Chasing My Secretary Wife

Abandoned Ex-Wife: Now Untouchable

Tao Yaoyao

My five-year-old daughter was dying in the ICU, her heartbeat replaced by the continuous, electronic scream of a flatline. I gripped her cold hand, my throat sealed shut by a terror so absolute I couldn't even cry out. I dialed my husband Grayson's private number, the one reserved only for me and his assistants. He declined the call instantly. A second later, a text buzzed against my palm: "In a meeting. Do not disturb. Stop calling." Five miles away, Grayson was at a luxury gala, adjusting his silk tie and laughing with Belle Escobar. He told her I was just being "dramatic" and using our daughter's "fever" as an excuse to avoid the event. He had no idea Effie's heart had already stopped. When I finally reached our penthouse, soaked from the rain and carrying Effie's small socks in a plastic bag, Grayson didn't even look at me. He snapped at me for ruining the hardwood floors and asked if I'd left Effie with the nanny just to "feel sorry for myself." Three days later, while I buried our daughter in a small, lonely ceremony, Grayson was at the Hamptons. Belle posted a photo of him golfing with the caption: "A mental health day with the boys." He didn't even attend the funeral, but he returned home demanding I clear out Effie's room to make a study for Belle's son. The injustice burned through me until there was nothing left. I swallowed a handful of sleeping pills, desperate to join my daughter. But instead of the darkness, I woke up to blinding lights and the scent of Grayson's expensive cologne. I was standing in a ballroom, wearing a blue silk dress I had already burned. Above me, a banner read: "Happy 5th Birthday Kaiden & Effie." I was back, exactly one year before the tragedy. This time, I wasn't going to be the grieving wife. I was going to be their worst nightmare.

Modern Parenting Ex-wife Drama

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Arabella's POV

Effortlessly, the liquid leaves my bladder. With closed eyes, my heart hammers wildly within my ribcage anxiously.

For no reason, I don't want to do this anymore. For a moment, I begin to think of the very step to take as soon as this is confirmed.

Should I still go ahead with it?

Ignorance, they say, is bliss. What if he doesn't want a child now?

Realizing I have been staring at my urine for more than a minute, I summon up enough courage as I grab the container and dip the absorbent tip of the PT test strip before counting from 1 to 10 and then recapping it.

With trembling hands, I place the strip on the flat counter while fidgeting with my hands and watching the timer on my phone.

In five minutes, I would know my fate.

In five minutes, I would have to choose.

In five minutes, I would have to know whether to see him tonight or not.

In five minutes, my world would either change or remain the same.

I shut my eyes, clamp my hands together and stamp my feet impatiently on the floor. When I flicker my eyes back open, traces of the doubtful expression of a woman I can barely recognise in just a few minutes stares back at me from the mirror.

I can barely recognize myself.

What then will happen if I am indeed pregnant?

I try to smile but it falters.

I try to stay calm but the trembling won't stop.

I try to look upset too, perhaps it might help with how I feel but I don't look angry.

My expression is filled with nothing but anxiety, hope, doubts and optimism.

Something dings and it occurs to me that it is the timer. Five minutes is up.

It is time to see the results of what we did a month ago.

Even though my curiosity led me to this, I can't brace myself up to look down at the strip right in front of me. My eyes are looking directly into the mirror.

Suddenly, my eyes water.

A lump is stuck in my throat. My chest is heavy too.

Balling my hand into a fist and letting out a long sigh, I drop my head down to stare at the two red lines staring right back at me.

My heart stops for a minute.

My breathing hitched too.

When it finally dawns on me that this is what I want, I clasp my hand over my mouth, stepping back with laughter erupting from my throat.

Finally!

I'm pregnant.

I'm having a baby.

When my back hits the wall, it sinks in, making my laughter stop halfway.

My initial fear was to know if he would want this too. This is not just about me. It is about us. Our child.

I should tell him. Then I would know if he wants a baby as much as I do.