My Ex-Husband's Biggest Regret

Vivian's pov

“I didn’t…” My words died as the entire table turned to stare. Despise poured from every direction. Margaret’s sharp blue eyes could have frozen hell. Edward looked mildly annoyed, as if I were a faulty spreadsheet. The relatives murmured disapproval, a comedy of judgmental eyebrows and whispered “Of course she did” that would have been hilarious if it wasn’t my life collapsing in real time.

Margaret’s fury erupted. “You vicious, barren woman! Trying to harm an innocent child because you’re jealous and useless”

“Vivian , you have embarrassed this family for the last time. Attacking a pregnant woman? In my house? You barren, jealous little nobody. If you couldn’t give my son an heir, the least you could do is disappear quietly instead of trying to murder the future of the Lancaster line!”

The insults rained down, each one more vicious, delivered with theatrical flair that bordered on absurd.Aunt Sam, Ryan's aunt, actually gasped and clutched her pearls,literal pearls.

*Comedic timing, Margaret. Oscar-worthy.*

I wanted to laugh at the absurdity, at how this elite family was performing a soap opera while my world burned, but the pain choked it back. My slender shoulders shook. Hot tears welled, but I blinked them away furiously. My porcelain skin flushed crimson under their collective scorn.

Ryan helped Vanessa into a chair, his hand lingering protectively on her back. He shot me a warning glare.

“Behave yourself, Vivian. Or so help me, you’ll regret it. We’ve tolerated your… issues long enough. Vanessa is carrying my child. My heir. Show some damn respect.”

The table nodded in agreement.

A cousin of Ryan smirked. Someone chuckled under their breath. The humiliation was so thick I could taste it,bitter, metallic, like blood from a bitten lip. I pressed a trembling hand to my flat stomach, remembering sterile doctor rooms and quiet hopes dashed.

*Why wasn’t I enough? Why am I the villain in my own story?*

The dinner commenced amid the chaos, but the humiliation only intensified. Servants served the first course,delicate salads with glistening vinaigrette. I moved my fork mechanically, lifting a leaf to my lips but tasting nothing but ash. My slender hand shook slightly as I chewed, the motion slow and deliberate, each bite a struggle against nausea. Vanessa, recovered and seated triumphantly beside Ryan, ate with pretentious delicacy, dabbing her lips after every bite, her free hand constantly caressing her stomach while shooting me smug glances.

Margaret, never one to miss an opportunity, leaned forward with a smile that didn’t reach her sharp blue eyes.

“Vivian, dear, pass the wine, would you? Though I suppose it’s better you don’t indulge too much. We wouldn’t want any more… accidents tonight.”

The table erupted in polite, knowing laughter. A distant uncle raised his glass in mock toast. “To avoid more drama!”

Ryan chuckled along, his eyes flicking to me with a mix of irritation and dark amusement. He cut into his steak with precise, powerful strokes, the same hands that once held me tenderly now gesturing dismissively in my direction.

“Mother’s right. Let’s keep things civil. Vivian, you’ve always been… sensitive. Try to enjoy the meal instead of causing scenes.”

Vanessa shifted beside him like the queen she imagined herself to be, dabbed at her eyes with a silk napkin, her curvy figure leaning into Ryan’s side.

“It’s okay, Ryan. I forgive her. Pregnancy hormones make me emotional too, but I’d never lash out like that.” Her voice dripped false sweetness, but her eyes shot daggers at me when others looked away. She rubbed her stomach in slow circles, a performance that drew sympathetic coos from the aunts.

I forced a bite down, the food tasted like sawdust.

Ryan ate heartily, his jaw working with satisfaction, occasionally feeding Vanessa a bite in a display of affection that made my chest constrict. She accepted with exaggerated moans of delight, her curvy body leaning into him, red dress shimmering under the lights.

Flashbacks suddenly assaulted me,our first family dinner here, where Ryan had squeezed my hand under the table and whispered how beautiful I looked. Now that same table felt like a battlefield. My long hair fell forward as I bowed my head slightly, trying to hide the fresh wave of pain radiating through my chest. Each breath hurts. My slender fingers trembled around the stem of my water glass.

Edward cleared his throat, his salt-and-pepper hair catching the chandelier light as he fixed me with a stern gaze.

“The Lancaster Group doesn’t tolerate weakness, Vivian. Your little research projects were charming at first, but a real partner supports the empire. Vanessa understands that.” He gestured toward her with his knife, as if she were exhibit A in my trial.

More chuckles rippled. Ana, Ryan's cousin, leaned in conspiratorially.

“Remember when Vivian tried to explain her molecular biology thesis at last year’s gala? Adorable, but hardly relevant to boardroom decisions.” The humor was cutting, laced with elitist superiority that made my blood boil beneath the grief.

Hours seemed to pass in that dining hall, though the clock on the wall insisted it was only minutes ticking by. Course after course arrived,salads glistening with truffle oil, rich soups, decadent desserts,but I barely touched any.

Every interaction amplified the torment. Margaret recounted stories of “proper Lancaster wives” who had produced multiple heirs, each anecdote a veiled barb aimed at my barrenness. Ryan occasionally defended me with half-hearted words that felt worse than outright cruelty.

“She tried her best”only to follow up with reminders of my “usefulness” in public appearances.

Vanessa monopolizes conversations, sharing fabricated tales of her and Ryan’s “connection” that made my stomach churn. “He’s been so attentive,” she sighed dramatically, placing her hand over his.

“The way he rushes home now… it’s like we’re newlyweds all over again.” Ryan smiles, but I caught the flicker of guilt he quickly masked. Or was it just my desperate imagination?

My mind wandered to happier times during the lulls. Paris. The matching pajamas. Waking up to his laughter. The marriage certificate day, queuing at dawn full of hope. Each memory contrasted brutally with the present, twisting the knife deeper. Tears pricked constantly, but I refused to let them fall.

*Not here. Not for them to mock.*

The comedy of the absurdity peaked when one aunt suggested I take up “charity work for infertile women” as a hobby. The table burst into genuine laughter, as if it were the wittiest remark of the evening. Ryan joined in, his athletic shoulders shaking. Vanessa’s triumphant smirk was the final straw.

Anger surged through the grief, hot and clarifying. I stood up without thinking, the chair scraping loudly against the marble. My long hair swung with the motion, eyes blazing despite the tears threatening to spill.

“Enough!” My voice rang out, stronger than I felt. The room quieted, shocked by the outburst from the usually compliant wife.

“I want a divorce, Ryan. Right here. Right now. I’m done being your accessory, your burden, your scapegoat. Sign the papers and let me go.”I said in a hoarse voice.