I Divorced My Wife, Now She Begs Me to Come Back

On the day of my grandmother's 70th birthday banquet, I was publicly beaten again by my wife's childhood friend, who accused me of being the other man.

Grandma has a heart condition—she can't handle this kind of shock.

Relatives whispered among themselves, their words dripping with contempt.

"Kyle always seemed so well-behaved. How could he be this kind of person?"

"To cause such a scandal on his grandmother's birthday... she must be beside herself..."

I couldn't take it anymore. My hands shaking, I dialed my wife's number, pleading for her to come and clear everything up.

Steven overheard my conversation with Fiona and smirked.

"Guess who Fiona's going to protect? She'll say I'm her husband just to save face."

"Go ahead—you're only humiliating yourself."

Ever since Fiona's childhood friend returned from abroad, he'd been targeting me, humiliating me at every turn.

I'd argued with Fiona, begged her to see reason. But she insisted Steven was just joking around and told me to stop being so sensitive.

Three years. I'd never asked her for anything. But this time, all I wanted was for her to show up and put an end to this circus.

Fiona arrived quickly. The moment she stepped into the banquet hall, every head turned.

Everyone recognized her—Fiona Harrison, the heiress of Harrison Group, a name that made the wealth lists.

I rushed toward her like she was my lifeline.

"Fiona, tell them. Tell my grandmother. Tell everyone—I'm your husband."

But Fiona didn't even glance at me. She went straight to Steven, her voice full of concern.

"What happened to your face?"

Steven shot me a smug look, wrapping an arm around her waist in front of everyone.

"I'm fine. If you'd been any later, Kyle would've made me look like the liar here."

"Go on—tell everyone who your real husband is."

"You, of course."

Fiona finally turned to me, her gaze cold and distant, as if she were looking at a stranger.

"Kyle Wilson," she said, her voice sharp enough to cut glass. "I'm warning you for the last time—stop harassing me. And don't you dare use your grandmother as a prop. Or I swear, life for both of you is going to get very difficult."

The room erupted.

"So Kyle really is the other man?"

"He's actually trying to kill his grandmother with shame!"

Steven was practically glowing with triumph, laughing out loud.

"You all don't know the half of it," he announced. "This guy used to work at Harrison Group. Total delusional stalker—kept sending Fiona creepy messages until he got fired a few months ago."

"Now he's lost his mind completely, pretending to be her husband?"

Then, arm in arm with the smug Steven, Fiona walked away.

"Ambulance! Someone call an ambulance!"

The birthday party ended with the wail of sirens.

I stood outside the ER all night, until dawn broke.

The doctors said Grandma had suffered too much shock—another few minutes and she would have been gone.

As she lay unconscious, she kept murmuring, worried about me.

I couldn't hold back anymore. I called Fiona.

"Fiona, let's get a divorce."

"Kyle, are you done yet?"

Her voice was cold and dismissive.

"I told you—this is a secret marriage. We have to stay low-key. You shouldn't have made a scene just because you're jealous of Steven."

"Steven's innocent. I couldn't let him be gossiped about, so I had to put you in an awkward spot. I'll make it up to you—"

I almost laughed.

She couldn't bear to see Steven face a little gossip—but she was fine with me and Grandma being mocked by everyone?

I was done. "I don't need you to make anything up. If you really want to compensate me, just agree to the divorce."

"Using that threat again?" Her voice dripped with impatience. "Fine. When? Just don't come crying later."

"Now," I said, my voice raw.

Thirty minutes later, her car pulled up at the hospital. The window rolled down, revealing her icy gaze.

"Get in."

Minutes later, we were at City Hall.

When the clerk asked for the reason, Fiona arched an eyebrow at me.

I said flatly, "Irreconcilable differences."

Fiona's expression turned brittle. She signed the papers quickly.

"Kyle Wilson, using your grandmother's illness to manipulate me into admitting our marriage? That's just pathetic."

"Use the cooling-off period to get your head straight."

"This is the last time I'm putting up with your tantrums."

She slammed the pen down and strode out without a backward glance.

The clerks exchanged awkward looks, their eyes full of pity.

Tears splattered onto the paper as I signed my name.

"Thank you," I managed.

This was the third time I'd asked for a divorce.

The first time, Steven accused me of stealing his watch.

Fiona didn't defend me. Instead, she let him pat me down in public so I could "clear my name."

That was the first time I realized how little she thought of me.

I didn't sleep that night. The next morning, I packed my bags and went back to my hometown with divorce papers in hand.

Fiona, who was on a business trip abroad, flew back overnight and stood outside my door until morning.

With red-rimmed eyes, she explained that she knew I hadn't stolen anything—she just thought letting Steven search me was the fastest way to prove my innocence.

I loved her. I caved.

The second time was Valentine's Day. I sent her flowers. Steven "accidentally" posted a photo in the company group chat.

Rumors flew—everyone said I was a creep harassing her.

I had no choice but to clarify that we were legally married.

But Fiona denied everything publicly to distance herself and had me fired for harassment.

Everyone treated me like a pervert. I couldn't walk down the street without people pointing and whispering.

Afterwards, she dismissed it lightly: "Steven just made a mistake posting that. If I'd jumped to defend you, he'd have been a laughingstock. I know you're my husband—that's what matters."

It was the first time I really lost it with her. I filed for divorce again.

But Fiona collapsed from the stress and ended up in the hospital.

I stayed by her bedside for three days. When she woke up, she clutched my hand and cried.

I didn't have the heart to walk away. I stayed.

With every concession I made, she became more convinced that my divorce threats were just a way to get her attention.

But this time, I meant it.

After signing, I stepped outside City Hall and saw Fiona's car speeding away.

The breeze caught my damp eyes, and I remembered the day we got our marriage license.

That woman, who always wore a cold mask, had smiled so brightly for the photo.

I'd held her in my arms, guilt gnawing at me.

"Fiona, I'm sorry my family's so ordinary. I can't even win your parents over. You deserve better."

She'd laughed and held me back.

"That's not your fault. My parents are just stubborn—they only agreed to let us marry if we kept it a secret. No wedding, no announcement."

"I know you've given me everything you could, and I'm grateful. Just promise you'll take me to meet your grandmother soon. We can't have the wedding, but I'll show her all the love and respect she deserves."

Back then, I thought she loved me—at least a little.

But that love, I learned, was like a candle flame.

One breath, and it was gone.