Divorced: Ex-wife Heiress Strikes Back

Clarissa’s POV

“Shit,” I whispered under my breath, glancing down at my buzzing phone. Sophia. Again.

She knew better than to disturb me during meetings, unless it was important. And Sophia never called twice without a reason.

I tried to push the anxiety down. This meeting was critical. Bruce had insisted I handle it in his absence. His exact words rang in my head: “Don’t mess this up.”

But how could I focus now?

“Send a text, baby. I’m in a meeting,” I quickly typed, swallowing down the dread rising in my throat.

Seconds passed. Then minutes. Still no reply.

Something felt wrong.

“Gentlemen, could you excuse me for a moment?” I forced my voice to stay even as I looked at the boardroom filled with stiff men in tailored suits.

“Of course.” The manager responded.

I turned to my assistant and whispered, “Please continue without me.” I grabbed my purse and left the conference room without waiting for a reply.

My footsteps echoed too loudly down the marble hallways. I walked faster, then broke into a run.

By the time I reached the car, my hands were trembling so badly I could barely unlock the door. The drive home felt like a fever dream. I didn’t remember the traffic or the road. All I did was pray.

Please, God, don’t let it be what I think.

Sophia was nine years old but because she had chronic asthma, we made sure she was always with her inhaler.

When I pulled up to the house, everything was too quiet.

My heart stopped.

No running footsteps. No laughter. Not even the sound of the TV she always left on in the background.

I abandoned my bag and bolted up the steps, taking them two at a time. My bare feet slapped against the cold tiles as I rushed toward Sophia’s room.

And then I saw her.

She was lying on the floor, crumpled like a discarded doll, her little arms limp at her sides. Her lips… oh God, her lips were pale. Her eyes were half-open. Her inhaler was nowhere in sight.

For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. My body wouldn’t move. My mind refused to understand what I was seeing.

Then the scream tore from my throat.

“Sophia! Sophia!!”

I dropped to my knees beside her, grabbing her fragile shoulders, shaking her gently at first, then harder, desperate for any reaction. Nothing. Her skin was cold.

“No, no, please, no…”

I scrambled for my phone, my shaking fingers fumbling as I dialed emergency services.

“Please… my daughter… she’s not breathing… she’s cold… please send help… I’m at…” My words tangled, sobs choking every sentence, but somehow I got the address out.

Within minutes, I heard sirens.

The paramedics rushed in, but the look they exchanged when they saw her told me everything. One of them crouched beside me, his face too calm, too practiced.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. She’s been gone for a while.”

Gone?

I blinked at him like I didn’t understand the word. Gone? No. She couldn’t be. She was nine. She was fine this morning. She kissed me goodbye. She said, I love you, Mommy. She called me. She…

“No,” I whispered.

“I’m sorry.”

I stood up on legs that didn’t feel like mine and stumbled from the room, leaving the paramedics to cover her body. My body moved automatically, but my mind was frozen. Numb. Hollow.

I needed Bruce.

I pulled out my phone, but he didn’t answer. I tried again. Still nothing.

Frustrated and frantic, I ran upstairs, my hands shaking violently.

Then I heard it. His ringtone. Faint, but getting louder as I neared our bedroom.

My stomach turned.

I pushed the door open.

And there he was.

Bruce, my husband, sprawled lazily across our bed, shirtless, the sheets tangled around his waist. His phone buzzed endlessly on the nightstand, lighting up over and over with my name.

“Bruce!” My voice cracked with fury and panic.

He stirred slightly, groaning, confused. His eyes fluttered open slowly, then widened when he saw me standing in the doorway like a madwoman.

“Clarissa…?” His voice was thick, groggy, and slurred. “What… what’s wrong?”

I staggered toward him, shaking, breathless. My chest felt like it was splitting in two.

“Sophia… she’s gone.”

He sat up too fast, confusion written all over his face. “Gone? What? What do you mean gone?”

“She’s dead, Bruce!” The scream ripped out of me. “Our daughter is dead! She had an asthma attack! She called me… she called me… and no one answered! She didn’t have her inhaler! I found her cold… on the floor… all alone…”

I fell against the dresser, sobbing uncontrollably.

Bruce looked like the words didn’t compute. Then he ran both hands through his hair, stumbling out of bed. “No… Clarissa… how? How is that possible? I didn’t hear anything! I didn’t hear anything!”

“You were here!” I screamed, my voice raw. “You were in this house! She was calling for help! Where were you?!”

He shook his head violently, pacing in frantic circles now. “I took my sleeping pills… my back… my back was hurting last night. I didn’t hear anything! I swear to God, Clarissa… I swear…”

I collapsed to my knees, sobbing, my body wracked with silent screams that wouldn’t come out anymore. The weight of guilt crushed my chest until I couldn’t breathe.

Bruce knelt beside me, but I barely registered his presence. His voice was pleading, broken, but I couldn’t hear him. Not anymore.

All I could see was Sophia’s pale lips. Her tiny body. Her empty little hands.

Bruce pulled me into his arms, and I didn’t fight him. I let him hold me, even though the warmth of his skin felt wrong against my frozen body.

“I’m sorry… Clarissa, I’m so sorry… oh God, Sophia… our baby…” His tears fell into my hair, but they didn’t comfort me.

Nothing could.

“I should have answered.” My voice was hollow, dead. “I should have picked up. She needed me. She called for me, Bruce. And I didn’t answer.”

“It’s all my fault,” Bruce lamented as he held home tightly in his arms.

His words blurred with the roaring in my ears. Everything seemed muted, far away, and unreal, as if I were underwater. It felt wrong — his arms, the sheets, the dim morning light coming through the curtains. 

He repeatedly whispered, “I’m sorry,” as he pressed his lips to my forehead. “I sincerely apologize.”

Something cold, however slithered into my stomach as he held me closer and rocked me gently against his chest. Because I saw it over his shoulder: His pillow had a faint pink lipstick smudge on it. 

And there was a hint of something sweet underneath the acrid smell of his cologne. Flowery. Feminine. 

My heart turned to stone, and my tears dried on my cheeks.