My Ex-Husband Wants Me Back With Our Baby

“Liar!” he roared. “You and your whole damn family—you think I’m some stupid street rat you can use and throw away? You fucking used me! Your parents, what?! I know they kill people. I'll freaking sue each of you!"

The car swerved sharply, tires screaming against wet asphalt, and I screamed even louder. “Jed, watch out!”My voice cracked against the roar of the engine, but he didn’t slow down. His grip on the steering wheel was white-knuckled, trembling, a bottle of scotch half-empty on the seat beside him. His eyes—once warm and full of promises—were bloodshot, cold, and glassy with rage.

“You think you can lie to me, Selena?” he slurred, staring ahead with that terrifying focus that meant he’d stopped listening. “You think I wouldn’t find out about the damn contract?”

Rain splattered hard against the windshield, wipers barely keeping up, and the city lights blurred into streaks outside the window. I clutched the dashboard with both hands, my fingernails digging into the plastic, breath short and shallow.

“There is no contract!” I shouted. “Whatever my father’s planning, I’m not part of it! Jed, please, stop the car—”

I didn’t get a chance to respond. A horn blared from our left. Headlights exploded through the passenger-side window. Jed yanked the wheel, the car veered off the road, and then—

A crash.

Metal twisted like paper. Glass shattered like raindrops.

Pain, white-hot and everywhere.

Then black.

When I woke up, the world was too bright and far too quiet. The antiseptic air stung my nose. Monitors beeped softly nearby. My head pounded like a drum. I blinked against the fluorescent lights of the hospital room, but my vision was cloudy—too fuzzy to make sense of anything.

I wasn’t dead. I wished I were.

I turned my head and winced. A familiar shadow stood near the window, arms crossed. The scent of expensive cologne hit me before the voice did.

“You’re awake,” my father said flatly.

“Where’s Jed?” I croaked, pretending to be blind.

“He survived,” he said with a shrug. “But that doesn’t matter anymore. He’s out of the picture.”

I tried to sit up, but pain lanced through my ribs and back. Still, I pushed through it.

“What do you mean, ‘out of the picture’? He’s my husband.”

“Not for long,” he said, walking to the side of my bed. He placed a thick envelope on the tray beside me. “You’re going to marry someone else. This time, someone useful.”

I stared at him blankly, bile rising in my throat. “Y-You’re insane.”

“No, I’m strategic. And you, my dear, are pregnant.”

My heart stopped. “No… No, that’s not possible.”

“The hospital confirmed it. Three weeks along. And that baby,” he said, leaning in, “is going to help us seal a far more valuable alliance than your pathetic marriage ever did.”

My expression were in horror. “You’re selling me.”

He didn’t deny it. “You’ll marry Roland Marquez. He needs a wife. You need to survive. And if you don’t agree, I’ll make sure that child never sees daylight.”

I don’t remember screaming. I remember the sound of my own sobs, muffled against the pillow. I remember curling into myself like I could protect the baby that way. But mostly, I remember making a silent vow—I would escape. I would leave Jed for real. I would burn everything my father built to the ground.

Eight days later, I sat alone in the hospital bathroom, my eyes swollen from crying. I unwrapped the bandage from my head. I could see fine—I’d been faking blindness since waking up, just like I faked helplessness in front of my father. I had to. It was the only card I had left.

I picked up my phone, hands trembling, and dialed the number that had once felt like home.

Jed answered on the third ring.

“Selena?” His voice cracked. “S-Selena, is that really—”

“I’m divorcing you,” I said quietly.

Silence.

“What the hell are you talking about?!” he snapped. “You’re alive. You didn’t even tell me you were alive!”

“I don’t love you anymore,” I lied, the words slicing me open from the inside out.

“You’re lying. You’re just like your father. A cold, manipulative—”

I hung up.

And then I broke.

I curled on the cold tile floor and cried until my body gave out. My heart shattered into a thousand pieces, but I didn’t pick them up. I left them there. For Jed. For what we had. For what we lost.

The mansion was colder than I remembered. My father insisted I recover at the estate, surrounded by guards and glass. I kept the blind act going—milking their pity, listening in on conversations they assumed I couldn’t hear.

A week later, he arranged a dinner.

“He wants to meet you,” he said, fixing his cufflinks.

I didn’t ask who. I knew already.

That night, I was led to a long table draped in white silk. I heard the clink of silverware. The low hum of voices. And then—his voice.

“Selena.”

I froze.

Even without sight, I’d know that voice anywhere.

“Who… who are you?” I asked, voice soft, trembling.

“Roland Marquez.”

And just like that, every memory from my childhood came rushing back. The screams. The blood. The door cracked open just enough for my ten-year-old eyes to see Roland standing over my mother’s lifeless body.

My father had sold me to her killer.

Worst part—does he knew it?

I clenched my hands beneath the table. I didn’t move. I didn’t cry.

But inside, I was already planning his funeral.

After dinner, he walked me to my room. I reached for the handle, hoping to escape, but he pressed his palm against the door and leaned close.

“I’ve waited a long time for this,” he whispered.

I turned my face away. “Please…”

But he didn’t stop.

He kissed me—rough, possessive—and I went still. Not out of fear.

Out of fury.

Because this was the moment everything changed.

He thought he’d won.

But in three days, I would vanish.

And when I returned, I’d take everything from him.

FUCK!