Going Back to His First Love

Last night, my medical report came back, confirming I was five weeks pregnant.

I texted my husband immediately to share the life-changing news, but Laurent Maddox never replied, let alone came home.

The next day, I saw photos of him on someone else's social media feed. He was sitting front and center beside another woman, wearing a rare, gentle smile.

I recognized the woman as Serena Gallagher. She was Laurent's first love and a permanent fixture in his heart.

The irony was endless. I had chased Laurent for four agonizing years, only succeeding in marrying him when Serena left to pursue her ballet dreams in Paris.

Yet now, three years into our marriage, she came back on the night I confirmed my pregnancy.

His heart flew straight back to her.

It was almost funny. After all this time, even a stone should have warmed up in my hands.

As I stared at the photo, a violent ache throbbed in my chest. It felt as though my heart had been ripped apart, thrown onto the ground, and callously stomped on.

Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes and finally made up my mind.

I chose not to blow up his phone with a desperate barrage of texts. Instead, I calmly tapped the "like" button on the post to acknowledge I had seen it, then called my lawyer to prepare a divorce agreement.

While waiting for the paperwork to arrive, I began packing my things, but even by the time the lawyer showed up, Laurent still hadn't returned.

Without hesitating, I signed my name on the dotted line, left the document on the dining table, and rolled my suitcase through the door.

Knowing I would soon outgrow most of my current wardrobe due to the pregnancy, I chose to leave every piece of clothing behind.

Stroking my still-flat belly, I began to ponder where to buy a new house to raise my baby. Fortunately, finance no longer restrained me.

Laurent was loaded, and because we hadn't signed a prenuptial agreement, I was entitled to half of all the assets accumulated during our marriage.

Over the last three years alone, his net worth had skyrocketed to five billion dollars, meaning that even ten percent of that fortune would allow me and my child to live comfortably for the rest of our days.

I planned to wait until the divorce was finalized before breaking the news to my parents.

With that thought, I dragged my suitcase over to Aronespire's largest five-star hotel to check in, intentionally swiping Laurent's credit card to cover the luxury suite.

I was about to become a wealthy divorcée, and money was my least concern. It was only then that Laurent finally called me, likely having just arrived home to find the divorce agreement.

"What games are you playing this time?" His voice cut through the receiver, dripping with his usual impatience mixed with a hint of exhaustion. "I haven't slept all night, and I don't have time for your drama."

If this had happened just yesterday, I would have worried about why he pulled an all-nighter. My anger would have vanished instantly, and I would have rushed back to care for him.

But after seeing that photo, I refused to be his doormat any longer.

"I've already signed the divorce agreement and left it on the table," I replied with a chilling calmness. "Just sign your part and hand it over to the lawyer."

Predictably, Laurent didn't believe for a second that I was serious. He simply said, "I have a meeting to attend. I'll have Hunter come pick you up."

"Screw your meeting!" I ended the call, hanging up on him for the first time.

Despite my outward defiance, my heart still throbbed with a suffocating ache that even the king-size bed of a $5,000-a-night luxury suite couldn't soothe.

Tears continuously leaked from the corners of my eyes, soaking through the pillow as I stared blankly at the opulent ceiling, silently vowing to myself that this would be the last time I ever cried for Laurent.

Perhaps it was the early stages of pregnancy making me lethargic, but once the crying spell passed, I drifted off and slept the day away.

When I woke up, it was already five in the afternoon. I was starving.