When Love Forgets

Leena’s POV

“I’m tired of you,” George said as he slid the divorce file across the counter.

I froze, the ladle in my hand cluttering to the floor. “What?” I blurted out, sure that he wasn’t talking to me.

“You heard me,” he said, nonchalantly sipping his cup of tea.

“What…what do you mean by that?” My heart clenched, and my blood ran cold. It didn’t help that he had that annoying blank expression on his face, acting as if I never existed.

“I mean,” he exhaled, finally looking up from his phone. “I am sick, and tired of you, Leena. A marriage like ours was bound to fail anyway, so don't come here acting surprised. My lawyer’s waiting outside.”

He spoke with so much casualness that it felt like I was dreaming. George and I got married five years ago because of our families. A marriage of convenience, they said. It was only about the merger between our families, and to hide a scandal that threatened to ruin his reputation.

That was what it was at first.

But over the years, his cold exterior melted whenever he was with me. He started paying attention to little things like how hot I like my coffee in the morning, the exact brand of tampons I used, even the time my favorite movie show came on every evening. At some point, we became the model billionaire couple, since the merger became a success. Date nights were always romantic and ended in amazing sex, our anniversaries came pre–planned in some place outside the country, and each day I fell more and more in love with him.

He made me believe he loved me too.

Which was why when I heard that his ex Flora had returned, I wasn’t bothered. George loved me now, and he would stand by me no matter what.

But now it seemed, I was terribly wrong.

“George…” I breathed, my voice trembling.

“Leena. I don't want this to drag any further. Sign the fucking papers and leave. I’m expecting someone,” he grunted, getting off the stool aggressively. He stormed off to his room, the muscles on his back flexing as he walked.

I flinched as blood rushed to my head. He hadn't spoken to me like that in years. Where was all this coming from? Where was my charming and loving husband? Who was this stranger standing in front of me?

And who was he expecting?

I stood there for another ten minutes, shakily holding the ladle as the soup on the pot boiled vigorously. A single tear slid down my cheek, but anger began to build too. I marched to his room and pushed the door open, hearing the sound of the shower running.

His clothes were strewn on the bed, and I paused, realizing I had never seen these pairs of clothes before. It looked like a matching set.

“What are you doing here? Have you signed the papers?” He thundered. I spun around and faced him, all six foot two of hard muscle, and spoke.

“Is Flora coming here? Is she the reason you're suddenly tired of me? George, it's been five years…five years of...”

“Of being in a contract,” he cut me off, stalking closer to me. “Why on earth would your daft brain believe I ever loved you? It was a show for the camera, and to make your stupid parents happy. They’re dead now aren’t they? Good. I have no use for you anymore.”

I took a step back until my back touched the cold concrete wall, and he leaned down, measuring at eye level with me. His blue eyes were stormy, filled with an emotion I hadn't seen before. “You are nothing to me. Nothing but a liability, something to quench my desires. So now, stop these tantrums and sign the fucking papers.”

My lips quivered as he spoke, and I could feel the warm wetness on my cheeks. He was really doing this. I clenched my jaw and exhaled, because I needed to be strong. If he wanted to throw away five years of love for an ex, then so be it. I wouldn’t be the one to stop him.

“Okay. I’ll sign them,” I whispered in the quiet, the only sound being the rush of water in the bathroom.

George’s expression flickered, confusion and surprise before they were masked by that same icy cover. Maybe I imagined it, but he had a sad look in his eyes, one of hurt and desperation.

I pushed him off slowly, and walked away, refusing to break in front of him again.

“Goodbye, George,” I said calmly, before walking out of his room and slamming the door shut.

I walked to the kitchen and pulled out the divorce papers out of the file, taking my time to read through them. I saw that he had given me fifty percent of his assets, as well as a luxury house in one of the countries we spent our honeymoon in. It should have made me feel better, but all I felt was disgust. I signed the papers in a rush and stormed to my room, allowing the anger to fuel me.

I picked up my phone and dialed my best friend Genna’s number. She picked up on the first ring.

“Leena, what's up? Surprising you finally found time to call me since your husband won't let you keep up with your....”

“Genna,” I whispered. “Can you come pick me up? I’ll be outside my gate with my stuff.”

There was silence on the other end for a second, a sharp intake of breath, and then a short clipped, “Okay, I’m on my way.”

When I was done packing my things, George hadn't left his room yet. The signed papers sat splayed on the counter, a painful reminder that none of this was real. I had lived in an illusion for five fucking years.

The familiar sound of Genna’s BMW hummed at the gate, and I took one last look at the mansion I called home for five years. My chest ached, and my fingers were trembling, but I forced my feet to move towards the gates.

When I spotted Genna, she didn’t say a word, just helped me into her car and drove me to her place. All the while, one thought roamed in my head, underneath the anger and pain.

I was pregnant.