The eighteenth time Damon Montgomery and I attempted to divorce, he failed to show up again. I stood outside the Registry Office, the same place it had always been, and received the customary text message. Emergency. Reschedule. I stared blankly at the red-highlighted countdown on my phone, the remaining days until we could file again. I simply couldn't afford to waste any more time on this disastrous marriage. After a long moment, I pulled up the messaging app and calmly typed a few lines. She’s pregnant again, isn’t she? Damon, for the sake of your two children, just let me go. The nineteenth time, we finally succeeded. 1 Damon and I had once been madly in love. We had both dreamt of the perfect little family, a beautiful home, and one adorable baby. Now, the son he’d fathered with another woman was three years old, and still, he’d fought to keep me tied to him. A woman’s voice jolted me out of the memory. She gave me a sympathetic glance, unable to resist offering unsolicited advice. “Lydia, stop this. No matter how much you fight it, the child is here now. Deep down, Damon still loves you.” I didn’t reply, turning my back to her. The man in a crisp suit stood in the doorway, having overheard everything. He walked away the moment my gaze landed on him. Today was the day his son was officially inducted into the Montgomery family lineage. Halfway through the ceremony, the family elders paused, stymied by the name to be recorded as the mother. I had already warned them: my name was forbidden. In the awkward silence, someone gently advised Damon. “Damon, just choose someone else.” Damon’s eyes remained fixed on me, saying nothing. Everyone was watching my reaction. I finally spoke, my voice flat. “It’s fine. I have no objection.” I thought I heard a cold, self-mocking scoff from somewhere, but I didn't look up to confirm. Savannah was called in. When the ritual was over, she turned to leave, but Damon stopped her. “Come here. Stand beside me.” Out of the corner of my eye, I felt his gaze probing my face, waiting for a crack in my composure. I kept my head down. But I still looked once. The woman leaned into his side, gripping the sleeve of his expensive jacket, her entire being focused on the child they shared. A familiar, dull ache settled in my chest, a residual pain that was more numbness than heartbreak. The ceremony ended, and as the last person in the room, I was the first to leave. Behind me, the little boy, Leo, skipped happily, holding Damon’s hand and Savannah’s other hand. The Montgomery seniors watched the trio—a perfect, complete family—with warm smiles. They looked so proud. Yet, they had once stood firmly by my side. I remembered when Savannah had just given birth. She knelt at the gates of the Montgomery estate for a full day and night, clutching the infant, and still they refused to let the child inside. They had sworn that as long as I lived, I would be their only daughter-in-law. I was glad I hadn’t believed them then. I stopped Damon as he approached. His expression was dark, shadowed. “The divorce papers tomorrow. Don’t forget.” My persistent demand for a divorce had clearly worn out his patience over the years. Everyone assumed I was just throwing a tantrum, unwilling to accept defeat. They thought three years of fighting was enough, that since the boy was three, what good would come of not forgiving him? But only I knew the truth: I was genuinely done wasting my time on him. The woman beside him instantly teared up. “Mrs. Montgomery, are you angry because of me? If I’ve done anything wrong, I apologize. Please, have some compassion for Damon and stop deliberately making things difficult for him.” Damon stared at me, then sneered. “She’s divorcing me. What right does she have to be angry?” My eyes finally felt the sting of dampness. The next second, I was abruptly shoved. The little boy, Leo, stood defensively in front of Savannah, hands on his hips, glaring at me with puffed cheeks. I landed hard on the marble floor. Looking down, I saw my palms were scraped raw. Damon instinctively took a step toward me. He was silent, but a flicker of emotion—concern? guilt?—crossed his eyes. A dry retching sound broke the tension. Savannah suddenly clutched her stomach and doubled over, her face pale. I rose slowly, clutching my stinging, scraped hands. I walked toward the exit. A stunned Damon did not follow. A low whisper drifted after me, reaching my ears as I left. “Do you think… she’s pregnant again?” 2 I opened the door to the house, and silence rushed out to greet me. It was empty and cold. I had dismissed the house staff six months ago. My body was throbbing, a deep ache pulsing behind my eyes. My hand shook as I fumbled in my purse for the pill bottle. I dumped a handful into my palm—I didn't count—and swallowed them quickly with a dry throat. I lay on the cold hardwood floor, tears slowly tracing a path down my temples. Lydia. How did you let your life become this? The endless, sightless marriage had left my spirit exhausted, utterly lifeless. Now, even my body seemed to be giving out. The lock clicked. I tried to struggle to my feet, but I was too weak. No one ever comes here but me. A bitter laugh was still on my lips when the door swung open. Damon stepped inside, backlit by the evening sun. He stood motionless, watching me, not speaking. I managed to sit up, carefully tucking the pill bottle into my bag. Even if he saw it, he wouldn’t care. Just as I thought, Damon bypassed me entirely, settling languidly onto the sofa. “I don’t believe we’re divorced yet, Ms. Montgomery. Are you saying there’s nothing of mine left in this house?” I had mailed all his clothes to the penthouse he’d bought for Savannah months ago. It had been so long since he’d come home; wracked with pain, I could no longer remember when. Seeing me still sitting on the floor, the man roughly hauled me into his arms. He leaned in close, his voice a low, ragged growl. “Lydia. Speak to me.” His eyes, beneath the dark fringe of his lashes, had that tiny, beautiful teardrop mole I used to love. I turned my head away. “Your things aren’t lost. They’re at your other house.” Damon exploded. He gripped my shoulders so tightly his fingers dug into my flesh, his eyes completely red. “Three years! It’s been three damn years! What do you need to finally forgive me? Can’t you see I regret it? Can’t you see I’m suffering every day just like you?” He took my hand and placed it over his wildly beating heart, his voice raw with pleading. “Lydia, can’t we just go back to the way things were?” I pushed back, but he didn’t budge. I just stared at him, my eyes empty with a quiet sense of finality. Finally, Damon shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping him. He gradually released my arms. I rubbed my bruised shoulders and picked up the steak knife from the coffee table, turning it over in my fingers. “Then divorce me, Damon. We both can be free.” Damon slumped to the floor, laughing wildly. “You want a divorce? Never. I’ll keep you trapped here. I’ll make you watch me live a happy life for the rest of yours.” I tightened my grip on the knife. Slowly, deliberately, I brought the tip to my pale, exposed throat. Unfortunately, he won’t be able to trap me for my entire life. Damon’s pupils constricted. Without hesitation, he grabbed the blade with his bare hand. His five fingers were trembling. In the silent, terrifying standoff, he was the one who surrendered first. “Fine. I’ll divorce you.” The tall man struggled to stand, swaying as if he might collapse. Before he did, a small woman rushed in and braced him. Savannah. She was weeping, her lashes heavy with tears. “I didn’t follow you. I just—you come home so often with fresh cuts and bruises. I was worried.” Damon rested his head weakly against her shoulder, closing his eyes. “I won’t come here anymore. Never again.” I watched the empty, wide-open doorway. Damon was gone. Memories rushed up, pushed down, only to surge up again, blurring my vision. Someone once said that love alone can’t guarantee a happy ending. Damon and I never believed it. Now, we both knew better. 3 Savannah, of course, told Damon’s parents about our dramatic confrontation. They arrived while I was eating dinner. My throat, still visible despite my efforts, showed the faint red line from the knife. Damon’s mother kept her silence, but his father asked, with a show of concern: “Why are you eating so little?” It's true. When did my appetite shrink to this? “Because I’m going to die soon.” Damon’s father froze, assuming I was being difficult again. His face hardened. “Lydia, is that how you talk to your elders? You weren’t like this before. You’ve become so difficult to be around. No wonder Damon avoids coming home. Who would want to stay with you for long?” I was unmoved, slowly chewing my food. I couldn't seem to swallow it. Damon’s mother, a woman of high society, grew visibly angry at my lack of reaction. She pushed her plate aside and slid a check across the table. “We came here to ask you to divorce Damon. You saw Savannah today; she’s pregnant again. She’s several months along, and it’s a girl.” The pain started again. A wave of nausea. How strange. Why does it hurt every time they mention Damon? “We’re divorcing tomorrow.” Damon’s mother scoffed. “You and Damon have been fighting this for three years. When has it ever worked? You refused a good life and insisted on this drama. If you had just accepted my grandson sooner, it wouldn't have come to this.” I looked up, meeting her eyes. “Are you suggesting I should have accepted his child with another woman, and watched him lie to me, over and over, all for the sake of that child?” My clear, unwavering gaze unnerved her. The cruel words died in her throat. She only muttered: “We were on your side. You wouldn’t have lost anything.” I tossed the check back onto the table, stood up, and motioned them out. “Don’t worry. Tomorrow, Damon and I will be done.” 4 On the day of the divorce, I woke up early and dressed with care. After all, this would be the last divorce of my life. I arrived early. The Town Hall had just opened. The people milling around were all couples, some happy, some clearly miserable. I was the only one sitting alone on the steps, counting the ants on the sidewalk. The morning passed. Damon didn't show. He’d broken his promise again. I checked my phone. One minute ago, he had sent the text. Emergency. Reschedule. I stared at the seven simple words. I scrolled up through our previous attempts. All eighteen messages were identical, down to the punctuation. I sat back down, propped my chin in my hands, and drifted into a daze. If the divorce failed today, Damon’s mother would suspect I was the one refusing to let him go. I didn’t want to die with the reputation of a woman still clinging to her cheating husband. After a long time, I took out my phone and calmly typed the lines that had worked the day before. She’s pregnant again, isn’t she? Damon, for the sake of your two children, just let me go. He didn’t reply, but I decided to wait. To pass the time, I counted the ants again. I realized there were only a few of them, and I finished counting quickly. They have more time left than I do. The smile on my face froze. It was only now, truly, that I realized I was actually going to die soon. Just as the Town Hall was closing, Damon emerged from a car parked some distance away. His polished leather shoes appeared in my line of sight. I looked up. The afternoon sun made my eyes sting slightly. I rose slowly and brushed the dust from my clothes. “Let’s go inside.” Damon didn’t move. He grabbed my arm, his eyes radiating a cold intensity. “Are you really sure you want to divorce me?” For a fleeting second, I heard another question, long ago. “Lydia, are you really sure you want to marry me?” I pulled my hand free and walked up the steps before him. “Yes. I’m sure.” The answer was the same, but the path was leading to a completely different ending. 5 The nineteenth time, we finally succeeded. When we walked out, Savannah was waiting by the door with their son. The boy saw me and spat toward me. “Dead woman, get lost! Stop bothering my dad! If you don’t leave, I’ll hit you!” Before he could touch me, Damon slapped him across the face. Damon didn’t hold back. The boy’s cheek immediately swelled, and a trickle of blood appeared at his mouth. Savannah began to sob, distraught, but Damon remained impassive. He gripped the boy’s head and spoke with a fierce, brutal intensity. “If I ever hear you insult her again, you’re out. Go as far away as you can.” The boy hid in Savannah’s arms, wailing, refusing to apologize. “They said I’m a bastard, not Dad’s real son, that’s why you won’t let us live with Grandpa and Grandma! They also said Mom is a homewrecker, a vixen everyone hates! Mom always cries in secret and lies to me that she just got sand in her eyes!” The boy wiped his tears with the back of his hand and pointed a furious finger at me. “If it weren't for you, Dad would love me and Mom! Why don’t you just die!” I wasn't angry. I just felt a sudden, deep disgust for the little boy. He was Damon’s son, all right. His words cut just as deep. I turned my back, quickly swallowing a few more pills in secret. Damon saw the movement and seized my wrist. “What are you taking?”
? Continue the story here ?? ? Download the "MotoNovel" app ? search for "386818", and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel