My Husband Chose His Pregnant Mistress Over Me

As I stepped out of the banquet hall, a light drizzle fell from the sky. I took a sip of my coffee, its warmth wrapping around me like a long-lost memory. The rain somehow brought me back to the day Max proposed to me—it had been raining then too.

Max and I met when we were three, fell in love at sixteen, and by twenty-three, Max had hit the jackpot with his business venture. That's when he popped the question.

"Regina, will you marry me?"

That day, he was kneeling in front of me, his hand shaking so much he could barely hold the ring. I looked at him and asked, "Will you love me forever?"

He was so sincere, so confident, answering without a pause: "Forever."

And I believed him. But earnest promises are not always lasting.

By the time I turned twenty-seven, Max was seeing a young, beautiful woman on the side. When I found out, he was on his knees again, tears streaming down his face, pleading with me not to divorce him, swearing he’d change.

But once the pattern starts, it never stops—once, twice, three times, and more. Now there was no longer even a hint of deception, and I was too drained to care.

Like with Amayah Perez.

Max treated her differently, even going as far as issuing threats and warnings to me. Three years ago, that would have devastated me.

Now, all I felt was tiredness and disgust.

Because I understood better than anyone, Max would never leave me for Amayah. It wasn't love; it was the web of our intertwined interests built over the years. Divorce would be too burdensome and bring him no advantages.

He wouldn't go through with it.

And he was convinced that I wouldn't either. I'd brought up divorce multiple times over the years, but it always ended in stalemate.

Initially, it was about love, then sheer stubbornness. But regardless of the reason, I'd put up with it for so long, I should be desensitized.

But this time, I'd had enough. I didn’t want to carry on this facade any longer.

The ash from my cigarette fell, the heat making my fingers shake slightly. A server approached me quietly and said, "Ma'am, Mr. Nelson asked me to remind you that it's time to cut the spiced honey cake."

Go back?

I snapped back to the present, and after a moment, I stubbed out my cigarette and turned away with a faint smile.

"Tell Max, I’m not coming back."