Chapter 87 #5: I Want A Divorce
“You’re pregnant.”
The word echoed loudly in my head as I tried to pinch myself awake. It took a while for my brain to fully process what the words actually meant.
Finally, it did.
“That’s not possible,” I said quietly.
She folded her hands. “I know what we told you before. The chances were extremely low. But not zero.”
My vision blurred.
“You’re sure?” I whispered.
She nodded. “Quite sure, Mrs. Reid. Congratulations”
For a moment, I forgot how to breathe. My hands drifted to my stomach, trembling. Joy crashed into fear so fast it made me dizzy.
“Given your history,” she continued, her voice firm now, “you need to be extremely careful. No stress. No exertion. Eat small but frequent meals and stay hydrated. Avoid anything that raises adrenaline. We’ll need to monitor you closely.”
I nodded, barely hearing her.
I left the hospital with my hand pressed flat against my stomach like I was afraid the truth might escape if I let go.
Pregnant.
The word kept repeating itself in my head, soft and loud at the same time, terrifying and miraculous all at once. Every step I took felt unreal, like I was moving through a life that belonged to someone else. The sun was too bright. The air felt cold in my lungs. My phone vibrated in my bag and I ignored it, because I knew if I heard another voice right then I might lose my nerve.
I needed to tell David.
I pictured his face when I said it. The way it would brighten with good news like it used to before tragedy struck. The way his eyes would widen like it did the last time, that slow smile he saved just for me. I wanted to see it again. I wanted to take his hand, place it where mine is, and watch the news sink in. I imagined the disbelief, the joy, the way hope would rush back into him like blood into a numb limb.
This could finally fix something in us. Not everything... but something.
I breathed out a white cloud as I remembered Dr Patel's instructions to eat frequently. I hadn’t eaten before I left the house this morning, which means I needed breakfast. Something light like oatmeal, maybe... or fruit.
I checked the time. David should still be at work. Good. That means I could get home first, maybe light a candle, sit him down and deliver this news gently.
The coffee shop on the corner of 72nd and Madison had always been our spot. Quiet in the mornings, good oat milk lattes, simple pastries. I pushed through the glass door and the bell chimed softly behind me.
Warmth hit me first, then the smell of coffee and cinnamon. I looked around out of habit, checking for familiar faces.
I saw him before anything else.
David.
He sat at the small table by the window – the very one we used to take on lazy Sundays. His back was to me, but I knew those shoulders, the way he held them when he tried to look relaxed in public. Dark grey suit jacket hung over the chair. Sleeves rolled to the elbows. The Patek Philippe watch I gave him for our second anniversary caught the light.
Across from him sat a woman.
She was beautiful in the way women like Elaine always chose. Polished. Soft hair falling just so over her shoulders. A dress that looked effortless but expensive. She leaned forward slightly as she talked, her hand brushing my husband’s forearm as if she belonged there. I recognized our head of HR instantly.
Maya.
For a moment, my brain refused to process what I was seeing. It offered me alternatives instead. That was not him. That was someone who looked like him. A trick of the light. A coincidence.
Then he laughed and I forgot how to breathe.
I would know the sound of his laugh anywhere. Low and easy, the sound he made when he was relaxed, when he was not bracing himself for grief or obligation or disappointment. A wave of dizziness went through me so abruptly that I had to grab the edge of the counter to stay upright.
No.
No no no.
This couldn’t be happening.
“Ma’am?” the barista said gently, but I could barely hear her over the screaming in my head. “Can I take your order?”
I shook my head. I could not speak. If I opened my mouth, I might scream. Or cry. Or both.
“I’ll be right back,” the barista said, misunderstanding.
Maya tilted her head and said something. David laughed quietly, gently removing his hand from the hold she had it in, but it stayed near hers on the table.
I backed away slowly, my eyes never leaving David.
He did not look up.
The bell chimed again as I left.
Outside, the air hit me like a slap. My hands were shaking now, violently, my pulse roaring in my ears as I walked. I did not know where I was going at first, only that I could not be near that place for another second.
My phone vibrated again. This time I pulled it out and checked the caller ID: David.
I let it ring as a bitter laugh escaped me before I could stop it. Of course he was calling now. Of course. I shoved the phone back into my bag and kept walking. The doctor’s warnings replayed in my head, each one landing like an accusation.
No stress.
I pressed my hand to my stomach again, panic clawing up my throat. I stopped on the sidewalk and breathed, forcing air in and out slowly.
I was pregnant.
I was pregnant and my husband was on a date with another woman.
The lawyer’s office was only three blocks away.
I did not remember deciding to go there. My feet just took me, carrying me forward with a purpose that felt borrowed, like instinct stepping in where hope had just died.
The receptionist looked up as I entered, her expression shifting when she recognized me. “Mrs Reid,” she said. “Do you have an appointment?”
“No,” I said. My voice sounded steady, which surprised me. “But I need one.”
She hesitated, then nodded. “Mr. Ressler is free.”
I followed her down the hallway, my heels clicking softly against the floor. The sound felt too loud, like I was announcing my arrival to a life I had never planned to enter.
Mr. Ressler stood when I walked in. He was older, kind eyed, the sort of man who had seen many versions of this very moment.
“Mrs. Reid,” he said gently. “Please, sit.”
I did. We sat in silence for a while as he waited. He did not want to rush me, and that small kindness alone nearly broke me.
“I want a divorce,” I said finally.
He nodded once. “Okay.”
No questions. No surprise.
“My husband is David Reid,” I added unnecessarily.
“I’m aware,” he said.
I let out a short, humourless laugh. “Of course you are.”
He slid a glass of water toward me. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”
I considered lying. I considered giving him something neat and uncomplicated. Irreconcilable differences. Growing apart. Instead, I told the truth.
“He lost our child,” I said. “And then he lost me. And today, I found him with another woman.”
Mr. Ressler listened without interrupting, his hands folded on the desk.
“When did this happen?” he asked quietly.
“Today,” I said. “Just now.”
He exhaled. “I’m really sorry.”
"I’m pregnant.” I blurted out. Not sure why, but I needed to tell someone for it to truly sink in. The words felt strange out loud and heavy with irony.
His eyebrows lifted slightly. “Is your husband aware?”
“No. And I do not plan on letting him know."
“That complicates things,” he said carefully.
“Yes,” I agreed. “It does."
He leaned back in his chair. “Are you certain this is what you want?”
I thought of David’s smile. Of Maya’s hand on his arm. Of the way hope had risen in me only to be crushed minutes later.
“Yes,” I said. “I am.”
“Then we proceed,” he said. “We’ll keep this as clean as possible.”
He slid the papers across. I read them quickly. Nothing had changed. Prenup enforced. Assets divided as agreed. No alimony. No contest. Clean break.
I signed where the tabs showed. Initialled. Dated. My hand stayed steady. When the last page was done, Kessler took the stack, tapped it even, and put it in an envelope.
“You want me to serve him?”
“No.” I stood. “I’ll do it.”
He looked at me for a moment. “Call if you change your mind.”
“I won’t.”
The walk back took longer. The wind had picked up, carrying small flakes that stung. The day had moved on without me. My phone vibrated again: David.
This time there was a message.
《Where are you? I’ve been calling.》
I stared at the screen until the words blurred, then slipped the phone back into my bag without answering.
By the time I got home, my hands had stopped shaking. Something cold and calm had settled over me, a clarity that felt dangerous in its own way.
David was at the table when I walked in, a plate of food in front of him.
“There you are,” he said, standing immediately. “I was worried.”
“Were you?” I asked.
He frowned. “Of course I was. You didn’t answer your phone.”
I walked past him, set my bag down carefully, my movements deliberately slow.
“We need to talk,” he said.
“Yes,” I replied. “We do.”
Without waiting for him to say another word, I pulled the papers from my bag.
“What’s that?” he asked.
I walked to the table and dropped them in front of him.
The sound was loud in the quiet room.
“I want a divorce.”