather chose to save another woman's legacy instead of their family.

They called it business. I called it a choice.

A choice that cost me my unborn son.

When they came to my recovery room, they only asked about the woman they had rescued. My husband Liam shoved me, his face twisted with rage at my "pathetic drama."

Then his eyes found my empty stomach. "Chloe," he choked out, "where is the baby?"

"Gone," I whispered, relishing his horror. "And it was the Ashford heir you wanted so badly."

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1

My abortion procedure was finished by nightfall. The wildfire’s orange glow had dimmed to a hazy dusk beyond the clinic window.

A news anchor on the wall-mounted TV recounted the fire’s devastation. The headline flashed: “Crestwood Hills Fire Claims Three, Over a Thousand Evacuated.”

A dull pain pulsed from the anesthetic, yet I pushed through it. I had to find my phone. I had to call my husband, Liam Ashford.

My mom, Eleanor, lay beside me, still lost to her own sedation.

I knew it was time for a divorce.

The dial tone was a cold, empty pulse in my ear. Just before the line disconnected, Liam answered. His voice was sharp with impatience.

"What is it, Chloe? The evacuation is over. Why are you calling? I’ve been buried in crisis management all day."

"Scarlett’s entire collection was nearly lost. We’ve been securing the assets. Dad is with the insurers now. We’re still deep in it."

"Julian, Liam, I owe you everything." Scarlett’s voice, smooth as silk and laced with practiced fragility, bled through the line. "Without you two, my father's legacy would be ash. I'd be ruined, just like those poor people who lost their homes."

My stepfather, the great Julian Ashford, reserved a gentle tone just for her. His kindness was a calculated choice, proving the vast difference between those he valued and those he did not.

A bitter smile touched my lips. "In that case, Liam," I said, my voice a thread, "let's get a divorce. I... I can't do this anymore."

Silence held for two heartbeats. Then his fury erupted.

"Are you serious right now? I know you were evacuated, but we were saving our entire business portfolio! Scarlett was at risk. What's the big deal if we prioritized our future?"

"You can't possibly want a divorce over this? Do you have any grasp of reality? Scarlett is all alone. She depends on us."

Scarlett had it hard? How about my mother and I?

My mother, with her weak heart, and me, just days away from abortion. Did we not measure up to a business associate, to her collection of insured art?

Pregnancy made emotions raw. I felt tears welling, but I stared at the ceiling and forced them back down.

Liam's voice was a barrage of ice through the phone.

"A divorce? You’re eight months pregnant, and you dare threaten me with divorce? You love that baby. Do you want it to grow up without the Ashford name?"

"Stop being so damn dramatic, for God's sake. Scarlett needs our support. You should try thinking about someone other than yourself."

With that, he hung up.

I tried to call him again, but the call wouldn't connect. He had blocked my number.

I smiled bitterly, my hand resting on my stomach. It had been a perfect, round curve this morning. Now it was just a hollow, empty space. My phone slipped from my fingers, hitting the floor with a dull thud.

Liam had been right. If our baby were still here, I would have fought for our family. I wouldn’t want our child to grow up without a father, so I would have found a way to forgive him.

But now, there was no baby. The only bond tying me to Liam was gone. So I might as well end it now. What was the point in waiting? To stay would be to slowly poison myself.

And was saving Scarlett's assets truly a logistical necessity? Her climate-controlled storage was miles in the opposite direction of the fire. Even if insurers were involved, Liam would never have gone there unless he chose to.

Had he thought of me during my dozens of frantic calls? Had he thought of the baby in my belly, so close to being born?

He probably just didn't care. Otherwise, he wouldn't have ignored eighteen calls. He wouldn't have spoken with such chilling detachment. Why else would he tell me to wait for emergency services like a stranger?

I was his wife who was carrying his baby!

And we had tried for a whole year for this child to finally happen.

I could still feel the sharp, cramping pain. I could recall the sterile despair of the procedure. My baby was being taken from me, and I was utterly helpless to stop it.

While lost in thought, Mom's phone began to ring. It was a call from Julian Ashford, my stepfather.

Thinking she was still asleep, I reached to answer it for her.

But just as my fingers brushed the screen, Mom woke up and answered the call herself.

Instantly, Julian's frustrated voice filled the quiet room. "Eleanor! Can't you control your daughter? You're a disappointment as a mother. Did she inherit this recklessness from that artist you were married to?"

"Why the hell would she talk about divorce over something so trivial? Marriage is not a game she gets to quit so lightly."