The Regret of a Cheating Husband
Chapter 1
On the same afternoon I learned I was finally pregnant, the doctor handed me a death sentence: stage 4 stomach cancer.
I went home to tell my husband, Anderson, only to be interrupted by a call from a woman named Katlyn.
"He' s on a '100-Day Farewell Tour' with me," she gloated, "getting the fun out of his system before he comes back to his boring duty as a father."
For the next three months, I died in silence while Anderson lived his best life with her.
He blamed my weight loss on morning sickness and my vomiting on hormones, never looking closely enough to see the blood.
On my birthday, the final day of his "tour," he bought me a cake, tucked me into bed, and immediately left to celebrate their finale in a hotel room across the street.
He thought he could just flip a switch and return to our marriage when he was ready.
He didn't know that while he was whispering promises to his mistress, I was signing our divorce papers.
I terminated the pregnancy he claimed to want so badly and left the medical report on the table.
By the time he came home to play the role of the devoted husband, I was already gone.
Chapter 1
Hana Silva POV:
I knew something was wrong when Katlyn Pope, a woman I' d never met, waved me over to her table in the bustling café, a self-satisfied smirk playing on her lips, ready to tell me she was my husband' s true love. My stomach churned, a familiar discomfort I' d grown used to lately, as I navigated the crowded tables. Katlyn' s aggressive vibe immediately set me on edge.
"So, you're Hana," she said, her voice dripping with false sympathy as I approached. "Anderson talks about you. Not in a good way, of course."
She leaned back, crossing her legs, a bright red heel tapping the floor with an irritating rhythm. Her smile stretched, showing perfect white teeth, but her eyes held a predatory gleam that sent a shiver down my spine. "He told me he belongs with me now."
"Anderson is my husband," I stated, my voice flat, holding onto the last shred of dignity I possessed. The words felt hollow, even to me.
"Are you proud of that, Katlyn? Being the other woman?" I asked, a bitter taste rising in my mouth.
Her smile didn't falter. If anything, it widened, a sign of her twisted triumph. It was a grotesque display of self-satisfaction.
With a flourish, she slid a stack of glossy photos across the table. They landed with a soft thud, a prelude to the impending devastation. The top picture was of Anderson, his arm wrapped around Katlyn, his face alight with a joy I hadn't seen in years. Joy that was never mine to inspire.
My eyes blurred, refusing to focus on the intimate details. I knew what they depicted; I didn't need to see it to feel it. The betrayal was a physical ache in my chest.
"These are just pictures," I whispered, the words hollow even to my own ears. "Anderson loves me." It was a desperate plea to a God I no longer believed in.
I pushed my chair back, the screech echoing in the quiet corner of the café. "I'm leaving." I needed to escape, to breathe air that didn't smell of cheap coffee and infidelity.
Katlyn reached out, her hand firmly grasping my wrist, her grip surprisingly strong. "Not yet, Hana. We're just getting started." Her touch felt like a brand, searing my skin.
My gaze dropped to her hand, resting on my wrist. A delicate silver ring gleamed on her finger. My heart seized. It was identical to the one Anderson wore, a ring he claimed was a 'friendship' gift from his college buddies. Lies, all lies.
A cold dread seeped into my bones. This wasn't accidental. This was a deliberate, cruel taunt, designed to inflict maximum pain.
I slowly pulled my hand away, my breath catching in my throat. I sank back into my seat, my composure a fragile mask that threatened to crack at any moment.
Katlyn's eyes narrowed, a flicker of irritation crossing her face. My lack of a dramatic outburst seemed to fuel her fire. "You're not reacting how I expected," she pouted, a childish petulance that belied her aggressive demeanor. "I thought you'd be more… upset. I've been waiting for this."
"Anderson and I are truly in love, Hana. He just hasn't had the chance to tell you," she declared, her voice rising slightly, as if to convince herself more than me.
"He was so close to leaving you," Katlyn continued, her words like daggers plunging into my soul. "But then... you got pregnant. He said it complicated things. It's why he needed his '100-Day Farewell Tour' with me, to get it out of his system before he came back to his 'duty' as a husband."
"Your pregnancy was just a leash, Hana. A way to tie him down," she spat, venom coating every syllable.
The grand cathedral of my trust, built over seven years, collapsed into rubble around me. I felt the tremors deep within my core.
Only Anderson and I knew about the baby. The implications hit me like a physical blow. He had told her. He had shared our most intimate secret with his mistress.
Katlyn's voice became a shrill cacophony, detailing their stolen moments, their shared dreams, painting a picture of a life Anderson had built with another woman. A life I thought was ours.
My mind reeled, a torrent of forgotten details flooding my consciousness. The late-night calls he took outside, the strange perfume on his shirts that he blamed on clients, the way he'd sometimes mumble Katlyn's name in his sleep and then pretend it was a dream. The hurried texts, the sudden "work trips," the excuses for missed dinners, the subtle shifts in his affection. Each memory, once dismissed as my insecurity, now clicked into place, forming a hideous mosaic of deceit.
The blind faith I had in him shattered into a million sharp pieces, each one piercing my heart. There was no doubt left, only the cold, hard truth.
"He only stays with you out of obligation, Hana. There's no love left. Not really," she sneered, enjoying my silent torment.
"I'm what he truly desires. I'm his escape," she boasted, puffing out her chest, her chest.
"He promised me these '100 days.' A grand farewell tour, he called it. To burn out our passion before he 'responsibly' returned to his marriage. But I won't let him go that easily," she declared, her eyes flashing with a possessive fire. "Not until your birthday. That's the day his 'tour' ends."
The café noise, Katlyn's voice, the clatter of cups-it all faded into a muffled hum. Only one phrase echoed in the hollow space of my mind: 100-Day Farewell Tour.
I wasn't calm. I was numb. My body had simply shut down, trying to process the overwhelming tidal wave of pain.
Too much had happened lately. More than anyone should have to bear. Each blow, each revelation, was like a dull knife twisting in an already festering wound. But this meeting, this conversation, this woman... this was the killing blow.
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