The Billionaire Husband Regret Losing His Wife

The sun was beating down relentlessly on the dusty streets, painting the faded pavement in harsh, blinding light. Ten-year-old Bella wiped a line of sweat from her forehead with the sleeve of her oversized, faded cotton shirt. Her small, scuffed shoes kicked against the curb, but her bright eyes were fixed on the bottom of a metal recycling bin.

​She reached inside, her tiny fingers wrapping around the cold aluminum of a discarded soda can.

​"That makes twenty-five!" Bella cheered, dropping it into the heavy burlap sack she had been hauling since school let out. Her shoulders ached, and her hands were dirty, but she wore a wide, triumphant grin.

​"Bella! Be careful with those sharp edges, darling," a soft, melodious voice called out.

​Manny Shaw stepped out from the shadow of a small corner shop, holding a worn canvas bag. Her dark hair was tied back in a simple, loose bun, and she wore a plain, cheap yellow dress that had been washed so many times the fabric was practically paper-thin. Yet, despite the threadbare clothes and the shadow under her eyes, Manny carried herself with a quiet, graceful dignity.

​Manny knelt beside her daughter, pulling out a handkerchief to gently wipe the dust off Bella’s cheeks. Her heart squeezed with a familiar, aching pain. No ten-year-old child should spend her afternoons dragging a bag of trash around the neighborhood.

​"Look, Mommy!" Bella beamed, holding the burlap sack open. "The recycling center man said if I bring twenty more bottles by tomorrow, he’ll give me enough coins to buy that shiny blue tie at the market! Daddy’s birthday is coming, and he wears that same old black tie to work every single day. I want him to look like a handsome prince!"

​Manny’s chest tightened, a bittersweet smile touching her lips. She reached out, gently smoothing Bella’s tangled hair.

​"Your father will love it because it comes from you, Bella," Manny said softly. "But remember what I told you. You don't need to work this hard to buy expensive things. Money comes and goes, but the love we have in this family is what truly matters."

​"I know, Mommy," Bella said, nodding earnestly. "Money doesn't make people good. Love does! But Daddy works so hard at his construction job. His hands are always rough, and he comes home so tired every night. I just want to make him happy."

​Manny pressed a tender kiss to Bella’s forehead, hiding the faint sigh that threatened to escape.

​Ten years. It had been ten long, exhausting years since she met James Lopez. Back then, he was just a quiet, struggling young man with big dreams and empty pockets. When her father passed away a decade ago, leaving her utterly alone in the world, James had been her anchor. They had married in a tiny, quiet civil ceremony, with no guests, no fancy dress, and no ring other than a plain metal band.

​Since then, their life had been a constant battle against poverty. James worked long hours as a low-level site supervisor for a major construction firm, often away for days at a time. Manny stretched every single penny, skipping meals herself so Bella could have milk, taking in local sewing repair work late into the night until her eyes burned. They lived in a cramped, two-room rented apartment with leaking pipes and peeling paint.

​Yet, Manny had never complained. Not once. She believed in her husband. She believed that as long as they had each other and their daughter, the poverty was just a temporary mountain they were climbing together.

​"Come on, my little collector," Manny said, offering her hand to Bella. "Let's head home and start making dinner before your father gets back. He said he might be home early tonight."

​Bella’s face lit up instantly. "Daddy’s coming home early?!" She grabbed her heavy sack of bottles with renewed energy, her exhaustion completely forgotten as she skipped alongside her mother down the narrow, gravel alley leading toward their apartment building.

​Thirty minutes later, the modest aroma of boiling rice and seasoned vegetables filled their small kitchen. Bella was sitting at the tiny wooden table, carefully smoothing out the crumpled banknotes and silver coins she had saved over the past two months.

​"Three hundred... three hundred and fifty... four hundred..." Bella counted under her breath, her brow furrowed in intense concentration.

​Suddenly, the rusted iron gate outside squeaked open. Heavy, slow footsteps echoed down the narrow hallway.

​"Daddy!" Bella gasped. She hurriedly shoved her stash of money into her small school backpack and bounced out of her chair.

​The front door unlocked, and James Lopez walked inside.

​He looked, as he always did, like a man broken by hard manual labor. He wore a dusty, faded flannel shirt, worn jeans with dark patches at the knees, and heavy work boots coated in dry mud. His dark hair was slightly messy, and his sharp, handsome jawline was covered in light stubble. He tossed his scuffed leather bag onto the small sofa near the door, slumping his shoulders with an air of profound exhaustion.

​"James, you're back," Manny said, stepping out of the kitchen with a warm, welcoming smile. She immediately walked over, reaching out to take his dusty coat. "How was the site today? You look exhausted. I just finished cooking—"

​"It was fine," James interrupted, his voice flat and remarkably dry. He didn't look at her, stepping past her embrace to sit at the table.

​Manny’s hand hovered in the air for a fraction of a second before she gently lowered it. She pushed down the quiet pang in her chest, replacing it with understanding. He was tired. He worked so hard for them.

​Bella ran over, wrapping her small arms around James's waist from behind. "Daddy! You came home before the sun went down! Look, I drew a picture for you at school today!"

​James stiffened slightly at the sudden touch before gently patting Bella’s hands and unclasping them from his waist. "That's nice, Bella. Go wash your hands for dinner."

​His tone wasn't mean, but it lacked the warm, bubbling affection Bella had been waiting for all day. Bella blinked, her bright smile wavering slightly, but she quickly nodded. "Okay, Daddy!" She scurried off toward the small bathroom.

​Manny set a steaming plate of rice and vegetables in front of James, alongside a glass of water. She sat down across from him, resting her hands on the table.

​"The landlord came by today, James," Manny said softly, keeping her voice low so Bella wouldn't hear from the other room. "He said the water bill is two weeks overdue. I managed to pay half from the mending money I got yesterday, but we need to clear the rest by Friday, or he'll shut off the pipes."

​James took a slow bite of his food, his expression completely unreadable. "I don't have it right now, Manny. Things are tight at work."

​"I understand," Manny said quickly, placing her hand gently over his rough, calloused fingers. "I'm not nagging you, James. I know how hard you work. I'll take on a few more sewing orders this week. We'll get through it. We always do."

​James looked down at her small, soft hand covering his. A strange, fleeting shadow crossed his dark eyes—something heavy, complex, and unreadable—before he pulled his hand away to pick up his glass of water.

​"Right," he murmured coldly. "We always do."

​Before Manny could say another word, the sharp, loud buzz of a cell phone echoed through the quiet apartment.

​It wasn't the old, cracked button-phone James usually kept on the kitchen counter. The muffled vibration was coming from deep inside the secret inner lining of his heavy work jacket hanging by the door.

​James froze.

​Manny frowned slightly, looking toward the jacket. "James? Is that another phone?"

​James stood up so fast his wooden chair scraped harshly against the floor tiles. The exhausted, slumped posture he had maintained all evening vanished instantly, replaced by a rigid, commanding alertness.

​"It's... a work phone from the site manager," James said, his voice dropping an octave as he snatched his jacket off the peg. He didn't wait for her response. He quickly stepped out onto the narrow, dark balcony and slammed the glass door shut behind him.

​Manny stood near the kitchen table, watching her husband through the glass.

​Outside on the dim balcony, bathed in the twilight shadow, James Lopez didn't look like a poor, struggling construction worker at all. He stood tall, his chest expanded, his countenance radiating an aura of cold, absolute authority.

​He pulled a sleek, custom black smartphone—a device that cost more than their entire apartment's rent for three years—from his coat. He swiped the screen and brought it to his ear.

​Manny couldn't hear his words, but she could see his profile. His face was devoid of any exhaustion. His eyes were sharp, piercing, and icy. He spoke with the commanding posture of a man accustomed to ruling nations, not pouring concrete.

​Inside the kitchen, Manny felt a sudden, inexplicable chill run down her spine. A strange, unsettling knot formed deep in her stomach as she stared at the stranger standing on her balcony.

​Who was the man she had been living with for ten years?