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Ex-Wife, Please Have Some Self-Respect

Chapter 2 No.2

Word Count: 1343    |    Released on: 19/01/2026

m was heavy after the

ins, a cool sensation creeping up his arm. It dulled the sharp edges o

eck the IV. She reached for

" Jord

"I'm just ad

Jorden said. He didn't look at her; he stared at the ceiling. "If you increase it, my bl

he monitor, then back at him. "Are

said. "Just

again. It rattled against the me

e reached out an

e Va

oe was a pit bull in high heels, trained by Cat

humb across the s

ne to his ear. He held

the foot of the bed, looked up from his chart. "Are you insane? Do yo

crystal glasses and the low murmur of a jazz band.

her voice dripping with disdain. "You had one job. One simple job. Pick

of her voice. High pitch. Rapid cadence. St

. "Don't just breathe

d his dry li

" she

your m

went de

Jorden Nash-the doormat, the 'yes man', the husband who apolo

lower, dangerous. "I think the recep

asn't loud. It was calm. It was the voice of a man giv

t this," Chloe hissed.

cut over her, "is in

t here. Now. And don't expect to be let

wrapped around a guardrail on Interstate

was a

ed. The anger fal

y covered in hydraulic fluid and rainwater. If Catarina wants it, she is we

Chloe stammered. "You wrecked

was okay. She didn'

ut the car. A

echoed in his chest. It wasn't a rib. It was th

Chloe," Jo

You can

hun

precise taps, he

the phone o

Stein said softl

den said. "

. The Obs

vet walls, gold fixtures, and people who

ressed to her ear, her mouth agape. She sta

rned s

queen on her throne. Her silver dress shimmered under the chandelier

fixed on the entrance, waiting for a husba

ance. His hair was perfectly coiffed, his smile practiced. He had a hand resti

not looking at Chloe. "I

face flushed. "Ms. Evans..

down. A few of Catarina's friends-sociali

he wine. She turned her head slowl

did

mbling. "He said the car is wrecked. On

forward. "That was a twelve-thousan

nd the room. "He said if you want it, you c

d through the

down on the marble ta

it was a fender bender. Jorden was a dramatic driver

itude? The

hat years ago. He existed to serve her, to look at her with puppy-dog eyes, to be t

t get to

" Catarina demanded

d me, I think,"

locked you? The man who pays for his Netflix subscription

pulled out her own phone. The la

e tight. "Order another bottl

aled J

g once

. The subscriber you have

nt her to

Her reflection in the black

eaning it literally. "When he ge

little tantrum. It makes him look pathetic. You, on the other hand..."

cus. His touch was warm

years, she felt a strange,

icked up. Even when she was screaming. Ev

r end of the line felt

y from Atticus, grabbin

said, downing the wine

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Ex-Wife, Please Have Some Self-Respect
Ex-Wife, Please Have Some Self-Respect
“I was driving through a rainstorm in upstate New York, pushing my old Volvo to the limit just to pick up a Dior gown for my wife, Catarina. She needed it for a gala tonight, where she planned to spend the evening standing next to the man she actually loved, Atticus Deleon. The truck hit me head-on, crossing the center line and sending my car rolling down an embankment in a shriek of twisted metal and shattered glass. As the steering column crushed my chest, my brain didn't see a white light; it was pried open by a digital tsunami, flooding my mind with the "Quantum Archive"-billions of data points on surgery, high-frequency trading, and combat. I woke up in the ICU with three broken ribs and a concussion, but the only thing waiting for me was a screaming voicemail from my wife's assistant. "Jorden, where the hell are you? Catarina has been waiting for thirty minutes! You are so incompetent it's actually impressive." There was no "Are you okay?" or "Are you alive?"-only fury over a ruined dress and a missing tie. While I was being resuscitated, my wife was on Instagram, singing "Endless Love" with Atticus and laughing at my "tantrum." She even called the family lawyer to freeze my credit cards, wanting to make sure I couldn't even buy a coffee without her permission. For three years, I had been the "useful husband," the doormat who apologized whenever she stepped on my toes. But the accident had overwritten my desperation with cold, hard logic, and I realized I had almost died for a woman who viewed me as a liability with a negative return on investment. When Catarina finally stormed into my hospital room to demand an apology for ruining her night, I didn't look at her with the usual puppy-dog eyes. I looked at her with ice in my veins and handed her a manila envelope I had drafted myself. "Sign the divorce papers, Ms. Evans. I'm done being your canary."”