The Ring in the Biohazard Bin

Before Luther left, he had his lawyer send over the electronic divorce agreement, though he didn't even glance at it himself.

He warned me with a cold smile not to test his limits again.

After the discharge paperwork was done, I waited for an Uber at the curb.

Late autumn in Seattle is a season of perpetual gloom and rain. My body was still weak from the miscarriage, and a gust of wind cut through me, draining the color from my lips.

Just as I was about to faint, a horn blared, sharp and startlingly close.

Luther's Bentley pulled up in front of me. He impatiently rolled down the window.

"Leaving the hospital? Get in!"

The passenger-side window slid down, and Ivy poked her head out, a sickeningly sweet smile plastered on her doll-like face.

"Cathy, Luther came to pick me up for a spa day and thought he'd bring you back, too. See how good he is to you? Don't be shy, get in."

I looked at her quietly.

Ivy had her claws out for me from the moment we met.

I'm allergic to mangoes. A mild reaction gives me a rash, but a severe one could close up my throat.

After Ivy found out, she deliberately added mango juice to my champagne on my wedding night.

That night, I was rushed to the emergency room for anaphylactic shock.

The moment I woke up, I heard her crying.

"Luther, I didn't mean to," Ivy sobbed, tears streaming down her face. "I just wanted to make her a special tropical drink. How was I supposed to know she was so fragile!"

Luther's face was ashen, but he didn't utter a single word of blame.

Seeing his displeasure, Ivy twisted the knife.

"I did it for you, Luther. That woman plotted against you and ruined your reputation. Are you really going to chew me out for her?"

After a long silence, Luther sighed deeply.

He reached out and ruffled Ivy's hair.

"I wasn't worried about her. I was worried this would get out and reflect badly on you, that people would call you immature."

"And Cathy Monroe? What is she? She's not even in the same league as you."

Ivy's tears gave way to a triumphant smirk.

Lying in the hospital bed, I closed my eyes and let my own tears fall in silence.

From then on, to maintain this precarious marriage, I learned to back down, time and time again.

Until the gala, when Ivy faked a fall and shoved me—five months pregnant—into an enormous ice sculpture.

A sharp shard of ice pierced my abdomen.

There was no more ground to give.

"No, thank you."

I politely shook my head at them and walked toward the Uber that had just arrived.

"I've already called a car. You two have fun."

Luther's face went rigid. "Suit yourself," he spat out.

As the car passed me, Luther suddenly yanked the steering wheel.

The car grazed my arm, the impact sending me stumbling.

I frowned, a flare of pure rage shooting through me.

But Luther just let out a low whistle and sped off without a backward glance.

I sat silently in the back of the Uber.

Sensing my dark mood, the driver offered a comforting smile in the rearview mirror.

"Is that your boyfriend? Don't let him treat you like that. He's a real jerk."

I managed a tight smile.

I didn't explain that he wasn't my boyfriend. He was the man who had ruined my life—and the soon-to-be ex-husband I was finally escaping.