Divorcing My Billionaire Husband After the Miscarriage

After the miscarriage, I clung to Donald Henson in a way I never had before.

Every day I asked him, over and over, whether he blamed me.

I asked for two whole months, and every time he calmed me with the same patience, the same gentleness.

Then, in the third month, an anonymous voice message arrived.

I opened it, and out came Donald's irritated voice:

"I never wanted the kid anyway. It's just as well it's gone."

"She doesn't deserve to be Mrs. Henson. Asking, asking, asking, all day long, like she's out of her mind. I really regret marrying her."

The teacup in my hand hit the floor with a crack.

Shards flew up and cut into my calf, but I felt no pain at all.

So this was what five years of marriage had turned me into, in Donald's eyes.

Fine, then. Donald, I don't want you either.

1.

By the time Donald came home, I had been sitting in the living room for a long while.

The divorce agreement lay on the table. My luggage stood in the entryway.

He walked in, caught sight of the suitcase, and his face darkened.

"Lottie Payne, what are you making a scene about this time?"

"I've told you again and again, I don't blame you for the baby. It was an accident. Why can't you let it go?"

That word, "blame," he'd said it for two whole months.

Before, I always thought the problem was mine, that losing the baby had left me with some kind of trauma.

Only now did I understand. I wasn't being difficult. It was the impatience buried under his eyes every time he said he didn't "blame" me, that stripped away any sense of safety.

So I asked, again and again, and never once got any real comfort.

I lowered my head and gave a soft, bitter laugh.

"You don't blame me because you don't love me, or because you don't care?"

"What?"

He hadn't caught it. His handsome brows drew together.

"Nothing."

I smiled and slid the agreement across the table to him.

"Take a look at this. If there's no problem, sign it."

His eyes dropped to the paper.

The words Divorce Agreement made his pupils shrink.

"You want a divorce?"

I gave a low "Mm."

He asked again, "Why?"

Why, I wondered.

Maybe because he came home later and later. Maybe because of those strange little provocations that kept finding their way to me. Maybe because every time he came home, the exhaustion and distance in him grew heavier and heavier.

I couldn't name the exact reason.

But I knew none of it mattered anymore.

"Because I don't love you anymore."

His fist tightened in an instant.

The rigid line of his body gave away his anger.

I heard him say my name. "Lottie."

Full of warning.

He was warning me that I'd pushed too far.

Before, if he'd said my name in that tone, I would have backed down at once.

But today, I was stubborn.

I stubbornly held my head up, stubbornly met his eyes, stubbornly asked my question.

"Hm?"

He froze.

After a long silence, he gave in, the way he always had.

The same as he had for the past eight years, he sighed helplessly, then crouched down in front of me.

My cold fingers were wrapped in warmth.

He lowered his voice.

"All right, Lottie. I know losing this baby hit you hard, but we can't stay drowning in the pain forever, can we?"

"Come on now, no more of this. Let me carry you back to the room to rest, okay?"

I didn't say no.

I only looked at that too-handsome face of his and slowly drew my hand back.

"Donald, I'm not making a scene. I really am divorcing you."