Too Late For His Empty Regret

Audrey POV: The world slowly sharpened into focus. My head throbbed. My leg was in agony. I reached for my phone, my fingers fumbling. The screen lit up, a torrent of notifications. News alerts. BREAKING: Blake Enterprises suffers massive losses due to junior analyst's disastrous investment! FOX FAMILY BUSINESS IN RUINS! CEO suffers massive heart attack! My stomach dropped. I scrolled further. Ethan' s face stared back at me from a headline. Ethan Blake downplays losses: "A minor setback. Business as usual." My vision swam, dark spots dancing before my eyes. My father. My mother. I saw dozens of missed calls from my mother. Tears, hot and fresh, streamed down my face. My poor mother. She' d led such a sheltered life, always so happy, so trusting. Now, because of me, because of this monstrosity of a marriage, it was all at risk. The guilt was a physical ache. I hit the call-back button, my hand shaking uncontrollably. "Audrey! Oh, my God, Audrey!" My mother's voice was a ragged sob. "The money... it's all gone. The company is bankrupt. We have nothing left. Your father... he collapsed. He's in the ICU. They don't know if he'll make it." She didn't blame me. Not once. She just cried, heartbroken, about the mountain of debt, about the potential of losing everything. "It's okay, Mom," I whispered, my voice thick with unshed tears. "I'll fix it. I promise. I'll take care of everything." I hung up, a cold, fierce resolve settling in my soul. I was done. Done with being a victim. I left the hospital that day, my right leg now in a new, heavier cast, forcing me into a wheelchair. I arrived at the "home" Ethan and I shared. It was cold, silent. Lifeless. "Ethan hasn't been back since you left, ma'am," Maria, the nanny, told me softly. "He hasn't even called about the baby." I managed a bitter smile. He truly didn' t care. Not about me. Not about our son. I wheeled myself to my son's nursery. He was asleep, his innocent face a beacon of hope in my desolate world. I scooped him up, holding him close, burying my face in his soft hair. His scent was the only warmth, the only comfort. I called Ethan. "Ethan," I said, my voice flat. "My family is ruined. My father is in the ICU. Please, can you give us some time to repay the investment?" His voice was dismissive. "Audrey, I told you, I'm busy. Kendall needs me. And besides, business is business. Your father made his choice." I sent him a picture of our son, sleeping peacefully in my arms. "Please," I begged, "for your son. He needs his grandfather." His reply came instantly. Don't use our son as a pawn, Audrey. And I already told Kendall I would back her fully. Business ethics, you know. He was a stone. Cold, unyielding. My last tear, a single, solitary drop, rolled down my cheek. It was the last one I would ever shed for him. He was no longer my husband. He was an obstacle. An enemy. I picked up my phone, my heart pounding with a new purpose. I dialed a number I hadn't called in three years. Jackson. It's Audrey. I need your help. Remember your offer? Over the next few days, I moved with a focused calm. I packed what little was truly mine, mostly my son' s things. I systematically went through the house, collecting every gift Ethan had ever given me. The diamond necklace, the designer clothes, the expensive watches. I boxed them up, addressed them to his office, and arranged for them to be delivered. Then, I gathered every photograph, every card, every memento of our life together. I built a small bonfire in the backyard, watching as the flames consumed our shared past. The smoke curled into the twilight sky, carrying away the last vestiges of my shattered dreams. The house became an empty shell, stripped bare of my presence. No trace of me, or my son, remained. Days later, Ethan finally came home. His face was drawn, tired. He looked surprised to see me, standing by the open front door, a small bag slung over my shoulder, my son in my arms. "Audrey? What are you doing?" His voice was wary, confused. "Just going to my parents' for a bit," I said, my voice calm, emotionless. "They need me. You know, with everything that happened with the investment." He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Right. Well, try not to cause any more drama. I have a huge meeting tomorrow. And don't worry about the money. I won't press your father for repayment. Not yet, anyway." He grabbed a few suits from the closet, stuffing them into a duffel bag. "See? I'm not that bad. I always take care of you, Audrey." He hadn't changed. He was still the same narcissistic monster, incapable of seeing beyond himself, still trying to manipulate me. But this time, his words held no power. I watched him go, my heart a flat line in my chest. No anger. No pain. Just a chilling indifference. The ghost of Ethan Blake, the man I once loved, had truly vanished. I walked back into the empty house. Underneath my son' s crib, I pulled out a small, waterproof pouch. Inside were two documents. My divorce certificate, finalized quietly and legally thanks to Jackson. And another document. A confidential medical report. Ethan Blake' s fertility diagnosis. Extremely low. His son, our son, was his only biological heir. A cold, mirthless smile touched my lips. He had no idea what he had lost. His legacy, gone. I pushed open the door. A sleek black car, a luxury sedan I recognized from my college days, waited silently at the curb. The door opened. Jackson Shepherd, charismatic, handsome, stepped out. He looked at me, his eyes filled with warmth and understanding. "Ready, Audrey?" he asked, his voice soft, gentle. I nodded, my grip tightening on my son. "Ready, Jackson. Take us home."