My Husband Faked a Divorce with Me for a Rich Girl

"Let’s get a divorce, Elodie. My company went bankrupt. But don't worry, it’s only a fake divorce. I don’t want to drag you down with me. This is the only way I can protect you."

My husband, Darien Eugene—the man I had loved for ten years—suddenly asked me for a divorce. A fake one, he said. So that the creditors would not come after me.

He looked so resolute, so sure of himself. I had no choice but to agree, my tears silently falling.

To help him pay off his debts and eventually marry again, I took on five part-time jobs. One of them was working as a housekeeper for the Daelan Family—the wealthiest family in the city. I poured every ounce of strength I had into paying off what he owed, hoping that one day, I could stand beside him again.

Then one afternoon, while I was cleaning the skylight, I slipped and fell. I broke my leg and found out I was pregnant.

Darien came to visit me every day at the hospital.

I held onto those moments like lifelines, believing that even if I had nothing else, at least I still had his love. I wanted to tell him about the baby, but before I could utter a word, a video arrived on my phone.

It was from a CCTV camera.

In the video, my "caring" husband was locked in a passionate kiss with Vienna, the daughter of my employer. Their hands roamed freely, clothes stripped off as they stumbled from the living room into the very room where I once slept.

"Darien, now that you’re divorced, when are we getting married? I don’t want my child to be born illegitimate."

"I finally shook her off. Tricked her into a fake divorce so she’d go out and earn money for us. Now she’s pregnant? What good is she anymore? A nanny with a broken leg can’t earn a cent. She’s a burden. Don’t worry, I’ll get rid of the baby."

Every word sliced through my heart like a blade.

So that was all I had ever been to them—a means to an end. A money machine.

I did not hesitate. I booked a one-way ticket. Three days from now, I would vanish from their lives for good.

If this were how it ended, then I would walk away with dignity.

***

When I turned off my phone, I could not stop trembling. The hospital room was warm, but I felt cold to the bone.

Ten years of love. One child I had longed for. And Darien—he could throw it all away for another woman. He could ask me to die for their future without so much as a flinch.

I placed a hand gently over my belly, tears blurring my vision.

My poor baby… I’m so sorry. He doesn’t deserve to be your father.

I sought out my attending doctor and scheduled the earliest possible appointment for an abortion.

"Elodie," the doctor said gently, "please think this through. You conceived this baby after three rounds of IVF."

"That’s exactly why," I replied. "I know how hard it was. And I can’t let this child be born into a home where the father doesn’t love the mother. Or worse… where he doesn’t want the child at all."

Maybe I had cried too much already. My voice was calm, detached—like I was talking about someone else’s life, not my own.

The doctor looked at me with pity in his eyes, sighed and handed me the paperwork. "The earliest slot is the day after tomorrow. Try to rest. Avoid strain. And take care of your injured leg."

I did not even remember the drive home. Everything was a blur until I stepped inside and smelled food wafting from the kitchen.

Darien was there. Wearing an apron. Cooking the dishes he knew I loved, just like he always did.

Just an hour ago, he had been whispering sweet nothings into another woman’s ear. And now, here he was—playing the devoted husband without a crack in his mask.

He should win an award for this performance, shouldn’t he?

He turned to grab a plate and saw me standing in the doorway. His face lit up.

"You’re home? I was just about to bring you dinner at the hospital."

I stared at him and asked, "Darien, when a man stops loving a woman, why doesn’t he just let her go?"

His hand trembled. The seasoning bottle in his grip shook.

"You poured too much," I said, staring at the pan.

"Ah, right… I’ll just add more ingredients to balance it out," he replied hoarsely.

He had heard my question. He just did not answer.

"Just forget it. It won't be the same dish anymore."

I was not done, my voice sharpened this time. "You fell in love with someone else. Why didn’t you just leave me? Why did you lie? Why fake a bankruptcy, stage a divorce, just to keep me around—working myself to the bone for your promise of some future remarriage?"