Divorcing My Lying Husband

Out making deliveries in a hundred-and-two-degree heat wave, I walked into a dumpling diner and ran straight into my husband, Burton Farley.

When he'd left the house that morning to drive for Uber, he'd been in a T-shirt washed thin and pale. Now he sat there in a sharp suit, dripping money.

The dumplings came out, and he gently warned the woman beside him to be careful, they were hot. He picked up his chopsticks and fed a little girl, smiling as he chatted with the owner.

"My wife's pregnant and she's been off her food. We've got a housekeeper who tries every recipe in the book, but the only thing she wants is your dumplings."

The owner cheerfully told them to come back anytime, then turned and saw me standing in the doorway and pointed at the counter.

"Your delivery order's over there!"

I didn't hear him. I walked straight toward Burton.

He had an expensive watch on his wrist. The woman beside him had that polished, well-bred look, a designer bag worth six figures tossed carelessly on her chair.

Even the clip in the little girl's hair was a luxury label.

Any one of those things could have made our lives a little easier.

Sweat stung my eyes until they ached.

Burton finally sensed something was wrong, and the moment he looked up and saw it was me, his face froze.

"Laurel Abbott, you"

I cut him off. I tried to force a smile, but the tears fell anyway, out of my control.

"Burton, faking bankruptcy to lie to me and your son. Was it really that much fun?"

The color drained from his face.

The woman beside him looked over at me too, and I recognized her almost instantly. She was his old secretary, Gabriella Fox.

The little girl, five or six years old, had a face that looked exactly like Burton's.

Burton came to his senses, jumped up in a panic, and started pushing me toward the door.

"Sweetheart, go home first. I'll come back tonight and explain everything to you."

He planted himself in front of me, doing everything he could to block my view.

I shoved him hard, and the words tore out of me with a hatred I didn't even know I'd been holding.

"Explain what? Explain why you had a child with another woman and hid it from me and your son, while I stayed by your side like an idiot living a hard life with you?"

"Burton, what gives you the right to do this to us!"

I stared at the man in front of me, the tears streaming down, a sharp pain splitting my chest.

Four years ago, Burton's company failed to secure funding and ended up buried in debt.

We moved into the run-down outskirts of town with our two-year-old son and started working day and night to pay it off.

To make money, I worked myself to the bone, and I aged fast.

Our son was so good. He never threw tantrums or cried for things. He even learned to collect bottles and cardboard to sell.

Burton looked exhausted and heartbroken, swearing he'd work hard to give us a good life again.

But it never once crossed my mind that the whole bankruptcy, from start to finish, was nothing but a lie.

It was midafternoon, and there were no other customers in the diner.

I was crying and screaming like a madwoman, and the whole scene seized up into something unbearable.

The wind chime at the door rang, and my six-year-old son came running inside.

"Mom, why don't you have the food yet? We have to hurry!"

When he saw Burton was there too, he stopped short, and without thinking, held up the soda he'd been cradling to show him.

"Dad, I saved a drink for you!"

My eyes stung.

It was an ice-cold soda a customer had handed him while he was out doing deliveries with me.

He'd thanked the customer, so happy, and told me to take a sip first to cool off. He hadn't let himself touch it, just tucked it away like a treasure and grinned sweetly at me.

"Dad works hard too. Let's save some for him."

Burton stood frozen where he was, guilt and something moved surfacing in his eyes.

The son in front of him was dressed in shabby clothes, thin and small from never having enough to eat.

And the little girl sitting safe and settled beside the woman had soft, fair skin, dressed up like a delicate doll.

The contrast was almost too much to watch.

Burton reached out to take his son, but Noah darted behind me in a flash, peeking out at this stranger of a father.

I didn't cry or make a scene anymore. I wiped the sweat and tears off my face with the back of my hand, took my son's small hand in mine, and walked out without looking back.

Outside, the heat rolled over us in waves, the pavement baked pale under the sun.

I canceled the rest of my delivery orders on my phone, fastened Noah's helmet, and rode him home without a word.

He held onto my waist, and his little voice came from behind me.

"Mommy, do we not have to deliver food anymore?"

It felt like a thousand fine needles were rolling over my heart, and I fought down the sting in my nose.

"Mm. It's too hot. We'll take a day off."

He nodded like he understood something, and didn't ask anything else.

On the way back, I used what little I had left to buy a roast chicken, and got Noah the ice cream he'd been wanting for so long.

Once we were home, I dug out the dusty remote and turned on the AC without a second thought.

Noah watched me carefully.

"Mommy, did we spend too much money today?"

A bitterness welled up in me, and I forced a gentle smile for him.

"It's okay."

To save money, the three of us had scraped by on next to nothing. Even a meal with meat was a luxury.

In the worst of summer we wouldn't even run the fan. On nights too hot to sleep, the three of us spread a straw mat on the floor and fanned ourselves with scraps of cardboard.

And even then, that staggering debt was like a bottomless black hole that nothing could ever fill.

Every so often a creditor would show up with red paint, and every few days there'd be another scene.

Burton really was a master director. He'd staged the whole bankruptcy without a single seam showing.

The old AC pushed out a slow, cool breeze, and little by little my heart settled.

After dinner, Noah played quietly with the toy car he'd found.

My phone buzzed. Burton had wired me a large sum of money, then sent a string of messages.

Honey, the company really didn't go bankrupt. I can explain all of this.

You made too big a scene just now. Gabriella's pregnancy is at risk, so I'm taking her to the hospital to get checked first.

I'll send someone tonight to pick you and our son up. I'll do everything I can to make it up to you both from now on.

I let out a scornful laugh and accepted the transfer without the slightest hesitation.

Then I turned around and went online to contact the best divorce lawyer in the city.

We used to believe in Burton completely, willing to suffer through hard days at his side.

But now, I would never pin a single hope on him again.

Time slipped by fast, and the night deepened.

A polite knock came at the door. The young man outside kept his head bowed respectfully.

"Ma'am, Mr. Farley sent me to pick you and the young master up."

I didn't say much, just followed him out smartly, holding Noah, and got in the car.

The car drove straight to our old home.

When I walked into the living room, Burton and Gabriella were sitting on the sofa, patiently reading a picture book with their daughter.

The moment Burton saw us, his face lit up and he stood.

"Laurel, you're here."

He turned and told the nanny to take the girl for a bath and to bed, but the little girl refused to let go of his hand, shrieking.

"Daddy, why are they in our house? I don't like them. Make them leave!"

At her words, Noah gripped my hand tighter and pulled in on himself even more.

Burton went a little stiff. Gabriella smiled, soft and sweet.

"Felicia, be good, go to sleep."

She glanced at me as if by accident, her hand resting on her swollen belly, her eyes bright with open provocation.

The little girl glared at us, indignant, then turned and ran off to the nanny.

I stared at Burton, my mouth twisting.

"I thought you weren't bankrupt. So how are you so broke now that you can't even set them up in a place of their own? You have to move them in here, like a cuckoo squatting in another bird's nest."

His face soured, but he reined in his temper and tried to soothe me.

"Laurel, Gabriella and the others have lived here four years. They're settled. Don't make a scene over nothing."

I let out a thin laugh, and something in my chest twisted sharp.

Four years.

The moment Burton faked the bankruptcy and moved us out, he'd moved Gabriella and her daughter in.

He'd told me this place had been sold.

So it turned out it had only become a little nest for him and someone else.

I had nothing more to waste on either of them. I walked straight up to Burton and slapped a divorce agreement down in front of him.

"Sign it. I keep custody of our son, and we split the marital assets down the middle."

He frowned at the papers. When he looked up again, he rubbed at the space between his brows like a tired man.

"Laurel, do you really have to carry on like this?"

"Back then, I had my reasons. Felicia was diagnosed with a heart condition the moment she was born, and at the same time you were forever picking fights with me, using our son to chain me to your side."

"You had nothing to do all day except watch me like a hawk, all nerves, never letting go. If I hadn't pretended to go bankrupt, how would you ever have given me any freedom?"

"Felicia was little. Gabriella was still being harassed by her ex-husband from time to time. They needed me."

"You're a mother too. You have a child too. Can't you find it in you to understand me, just a little?"

Burton's lofty reasons and his accusations were like two great hands, tearing my heart to shreds.

Gabriella smoothed back her hair and smiled as she coaxed me.

"Laurel, Burton loves all of you too. From now on you'll never want for anything. You stay on as Mrs. Farley. It doesn't matter if my daughter and I have to put up with a little hardshipjust don't make things difficult for him."

He looked at her with a tenderness I knew, and right in front of me and our son, he laced his fingers through hers.

I clenched my jaw, my nails biting deep into my palms.

Less than a year after I gave birth to our son, I found a torn pair of stockings in Burton's pocket.

On his computer, in a chat window he'd forgotten to close, were screen after screen of sweet nothings between him and Gabriella.

I was already being torn apart by postpartum depression, and whatever sense I had left snapped. I went straight to his company and, in front of everyone, slapped him across the face, crying.

"Burton, Gabriella is five years older than you. She has a husband. And you go chasing after her, the other man wrecking someone else's family? Your son isn't even a year old. Have you no shame at all?"

His face went dark, but he didn't argue back. He forced me home.

That night he fired Gabriella, knelt in front of me, and swore on everything that he would never see her again.

After that I kept him on a short leash. He had to come straight home after work, I went through his phone every day, and every call he got, I had to know who it was from.

Burton grew more and more silent, but he submitted meekly to all of it.

Until a year later, when an investment failed, the company went bankrupt, and he was buried in debt.

I poured everything I had into earning money, trying to help Burton through the crisis, and I no longer had the energy to keep watch over him and Gabriella.

But all of it had only ever been a play he'd staged.

I looked at the easy calm on his face, shut my eyes hard, and let it go. I didn't want to dig into any of it anymore.

"Fine. We divorce, then. I won't make things difficult for you."

After our son was born, I'd been tangled up in those dark postpartum moodsimpulsive, quick to anger, gripped by a possessiveness over Burton that bordered on obsession.

But after these four years of wear, facing betrayal again, I found I actually had the courage to walk away.

Our son had been standing quietly beside me the whole time, and his small, warm hand made me feel steady.

Burton shook his head, like a man who'd run out of patience.

"Laurel, stop being difficult. Our son is young. He can't grow up without a father. I won't divorce you."

"Can't we just go on living together, the way we should?"

I stared at his face and let out a laugh born of pure fury.

"Fine. You want to live with us? Then you cut Gabriella off."

"Every cent you spent on her and that girl, I'm hiring a lawyer to claw it back."

"This house they've been in it, and it makes my skin crawl. We sell it and buy a new one."

"I'm not sharing my husband with a mistress. So you choose. Us, or"

I didn't get to finish. Something slammed hard into the back of my knee.

The next second my balance was gone, and I went down hard onto the floor.

My vision blurred, and the dull pain shooting through my leg nearly knocked me out.

Noah jumped, startled, and threw everything he had into trying to pull me up.

The little girl skipped to one side and stuck her tongue out at me, smug.

"You're not allowed to bully my mommy! Bad woman, I hope you fall and die!"

Burton shot to his feet, something tender flickering across his anxious face as he reached out to help me.

Gabriella flashed her a quick look, and the little girl suddenly burst into tears and grabbed Burton's coat.

"Daddy, my heart hurts so much, I can't breathe!"

Gabriella's eyes went red in an instant.

"Burton, we have to get Felicia to the hospital, now!"

Burton lost his head completely, snatched up the little girl, and spun toward the door.

Noah ran after them, sobbing, and wrapped his arms around Burton's leg.

"Daddy, Mommy's hurt, don't leave us!"

The little girl wailed harder, her shrill voice nearly splitting eardrums.

Burton glanced back at me once, then pried Noah off with all his strength.

"You take care of your mom first. I'll be back soon!"

And with that, the three of them hurried out.

Noah watched their backs disappear, wiped his tears away in silence, and went to get the nanny to help lift me.

They settled me on the couch, my face white with pain.

Two years ago, while out on a food delivery, I'd been in a car accident and shattered both legs.

The treatment cost a fortune, and after they put plates in my legs I couldn't manage anything strenuous, so Noah started coming along on deliveries with me to make the work a little easier.

Now he stood in front of me, eyes swollen and red, wiping the cold sweat from my forehead, aching for me.

I forced a thread of a smile up at him.

"It doesn't hurt, Mommy's fine. Really."

The nanny called an ambulance and got me to the hospital, where the doctor put my leg back in a cast.

I'd barely settled when my phone lit up with a friend request labeled This is Gabriella Fox.

The moment I accepted, a string of transfer records and spending records came through.

Gabriella's tone was unhurried.

Laurel, did you know? To get my ex to divorce me, Burton wired him ten million.

After you made that big scene all those years ago, Burton didn't cut me off either. He sent me abroad to carry the pregnancy in peace.

The fake-bankruptcy idea was mine. For me and our daughter, there's nothing Burton won't do.

Where a man spends his money is where his heart is. You can't tell me you don't understand that.

I'm not even interested in taking your place. But keep provoking me, and I won't go easy on you again.

In the screenshots, the figures were staggering, one after another.

While Noah and I were sick with worry over money, Burton had been throwing sums at them we wouldn't dare even imagine.

I clenched my fists hard, saved every screenshot one by one, packaged them up, and forwarded them to my lawyer.

It wasn't until early the next morning that Burton showed up in the hospital room.

Faint shadows ringed his eyes, and there was something worn out in his face.

"Babe, Felicia's been examined and watched overnight. Nothing serious."

"I asked the doctor. Your leg isn't badly hurt. Rest and it'll heal on its own."

When he finished, Burton reached out to ruffle our son's hair, the way he always had.

But the boy slipped quietly out from under his palm, putting distance between them without a single word.

Burton froze, and something between embarrassment and anger flickered across his face.

I held his gaze and repeated it, cold and even.

"Burton, we built that company together. Part of it is mine."

"The house and the car, we split down the middle, fifty-fifty."

"Everything you bought for Gabriella and her daughter gets converted to cash. I want"

His expression went darker and darker, until he couldn't stand it and slammed his fist down on the foot of the bed.

"Money! Money! Money! Laurel, is there anything in your eyes besides money?"

"What right do you have to talk to me about divorce? Without me, you're nothing."

"Gabriella's gentler than you, more reasonable than you. She never forces me to do things I don't want to do. And you? Have you ever once thought about how I feel?"

"Laurel, I won't divorce you. And as for money, beyond enough to live on, don't expect a single cent."

Burton's sudden outburst startled our son, who shrank back and burrowed into my arms.

I looked at this man I'd loved for over a decade, and all of a sudden it struck me as absurd.

When he loved me, he was willing to give me everything he had.

When he didn't, cruel words and fighting over money became the everyday.

I nodded calmly.

"Fine. You said it yourself."

Burton stormed out of the room, seething, without sparing us so much as a glance.

I held my son tighter, my face setting harder.

That evening, a news story shot to the top of the trending list.

When the alert came through, Burton was having dinner with Gabriella and her daughter.

His phone buzzed wildly, and he assumed it was a message from me, asking to make peace. A faint flicker of pleasure crossed his mind.

But once he saw what it actually said, Burton's eyes went wide with shock and his face drained of color.