When His Mistress Caused My Miscarriage I Left Him

My demeanor and tone caught him off guard for a moment. Yes, I was once the captivating Marceline Medina, living freely under the sun's warm embrace. But ever since being with Ari, I gradually lost myself.

A gentle female voice chimed in from beside him, "Mr. Herrera, it's alright. She's probably still upset, but I don't mind. The doctor did say that a little dessert would help me recover."

His attitude quickly turned stern. "Why are you going out? Just stay home and bake the spiced honey cake, or you can forget about that trip to the Alps and the ring you've been dreaming of."

"Besides, you laze around the house all day; making a spiced honey cake should be your contribution."

I scoffed. His belittling was as relentless as ever. Yet, I no longer felt the initial hurt or disappointment. Instead, all I had left was a calm desire to escape from them.

Seeing my silence, his tone softened slightly. "Marceline, I'm just trying to give you something to focus on, or else you'll just drift away."

"You're not like Kiara. She's competent at work, and if she recovers well, it's as if you're helping me too."

I didn't bother to argue nor did I want to quarrel anymore. To him, it was obvious that no matter what he asked, I would comply.

"Alright, I'm off to therapy with Kiara. When we return, have the cake ready."

After he hung up, Kiara posted her latest update on WhatsApp. It turned out the "therapy" was a trip to the spa. She lounged in a bikini, looking blissfully content against his chest, while his hand rested somewhere it shouldn't be.

The ring on her finger, supposedly something a man can only buy once in a lifetime, was a perfect fit. I recalled that when he proposed to me, the ring fit loosely on my finger, as if it had never been meant for me but crafted for her instead.

Signs of not loving someone were always there, plain to see.

I chuckled to myself, too tired to question why anymore. Asking would only seem rude now.

Even if I threw a fit and demanded answers, he'd always have some excuse to brush me off, turning it around to make it my fault for distrusting him.

“Marceline, I’m your husband; I’m supposed to be the one you trust most.”

I laughed bitterly. Ever since we got married, he's been manipulating me to believe in him.