THE WIFE HE THREW AWAY: My ex-husband's regret

LEILA

"Sign them whenever you're ready."

My gaze followed the grey papers as they slid across the table, landing between us. The printed text blurred together for a second before I forced my eyes up to meet Karl Hawthorne.

"The settlement is fair," he said evenly. "My lawyers went over every detail. You can keep the apartment until December.”

He stood across from me in his charcoal suit, his car keys hanging loosely from one finger. He looked exactly like he always did, immaculate, cold, and entirely out of reach.

My fingers tightened into the edge of the table. "Karl…"

The sharp ring of his phone cut through my words. He reached into his pocket without hesitation, and the moment he looked at the screen, something changed. The change was small, almost imperceptible to anyone else, but after two years of watching Karl Hawthorne, I had learned to read the things he never said aloud.

The tension seemed to slip from his shoulders all at once. For the first time since he had walked through the door, he looked like he could actually breathe.

"I need to take this," he said, already turning away.

My gaze drifted down to the two candles still burning on the dining table. I had lit them hours ago, and for a foolish moment, I had allowed myself to believe he was finally coming home to have dinner with me. It was our anniversary, after all.

The food had gone cold sometime after ten o'clock. By then, I had already packed the dishes away in the kitchen, quietly making room for the familiar weight of disappointment.

"I'll be on my way shortly." His voice drifted from the living room, followed by a laugh, so easy and unguarded that my fingers dug into the wood beneath the table to stop them from shaking.

"I can't wait to see you too," he murmured.

I stared at the blank wall, listening to the muffled sounds of his happiness. For two years, I had told myself his coldness was just the heavy burden of his empire. I had never heard that version of Karl, not once across our dinner table, and never when he held me.

I folded my hands tightly in my lap. For two years, I had searched for any tiny sign that I mattered, a look that lingered, a touch that felt chosen rather than expected, and I never found it. I had foolishly believed patience would be enough, hoping that one day he would see me as something more than an inherited obligation, that he would become my husband in more than name.

The rustle of fabric pulled me back. Karl walked into the dining room, casually adjusting the gold cuff of his suit, his expression already reverted to a mask of freezing indifference, as if the other voice had never existed.

"Who's that, Karl?" I asked, the question slipping out before I could stop it.

He looked down at me for a moment longer than necessary. "Is that supposed to be a concern to you?"

"I am still your wife."

His dark eyes didn't move from mine. If anything, they turned colder. "That's Natalia. We're getting married soon."

The name burned as it hit me, twisting like a blade in my stomach. The room seemed to tilt, the walls falling away around me. I opened my mouth to speak, to demand an explanation, but my throat closed up, and no words came.

Karl's eyes moved across the table, taking in the two untouched wine glasses, the melting candles, and finally, the navy-blue velvet box resting beside my empty plate. The anniversary gift. I had spent three weeks searching for that specific vintage watch, wanting to give him something that belonged entirely to me, bought with my own savings rather than his corporate money.

His eyes lingered on the box for only a second before moving away. He checked his watch instead.

"My lawyers will contact you tomorrow," he said, stepping back toward the door. "Review the agreement and let them know if there's anything you'd like changed."

"Karl..." My voice sounded much smaller than I intended. "Did you really know what today was?"

He paused, looking back at me from the threshold. "And what happens if I did?" he asked flatly. "Whatever day it is wouldn't change the outcome."

I swallowed hard against the tightness in my throat. "Please," I whispered. "Just tell me if any of it was real to you."

Karl said nothing. The silence held the room, heavy and unbroken. For one terrible moment, I found myself waiting for something, a denial, an excuse, even a lie. Anything but the absolute nothing he was giving me.

"Two years," I said, my voice barely a breath. "Tell me it meant something."

His jaw tightened, a muscle flexing in his cheek, and I looked away before I could make the mistake of searching his face for an emotion that simply wasn't there.

"Leave," I said.

When he didn't move, my hands began to tremble beneath the table, and I curled them into fists. "Karl, get out." The words cracked on the last syllable.

For a moment, he simply looked at me, then he turned and walked away to see Natalia, the woman who had already replaced me before I'd even signed the papers that made it official.

I kept my eyes pinned to the table as the sound of his footsteps faded through the apartment, and a few seconds later, the front door closed with a definitive click.

My gaze drifted from the white envelope to the candles, and finally to the navy-blue velvet box. I reached out, picking it up and turning it slowly in my hands. A faint, bitter laugh escaped me. I should have known better. When it came to Karl Hawthorne, hope had always been my most expensive mistake.

I set the box down and pushed back my chair, the apartment suddenly feeling too large and too empty as I crossed the living room and made my way upstairs.

I stepped inside my studio and switched on the overhead lights. Drafting tables, rolled blueprints, and half-finished architectural models lined the shelves. For two years, this had been the only room in the entire penthouse that felt like it belonged to me.

I moved to my desk and drew my laptop toward myself. The Apex Prize design layout was still glowing on the screen, exactly where I had left it.

Beside the portal sat a long string of unanswered emails from the Hawthorne Group, all waiting for my revisions on multi-million dollar projects that would never carry my name.

Karl had never wanted me inside the corporate headquarters, he wanted me hidden. Every blueprint, revision, and presentation had passed through my hands at this desk before being sent off to an office where I didn't exist. My work would continue to make his empire millions long after people forgot who had actually drawn the lines.

Something inside me grew entirely still.

I opened a new email tab and typed in the company's address. For a few seconds, the cursor blinked mockingly against the empty white screen, then my fingers hit the keys. I started typing my resignation letter.

The words came more easily than they ever should have. When I reached the end, I read through the text once, my fingers resting lightly on the keyboard.

Then, I clicked send, and the message disappeared from the screen as though it had never existed at all.

For a long time, I stayed completely still, watching the blank space where the email had been, while the room slowly settled back into the quiet of the night. But something about the silence felt different now.

About twenty-five minutes later, the sudden ring of my phone cut through the studio, and I startled, my body flinching before my mind could even process the sound.

I reached for it slowly, my fingers still unsteady from what I had just done, and flipped the screen over.

(My world)

My breath caught in my throat. I simply stared at the flashing name as though it might change if I looked long enough.

He was supposed to be with her.

So why was he calling me now?