Ex - Husband's Late Redemption

After the divorce, I took my bruised and exhausted self to a charming little town in the south. I assumed a new identity, got a different phone, and cut all connections with my frenetic life in London. Everyone thought I had died in that notorious crisis that rocked the military world. For three years, white lilies appeared on my grave without fail.

Then, one day, the glass door of my café swung open, and in walked someone I knew. Stunned, he asked why I hadn't returned if I was still alive. Didn't I know that Graham Ortiz had been consumed with guilt over me, nearly ending his own life?

Graham Ortiz, my ex-husband, was a military man who had a rivalry spanning more than twenty years with a fellow soldier. They had vowed never to marry, battling each other until old age. But Graham fell in love with me the moment he saw me, pursued me tirelessly, and eventually, I became his wife.

Ivey Bennett despised him for breaking their oath and took out her anger on me. The first time, Ivey tricked me into a danger zone where I stepped on a trap, shattering bones and suffering internal injuries. I lay in the ICU for ten days. Graham moved heaven and earth, bringing in the world's top experts to save me from the brink of death.

The second time, she abandoned me in the wilderness, commanding me to find my own way back. Graham stopped a military exercise, mobilizing an entire reconnaissance unit to search day and night for three days, finally discovering me dehydrated and unconscious in the barren land.

This cycle of her hurting me and him rescuing me continued until the ninety-ninth time. When Ivey learned from Graham that I had a severe peanut allergy, she ground ten pounds of peanuts into powder and force-fed it to me, triggering a severe allergic reaction. Before I was rushed into the ER, I begged Graham to report the incident, but he shook his head helplessly.

"Sweetheart, let it go,” he said. “Ivey's a war hero’s orphan, she's insecure, and only feels alive when she's sparring with someone. She didn't realize your allergy was so severe. It was just a bit of mischief, she never meant real harm. For my sake, just let it slide, okay?"

That was the moment my heart completely shut down.

The next morning, as soon as I woke up in the military hospital, I called Edwin Ortiz. I knew he always thought my simple background was unworthy of his promising grandson and he had long wanted me gone.

"General Ortiz," I said with eerie calm, "I agree to divorce Graham."

There was a pause on the other end before he decisively replied, "It's about time you saw reason. I'll have the divorce papers sent over. Sign them, and I'll handle the rest. Once the divorce is finalized, do not appear in front of Graham again."

It wasn’t long before Arturo Brooks appeared in my hospital room, handing me the divorce papers with due respect. I signed my name, my tears blurring the memories of my life with Graham that surged uncontrollably.

In our three years of marriage, he had been endlessly attentive, meeting my every need. But when it involved Ivey Bennett, he never set any boundaries. At our first meeting, Ivey threw my cherished service dog of six years into a live-fire training zone, destroying it in front of my eyes. I implored Graham to hold her accountable, but he merely consoled me, saying, "Elianna, Ivey acts like a child at times. She means no harm. I'm just grateful you're safe."

From that moment on, injury after injury, a total of ninety-nine times, each brushed off by him as insignificant. Now, at last, I was resolved to end this relationship.

My hand trembled as I gripped the pen, tears splashing onto the divorce agreement, soaking into the paper. Taking a deep breath, I carefully signed "Elianna Hamilton."

Arturo Brooks collected the papers, nodding slightly, "Ma’am, once the divorce certificate is processed, I'll deliver it personally. Until then, please keep this confidential."

After he left, I found myself alone in the room, engulfed in an oppressive silence. But soon, the door opened again. Ivey Bennett entered with a black and white funeral wreath, her smile both sweet and malicious.

I shuddered instinctively, recoiling, "What… what do you want?"

She tossed the wreath casually onto the floor, her grin wicked and disturbingly sweet, "I'm here to bid you farewell one last time. I can't believe such a severe allergy didn’t do the trick—I had to see it myself."

With that, she lunged at me, hands closing around my neck! I struggled desperately, but having just undergone a stomach pump, I was no match for Ivey’s years of training. The air drained from my lungs, and my world blurred into darkness.

Just as consciousness slipped away, the nurse, Danna Roberts, burst into the room, screaming, "Major Bennett! What are you doing? Someone, help!"

In the chaos, I used the last ounce of my strength to grab the nurse's hand, "Call the… police…" and then everything went black.

When I awoke again, the first face I saw was Graham’s, his expression cold. His first words were devoid of concern, filled only with reproach, "Elianna, why did you call the police? Ivey's already been taken by security!"

My heart felt skewered by an icy blade, an excruciating pain, "She just tried to kill me! Was I wrong to call the police?"

Graham's brows knitted together, as if I was being unreasonable, "I've told you before, Ivey's a war hero orphan, she behaves like a child but has no malicious intent, she never truly wanted your life…"

"She never truly wanted me dead?!"

I cut him off, unleashing three years' worth of fear, grievance, and fury.

"She led me into a danger zone, made me step on a trap! Left me in a barren landscape for three days and nights, stuffed me with peanut powder, and just tried to strangle me! When did she not want my life? Had the nurse not come in, I'd already be dead! Do you understand that?!"

He seemed moved by my outburst, wanting to hold and console me, but I shoved him away.

"Don't touch me! This time, I'm not backing down. I want her to face a military tribunal!"

Graham was silent for a moment, his gaze turning steely, "Ivey and I grew up in the military district; she's just been indulged. I'll discipline her harshly—ground her, reprimand her, make her give up the military, anything! But I won't let her go to jail and ruin her life."

Before I could respond, his aide stepped forward, presenting a document to me.

"Sign this, and let bygones be bygones. We can go back to the way we were."

Looking at the glaring words "letter of forgiveness" on that document felt like a knife twisting in my heart. Stubbornly, I shook my head, "I won't sign!"

"Ivey grew up in a military compound and has never faced such grievances. She wouldn't survive jail, Elianna, please understand."

Pressing his fingers to his brow, he seemed to lose patience.

"I said no!" I was practically screaming.

In the next moment, the aide seized my arm, twisting it sharply!

"Aah!"

Pain surged through me as he forced my trembling hand to sign the forgiveness document, pressing ink-stained fingers for a signature!

Throughout the ordeal, Graham stood by, watching in cold detachment.

Sweat soaked me, and my face turned ghostly pale as I looked at the man I had loved for so many years, my voice weak, "Graham… for her… you did this to me…"

A flicker of pain crossed his eyes, but he quickly turned to the aide, "Get the military doctor—use the best medicine to heal her hand. Take good care."

Then, he took the blood-stained forgiveness document and left without looking back.

In the days that followed, Graham didn't appear. Only perfunctory messages came through each day.

“Military training exercise, can’t step away.”

“Don’t sulk. Once you're discharged, I’ll throw you a party.”

“Is your hand still sore? Take care of yourself.”

But each time his texts arrived, so did messages from Ivey, flaunting photos of Graham tending to her—feeding her soup, massaging her, even using his cherished knife to peel her apples.

One night, unable to sleep from the throbbing in my hand, I irrationally dialed Graham’s number. The call rang unanswered for ages. After I hung up, Ivey's message arrived immediately:

"Guess what we're doing?"

Attached was a video, its mere thumbnail emanating an atmosphere of intense intimacy.

My hands trembled as I opened it. The video showed Ivey unclothed, flushed, writhing on a bed. She slid off, embracing Graham from behind, pressing her heated body against his rigid uniformed back.

“Graham… don’t go… I feel so… the medicine… it still…”

“If you leave… I’ll die… please…”

Graham halted, looking back at Ivey's dazed eyes, struggling internally. Finally, he gritted his teeth, shut off my call to him, and turned back to toss Ivey back onto the bed, his voice husky and restrained, “Let's get this over with.”