Dear Ex-Husband, You will never Hurt me again

Seven years ago, I bought a tiny white casket.

I was twenty-two, recovering from a shattered pelvis and a hollowed-out abdomen. I had thrown myself across the console to shield Roger when the truck hit our car. He walked away with bruised ribs. I lost my uterus, and our six-month-old son.

The grief was so heavy I couldn't breathe. On the day of the buriala burial Roger barred me from attending because I was "too fragile"I broke out of my hospital room. I found an empty display casket in the basement of the morgue and climbed inside, praying the dark would just swallow me whole.

Roger found me. He dragged me out, his tears soaking my thin gown.

"Ysabel, stop!" he had sobbed, clutching me so tight my broken bones ached. "I don't care about kids! I just need you. You are my everything. Please, stay alive for me."

I stayed alive.

And three years later, he got his twenty-four-year-old secretary pregnant.

"The Thorne family needs an heir, Ysabel. You know this."

Rogers voice was completely steady as he tossed the glossy ultrasound photo onto the kitchen island. No guilt. No hesitation. Just a cold, calculated business update.

I stared at the black-and-white image of the tiny bean. My chest hollowed out, the phantom pain of my own lost child screaming in my blood.

"Cheska is young," he continued, adjusting his expensive tie in the mirror. "Her vitals are perfect. When the baby is born, well bring it home. It will call you Mom. Itll be just like the one we lost."

My hands started to shake.

Just like the one we lost.

He said it so casually, as if my dead son was just a defective product he was finally replacing. The promises he made to me on that cold morgue floor were nothing but dust.

I didn't scream. I didn't cry. The absolute betrayal just left me numb.

I reached into my bag, pulled out the divorce papers I had signed that morning, and slid them across the marble counter.

"Sign them," I whispered. "I only have one child, Roger. And I only want to be his mother. You and Cheska can have your perfect beautiful life. I want out. And I want to know where my baby is buried."

For ten years, he had hidden the grave from me. He claimed it was to protect my mental health, to stop me from spiraling. I had begged on my knees, year after year, just to lay a single flower for my son. He always refused.

Roger snatched the papers. His knuckles turned white as he ripped them in half, then into quarters, throwing the shreds at my feet.

"You think you can just walk away from me?" he sneered, closing the distance between us. "You want to play the victim, Ysabel? Fine. Lets see how much you really want to find that grave."

He grabbed my arm, his grip bruising my skin, and dragged me out into the freezing Seattle rain.

He didn't stop driving until we reached the VIP wing of Seattle Grace.

He shoved me through the double doors of the luxury maternity suite. The room smelled of expensive vanilla and sterile alcohol.

Cheska was lounging on the plush hospital bed, eating imported grapes and scrolling through her phone. She looked up, her lips curving into a sweet, venomous smile.

"Roger, baby, you brought her?" she cooed.

Roger pushed me forward so hard I stumbled to my knees at the foot of her bed.

"Listen to me very carefully," Roger said, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper. "You will stay here. You will serve Cheska. You will make sure she and my heir are perfectly comfortable. If you do exactly as you're told until the baby is born... Ill tell you where your son is buried."

My breath caught. "Roger... no. Please."

"If you refuse," he cut in, his eyes devoid of any warmth, "I will have his grave paved over by tomorrow morning."

He knew. He knew exactly how to break me.

So, I became a ghost in that room.

For three days, I swallowed my dignity. I fetched Cheskas ice water. I massaged her swollen ankles while she complained about the hospital food. I watched, silent and hollow, as Roger brought her roses, kissing her forehead, whispering the same sweet nothings he used to whisper to me.

The air in the room was suffocating.

On the fourth afternoon, Roger leaned over the bed, his hand resting intimately on Cheskas stomach. She giggled, pulling his face down for a deep, lingering kiss. She locked eyes with me over his shoulder, her smirk victorious.

Bile rose in my throat. I couldn't breathe.

I stumbled out of the room, pushing through the heavy doors into the freezing, empty corridor. The winter draft hit my face, but it wasn't enough to stop the panic attack.

My chest seized. The walls were closing in.

With trembling, frantic fingers, I dug into my coat pocket for my medicine. I just needed the pain to stop. I just needed to numb the image of them together.

I popped the white pill out of the foil. My hand was shaking so badly I could barely lift it to my mouth.

Suddenly, the suite door slammed open.

Roger stood there, his eyes flashing with an ugly, irrational rage.

"What the hell are you doing?" he barked.

Before I could even speak, he lunged forward. His hand cracked against my wrist.

The pill flew from my fingers, bouncing off the cold hospital tiles and disappearing down the dark hallway.

I gasped, dropping to my knees. My hands scrambled frantically over the freezing floor, searching for the tiny white pill. I needed it. My chest was caving in, my vision blurring at the edges.

Roger grabbed my shoulders and yanked me up roughly. "I asked you a question, Ysabel! Why are you taking antidepressants? Youre supposed to be better now!"

"I... I can't breathe," I choked out, my whole body trembling violently. The panic was swallowing me whole. "Please, Roger. Let me go find it. Please..."

He scoffed, his grip tightening until his fingers dug into my bruised skin. "Are you doing this for fun? Is this just another one of your little shows to get my attention?"

"No!" I sobbed, my teeth chattering. "I'm not faking! I just... the pain... please!"

"Stop it!" he snapped, his voice echoing off the sterile walls. "You're faking it again! Its been ten years since you lost the child, Ysabel. Ten years! Come on, grow up and get over it!"

His words were like glass shredding my throat. Get over it.

Tears poured down my face. I collapsed against the wall, sliding down until I hit the floor again. "I just want to know where he is," I begged, clutching the hem of his expensive coat. "Please, Roger. Just tell me where my baby is buried. That's all I want. Please..."

Roger looked down at me, his expression hardening into something cruel and unrecognizable. He leaned in close, his voice dropping to a deadly, quiet threat.

"If you do not stop this hysterical act right now," he hissed, "I will cut off the funds for your mothers medication today. And your sister? Ill make a few calls and her little modeling career will be over before she even wakes up. Do you really want that?"

The air left my lungs. My mother's life-saving treatments. My sister's only dream. He held all of it in the palm of his hand, and he was crushing it just to break me.

"No... no, please don't," I whimpered, shaking my head frantically. "I'll be quiet. I'll stop."

"Good," he said coldly, straightening his suit. "You will not take those pills anymore. You don't need them. And you will not divorce me."

I looked up at him through my tears, my chest heaving. Nothing made sense anymore. "Why?" I cried out, my voice cracking. "Why won't you just let me go? You have Cheska! You have your heir! Why do you still want to keep me?"

Rogers jaw tightened. He looked away for a fraction of a second before staring back into my eyes. "Because I still love you."

I froze. A bitter, broken laugh tore its way out of my throat. I shook my head, the room spinning wildly around me.

"You wouldn't cheat on me if you loved me," I gasped, the darkness creeping into the corners of my vision. The lack of oxygen was making my limbs go numb. "If you really love me... how about you just kill me? Just kill me, Roger..."

"Ysabel!"

His voice sounded muffled, like I was underwater. The harsh fluorescent lights above flickered, and then the world tilted. My eyes rolled back, and the cold darkness finally pulled me under.

When I came to, my head was pounding. The smell of antiseptic stung my nose. I was lying on a stiff hospital bed in a dimly lit room.

I tried to sit up, but my body felt like lead.

Then, I heard voices filtering through the slightly open door.

"Are her vitals stable?" It was Roger's voice, low and irritated.

"Yes, Mr. Thorne," a doctor replied nervously. "But her panic attack was severe. She needs her medication to manage the trauma"

"No," Roger cut him off sharply. "Don't let her drink the medicine."

"Sir, without it, she will suffer immensely"

"Thats the point," Roger sneered, his voice dripping with a venom I had never heard before. "That is her punishment for losing my heir."

I stopped breathing. I lay completely paralyzed in the dark, my heart hammering against my ribs.

"Because of her," Roger continued, his tone filled with pure, unadulterated hatred, "I lost the CEO position. I lost the main company to my cousin because I couldn't produce an heir for ten years! She ruined my life."

The doctor stayed dead silent.

"Make sure she stays alive," Roger ordered coldly. "She can't die early. She has to pay for every single thing she costs me."

Footsteps clicked sharply against the linoleum hallway, stopping just outside my door.

"Don't worry, Roger. I'll make sure she doesn't do anything stupid."

The remaining air vanished from my lungs. My blood turned to absolute ice.

I knew that voice. I had spent my entire life protecting the owner of that voice.

It was Mia. My younger sister.

"You're doing a good job keeping her in line, Mia," Roger said, his tone shifting into something smooth and approving. "Are you sure she doesn't suspect anything about the medical funds?"

Mia let out a soft, dismissive laugh that sent a violent shudder down my spine. "Ysabel is an idiot. She still thinks Mom is alive in that facility in Switzerland. As long as you keep funding my modeling agency, I'll keep forging Mom's letters to her."

"Good. And Cheska?" Roger asked.

"Cheska is resting," Mia replied smoothly. "I told you introducing my best friend to you was a brilliant idea. She's giving you the heir Ysabel never could."

I clamped a hand over my mouth to stifle the agonizing sob tearing up my throat.

My sister. My own flesh and blood. The girl whose dreams I had just sacrificed my last shred of dignity to protect.

She had sold me out. She had introduced Roger to his mistress.

And my mother... my mother was already dead.

I didnt scream. I didnt cry.

When you are shattered into a million pieces, there is no sound. There is only a deafening, hollow ringing in your ears.

My mother was dead. My sister, the little girl I had protected from our abusive father, the sister whose dreams I had sacrificed my own happiness to fund, had sold me to the devil. And Roger... Roger had known all along. He had used a dead woman to keep me chained to him.

I lay there in the dark hospital room for hours, staring at the ceiling until my eyes burned. I had nothing left. No baby. No mother. No sister. No husband.

The door clicked open.

I didn't move, pretending to be asleep. The heavy scent of expensive vanilla and sickeningly sweet perfume flooded the sterile room.

"Look at her. She looks pathetic." It was Mias voice. My sister.

"Shh, don't wake her up yet," Cheska giggled. "I want to see her face when she sees what we brought."

I slowly opened my eyes.

Mia and Cheska were standing at the foot of my bed. Mia looked stunning in a designer coat I had bought her for her birthday last month. Cheska was leaning against her, holding a small, familiar mahogany box.

My heart stopped.

It was my memory box. The one I kept hidden in the back of my closet. The one Roger swore he had thrown away years ago.

"Give that back," I croaked, my voice raw and broken. I tried to push myself up, but my limbs were still weak from the panic attack.

Cheska smirked, popping the latch open. "Roger brought this to my suite earlier. He said since Im having the heir, I should see if theres anything in here worth keeping from your... failed attempt."

"Don't touch it!" I lunged forward, but the IV line yanked my arm back, sending a sharp spike of pain through my vein.

Cheska reached into the box and pulled out a tiny, hand-knitted blue baby blanket. It was the blanket I had made while I was pregnant. The one I had wrapped around my stomach every night, singing lullabies to the son I never got to hold.

"Hmm. The wool is a bit scratchy," Cheska mused, rubbing the fabric between her manicured fingers. "And the color is so depressing."

"Roger said you can use it as a rag for your purebred Pomeranian," Mia chimed in, a cruel smile playing on her lips. My own sister. Looking at me like I was garbage.

"Actually," Cheska said, her eyes glinting with pure malice, "I think it belongs in the trash. Just like the defective little thing it was made for."

She dropped the blanket onto the floor and deliberately stepped on it with her muddy designer boots, grinding the delicate blue yarn into the hospital linoleum.

Something inside me snapped. The last frayed thread holding my sanity together completely unraveled.

I didn't fight them. I didn't scream. I just stared at the muddy footprint on the only thing I had left of my child.

"Aw, is she going to cry again?" Mia sneered. "Let's go, Ches. The smell in here is making me nauseous."

They turned and walked out, their laughter echoing down the hallway.

I slowly pulled the IV needle out of my arm. Blood dripped down my wrist, but I didn't feel it. I climbed out of bed, my bare feet hitting the freezing floor. I picked up the ruined blue blanket, clutching it to my chest, and walked out of the room.

I didn't go to Cheska's suite. I didn't go looking for Roger.

I walked straight to the stairwell and climbed.

The heavy metal door to the hospital rooftop pushed open with a groan. The freezing Seattle rain hit me instantly, soaking through my thin hospital gown, plastering my hair to my face. The wind howled, but it was nothing compared to the storm of agony tearing through my chest.

I walked to the edge.

The city lights blurred below me, a dizzying drop into the dark, wet streets. The cars looked like tiny ants. One step. That was all it would take. One step, and the pain would finally stop. I would be with my baby. I would be with my mom.

Roger had won. He had broken me completely.

"I'm coming, my sweet boy," I whispered to the dark sky, clutching the blue blanket tightly against my heart. "Mommy is coming."

I climbed over the cold metal railing. My toes gripped the very edge of the concrete ledge. The wind pushed against my back, urging me forward.

I closed my eyes. I took a deep breath.

I let go of the railing.

Suddenly, a large, warm hand clamped around my wrist like a vice.

Before I could even gasp, a strong arm wrapped securely around my waist, yanking me backward with terrifying force. I slammed against a hard, broad chest, tumbling over the railing and crashing onto the wet rooftop concrete.

"Let me go!" I screamed, thrashing wildly against the stranger. "Let me die! Please, just let me die!"

"Dying is easy, Ysabel," a deep, velvet voice murmured right next to my ear. The sound of it sent a strange, involuntary shiver down my spine. It was a voice that commanded absolute authority.

The man shifted, pinning my flailing arms gently but firmly to my sides so I wouldn't hurt myself. I looked up through the pouring rain.

He had piercing, midnight-blue eyes, a sharp jawline, and an aura of dangerous power that made the freezing air feel suddenly suffocating. He was wearing a bespoke black suit, completely unbothered by the torrential downpour.

"Who... who are you?" I choked out, trembling violently.

The corners of his lips curved into a dark, predatory smile. He reached up, gently wiping a wet strand of hair from my cheek.

"I'm the man who took Roger's company," he said smoothly, his eyes flashing with a dangerous promise. "I'm his cousin, Julian Thorne. And if you step off this ledge, you let them win. But if you take my hand... I will help you destroy every single one of them."

I stood there for a long moment, shivering uncontrollably in my soaked hospital gown. The despair that had driven me to the ledge was still there, but now, a tiny, hot spark of rage had ignited beside it.

I turned and walked back down the stairwell.

When I pushed the heavy door open to my hospital room, Mia and Cheska were still there. Mia was plugging a hot curling iron into the wall outlet by the mirror, touching up Cheska's hair as if my room was their personal salon.

I stopped in the doorway, staring at my younger sister.

For twenty years, I had been her shield. I had taken our father's drunken blows so she wouldn't have to. I had worked three jobs with a shattered pelvis to pay for her first modeling portfolio. I thought we were surviving the world together.

But looking at her now, seeing the genuine, unadulterated disgust in her eyes as she looked at my dripping wet hospital gown, a horrifying realization washed over me.

Mia didn't just sell me out for Roger's money. She hated me.

She had always hated me. I saw it now, clear as day. She resented my sacrifices because they made her feel like a charity case. She was bitterly jealous that I had married into the billionaire Thorne family, while she had to hustle for auditions. She didn't care that my marriage was a gilded cage of abuse; she only saw the gold. And now, by replacing me with her best friend, she finally got to be the one holding the power.

I had spent my entire life protecting a girl who was just waiting for the perfect moment to destroy me.

"Look who decided to come back," Mia sneered, rolling her eyes. "Did you go for a swim in the rain to cool off your temper?"

I didn't answer. I just stood there, staring at them with dead, hollow eyes.

Cheska frowned, clearly unsatisfied with my lack of reaction. She wanted me screaming. She wanted me begging. She looked at the hot curling iron in Mia's hand, and a dark, twisted idea flashed in her eyes.

Before I could even blink, Cheska snatched the iron from Mia. She pressed the scorching hot ceramic barrel directly against her own forearm for a split second, then threw it to the floor and collapsed onto her knees, wailing at the top of her lungs.

"What the hell is going on in here!"

Roger burst through the door, his face pale with panic.

Mia immediately dropped to the floor beside Cheska, playing her part perfectly. "Roger! Save her! Ysabel went crazy! She attacked Cheska with the iron! She said if her baby is dead, yours shouldn't live either!"

"My arm is burned!" Cheska sobbed hysterically, clutching her stomach. "And my stomach hurts so much! Roger, please, save our baby!"

At the mention of the child, Roger's face twisted in terror. He scooped Cheska up into his arms instantly.

He didn't spare a single glance for me. He didn't notice that I was soaking wet, shivering, and bleeding from where I had ripped out my IV. He only spat a cold, venomous warning in my direction.

"Ysabel! Stay right here. When I get back, we are going to fix this for good!"

After the room cleared out and Mia scurried after them, the room fell into a deathly silence.

It took forever for me to find the strength to move. I didn't look for dry clothes. I simply sat on the edge of the bed, numb, waiting.

When Roger finally returned an hour later, he grabbed me by the arm, hauling me up with cold efficiency.

"Cheska has a severe third-degree burn on her arm because of you," he snarled. "She's hysterical, and the doctor says her stress is putting my heir at risk. You have two choices, Ysabel: you either undergo a skin graft for her right now to fix what you ruined, or I will have your son's grave paved over with concrete tonight."

The color had long since drained from my face. I looked like a walking corpse.

I didn't defend myself. I didn't argue that Cheska had burned herself. I just looked into the eyes of the man I had once taken a truck impact for, and whispered through dry lips, "If I give her the skin... will you tell me where he is?"

The words seemed to catch in Roger's throat. After a tense silence, he grunted, "Fine."

That night, I was wheeled into the surgical wing. Whether it was my body's exhaustion or an order from Roger himself, the local anesthesia didn't work. I felt every agonizing, searing second of the scalpel slicing the skin from my thigh.

When I finally came to the recovery room, Roger was standing by my bed. My leg was wrapped in thick, painful bandages.

My first words were a broken rasp. "Tell me... where is my child buried?"

Roger's expression was grim. The air around him became intense. He reached out, gripping my chin hard, his eyes dark and angry.

"If I tell you," he whispered dangerously, "are you just going to go find him and kill yourself?" He tightened his grip until it bruised. "Ysabel, I have already announced Cheska's pregnancy to the board. My new heir will be born soon. Until then, you will not cause another scene."

I froze, then suddenly shoved his hand away, crying uncontrollably. "Roger, you promised! You said you would tell me! You can't take it back!"

"I am his mother!" I screamed, the agony of the last ten years finally tearing out of my throat. "When I still had a womb, he was a part of me! Now that he's gone, what right do you have to keep me from him?"

Roger remained completely unmoved by my tears.

Despair, cold and infinite, flooded my soul. I rolled off the bed, ignoring the blinding pain in my bandaged leg, and fell to my knees at Roger's feet. I had to play the broken wife one last time.

"I'm begging you..." I sobbed, gasping for air. "I just want to know where he is. I won't ruin your plans, I swear. Just let me see him once. I'm on my knees, Roger! Please! Tell me!"

"Enough."

Roger stood up abruptly, yanking at his tie in irritation. He looked down at me with total, absolute contempt.

"Look at yourself, Ysabel. You're pathetic. Do you think your dead son would even want a mother as miserable and broken as you?"

I went still, my hands pressed against the cold floor, shaking uncontrollably. Just as I felt my heart was about to stop from the sheer weight of his cruelty, Roger's cold, thin voice drifted down from above.

"Angelique Church Cemetery. Plot 278."

"Angelique Church Cemetery. Plot 278."

The words echoed in my mind like a sacred chant as the cab pulled away, leaving me standing alone before the towering wrought-iron gates. I didn't care about the agonizing pain shooting up my bandaged leg. I didn't care that I was still wearing a thin, blood-stained hospital gown under my coat.

I limped through the rows of grey headstones, the freezing winter wind biting at my skin, until I reached the small, lonely corner of the grounds.

Plot 278.

It was a tiny, unmarked slab of stone. No name. No date. Just a cold, forgotten piece of earth.

My knees gave out. I collapsed onto the freezing dirt, my trembling fingers tracing the rough edges of the stone. Ten years. For ten years, my baby had been out here all alone in the dark.

"My sweet boy," I whispered, my voice breaking as a violent sob tore through my chest. "Mommy is here. I'm so sorry it took me so long. I'm so sorry."

I unzipped my coat with shaking hands, pulling out the ruined, muddy blue blanket Cheska had stepped on. I carefully folded it and laid it gently over the cold stone, trying to keep him warm.

I didn't leave. I lay down on the freezing earth right next to the grave, curling my body around the stone as if I were holding him in my arms. I talked to him through the night, singing the lullabies I had kept locked in my heart, crying until my voice was completely gone and my tears ran dry.

When the pale, grey light of morning finally broke, my body was entirely numb.

I forced myself to sit up and dragged my battered body to the cemetery wardens office. The old man behind the desk looked at me in shocka pale, shivering woman looking like a ghost.

"I want to buy the plot directly next to 278," I rasped, my throat raw.

"Ma'am, those plots are expensive, and you look like you need a hospital"

I didn't let him finish. I reached down to my left hand and violently twisted the massive diamond wedding ring off my finger. The symbol of my ten-year nightmare. I slammed the glittering diamond onto his desk.

"This ring is worth over a hundred thousand dollars," I said, my eyes dead and hollow. "I don't want any change. I just want the dirt next to my son. And I want it now."

The warden swallowed hard, nodding slowly.

With the deed in my hand, I walked back out to the gravesite. The sky had turned a bruised, angry purple, and suddenly, the heavens opened up.

A torrential, freezing Seattle downpour crashed over me. The rain soaked through my clothes in seconds, chilling me to the very marrow of my bones. But I didn't seek shelter. I fell to my knees in the mud, right on top of my newly purchased grave.

"Take me," I cried out to the empty, weeping sky, the rain washing away my tears. "Please, just let me stay here. Let me be buried right here with him."

I lay my head on the muddy earth, closing my eyes as the freezing rain beat down on my back. I stayed there, unmoving, as the afternoon bled into evening. My heartbeat slowed. The cold stopped hurting, replaced by a heavy, peaceful numbness.

I just wanted to sleep.

And as total darkness finally fell over the cemetery, the world faded away completely.

Two days later.

The VIP maternity suite at Seattle Grace Hospital was filled with the piercing, relentless wails of a newborn baby.

Roger rubbed his temples, a headache throbbing behind his eyes. Cheska was lounging on the hospital bed, scrolling through her phone, completely ignoring the red-faced infant screaming in the bassinet a few feet away.

"Cheska, make him stop crying," Roger snapped, his patience wearing thin. "My mother and the board members will be here in an hour to see the heir."

"I'm exhausted, Roger!" Cheska whined, not looking up from her screen. "I just pushed a baby out. I'm not ruining my recovery to rock him. Where are the nurses?"

"They're busy," Roger growled. He stared at the crying baby, feeling a sudden surge of irritation. He didn't want to deal with dirty diapers and screaming fits. He just wanted the title of a father.

Suddenly, a thought struck him.

Ysabel.

She had been quiet for days. Too quiet. She should be here. She was supposed to be serving them, making sure Cheska was comfortable, taking care of the messy parts of raising a child so they didn't have to.

"That useless woman," Roger muttered, pulling his sleek phone from his pocket. "She's probably throwing another pity party at the house. I'll have her down here in twenty minutes to act as the nanny."

He dialed Ysabel's number, tapping his expensive leather shoe impatiently against the floor.

The phone rang. Once. Twice. Three times.

Finally, there was a click.

"Ysabel, where the hell are you?" Roger barked instantly, his voice dripping with venom. "Get your ass to the hospital right now. Cheska needs you to watch the baby, and if you aren't here before the board arrives, I swear to God I'll"

"Hello."

Roger froze. It was a man's voice. Deep, cold, and entirely unfamiliar.

Roger's grip on the phone tightened, a strange unease crawling up his spine. "Who is this? Why do you have my wife's phone? Put Ysabel on the line right now."

There was a heavy, chilling silence on the other end. Only the faint sound of rain and wind could be heard in the background.

Then, the man spoke, his tone completely devoid of emotion.

"I'm sorry, sir. But the owner of this phone is buried dead."