He Wants Me Back

No Longer Mrs. Cooley: The Architect's Return

Xiao Xiaosu

I went to the City Clerk’s office for a routine copy of my marriage license to finalize a trust fund audit. I expected a simple piece of paper, but the clerk’s pitying look told me my entire life was a lie. "The license was never finalized, Ms. Oliver. In the eyes of the state, you are single." The three-hundred-guest wedding at the Plaza and the Vogue features meant nothing. My husband, Gray Cooley, had intentionally filed the documents with a "procedural defect" so he could discard me without a legal divorce. Moments later, an iCloud invite titled "Our Little Secret" popped up on my screen. It was a photo of my best friend, Brylee, holding a positive pregnancy test at our Hamptons estate. Gray’s text to her was the final blow: "Happy anniversary, babe. This baby is the best gift. Once the trust unlocks today, we’re done with the charade." I soon discovered they were even stealing my career, reassigning my architectural masterpiece to Brylee while preparing my eviction notice. Gray's mother called me a "barren mule" in a leaked recording, mocking the infertility I suffered after saving Gray’s life in a construction accident. I wasn't a wife; I was a three-year placeholder used to secure his inheritance. How could the man I bled for treat me like a disposable prop? How could my best friend carry his child while pretending to comfort me through my darkest moments? The betrayal burned until it turned into a cold, hard stone of fury. I didn't cry. Instead, I walked into the penthouse of the Barretts, the Cooleys' most powerful rivals. I signed a marriage contract with Kane Barrett, the man the tabloids called the "Beast of Wall Street." "I want a wedding," I told his father, my voice steady and lethal. "Bigger than the one I had with Gray." If they wanted me gone, they would have to watch me become the woman who owns their world.

Modern Revenge Divorce

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Rachel’s POV

I sat at our favorite restaurant, fidgeting with my napkin. Today was special—our third anniversary. I couldn't wait to see Andrew walk through that door.

Although I was dying with anxiety deep down, I still managed to put on a smile, ignoring the piety looks I was getting from the waiters.

He was going to show up, hopefully.

I loved him more with each passing day, but lately, things have changed. His promotion at work had taken over his life. He was always busy, always tired. We barely had time for each other.

He gets upset at the slightest things, so I choose most times not to get into an argument with him letting things go even though it was his fault.

My heart ached, remembering the way it used to be. We'd laugh together, go on spontaneous dates, and cuddle on the couch.

The way he’d tell me how much he loves and adores me. How much I meant to him.

Now, I was lucky if I got a quick kiss goodbye.

Which I haven't gotten for a month or now.

He doesn’t even come home sometimes.

I tried to understand. I did. His job was important, and he was providing for us. But I couldn't shake the feeling that I was losing him, and it was breaking my heart.

I glanced at my watch for the tenth time. No signs of Andrew.

I've been here for almost two hours waiting.

I placed a hand on my barely noticeable bump, and a smile crept on my cheek.

I am two weeks pregnant; I found out yesterday after undergoing a test, so I decided to save the news for today.

Andrew has always wanted a child, and being able to give him one now made my heart swell.

I wonder how he’d take the news.

I took a deep breath and let my eyes wander around the restaurant. Couples held hands, smiling at each other. Families laughed and chatted. I felt a pang of loneliness.

Where was Andrew?

I pulled out my phone and sent him a text: "Hey, running late?"

No response.

I sighed, trying to push away the doubts creeping into my mind. Tonight was supposed to be special. I had planned everything—his favorite food, wine, and most importantly, the pregnancy.

I looked up, hoping to see Andrew walking toward me. But the door swung open, and strangers walked in instead.

My heart sank.

Where was my husband?

I called his line, but it kept sending me to voice mail. I called till eventually the phone was switched off.

"Uhm…Sorry, Mrs. Andreson, we’re closing.” One of the waiters announced, snapping me out of my train of thought.

Tears began to accumulate at the brim of my eyes as reality dawned on me.

Andrew wasn’t going to come.

I bit on my bottom lip getting up. “I’m sorry, I was just leaving,” I announced, assembling my stuff before rushing out.

Tears began to slip as I ran out hailing a taxi to get home.

How would Andrew do this to me? To us?

It was our anniversary for crying out loud; what was the matter with him?

Was his work more important than mine? Than us?