Divorcing My Attempted Murderer Chapter 1

Mag and I were more than just best friends; we were sisters by choice. We had walked into the Whitman family together, marrying brothers in a joint ceremony that felt like a fairytale, and by some miracle of timing, we both fell pregnant within weeks of each other.

Mag’s husband, Derek, was a rising star in the local police department—brave, handsome, and dedicated. I had married Simon, a brilliant orthopedic surgeon with hands that could mend shattered bones.

On our first wedding anniversary, I went to the medical center to pick up our prenatal screening reports. On the way back, the world splintered. A massive collision turned my car into a cage of twisted metal.

Mag had been with me but had stepped out just minutes before to grab us a couple of iced lattes. She was the lucky one; she missed the impact by a heartbeat.

The aftermath was a blur of red. I was hemorrhaging, the lower half of my body soaked in a terrifying warmth as I lay on the asphalt, the life draining out of me. My face went ghost-white as the realization set in.

With trembling fingers, I reached for my phone and dialed Simon. I needed him. I needed my husband, the doctor. He declined the call. Twice. On the third attempt, he finally picked up.

His voice was a jagged edge of impatience. "Jane, can you stop for once? You just had your checkup this morning, I know you’re fine. Don’t waste hospital resources on your drama. Lucy is here; she sliced her wrist open trying to fix a pipe at her place, and I’m right in the middle of cleaning the wound. Stop bothering me!"

He didn't wait for a reply. The line went dead.

In the end, it was Mag who saved me. She came running back, lattes forgotten, screaming for help as she saw me in the wreckage. She called Derek, sobbing, begging him to get an ambulance and find the hit-and-run driver.

Derek’s response was a bucket of ice water. "Do you have any idea what the penalty is for filing a false police report, Mag? Enough. I’m at Lucy’s helping her with a plumbing emergency. Stop wasting my time!"

The bystanders were too shocked by the carnage to move. Mag, eight months pregnant and terrified, didn't wait. She dragged me. She literally hauled me toward the hospital, fueled by a desperation that defied physics.

Because of that grueling journey, she lost her baby.

After the emergency surgery, she insisted on being my blood donor. When I finally woke up and saw her pale, hollowed-out face, we didn't need words. We looked at each other and shared a bitter, broken smile.

"Mag," I whispered. "I’m divorcing him."

"Me too," she said.

* * *

The moment I woke up and found my resolve, I sent Simon a one-sentence text: I want a divorce.

The phone that he had ignored during my dying moments suddenly rang within seconds. It was a miracle. When I pressed 'accept,' his voice exploded in my ear, thick with fury.

"Jane! Just because I won't indulge your tantrums, you're jumping straight to divorce? The baby was fine this morning. You’re telling me you had a miscarriage right after I hung up? Do you think I'm an idiot? Do you think this is a game?"

"I have a job to do! I save lives, Jane. I don't play house. It just so happens that today, my patient was Lucy!"

"Use your head! She cut her wrist. Do you know how easily that can turn into a fatal hemorrhage? That is a human life!"

"My child and this marriage aren't bargaining chips for you to use when you're feeling insecure. Stop trying to compete for my attention like we're in some twisted drama!"

He slammed the phone down before I could even draw a breath to speak. My hand, still connected to an IV drip, fell weakly to the bedsheet.

Three years of dating. One year of marriage. A baby we had almost met. I never imagined it would all end because of Lucy Fontaine—the girl who had haunted our marriage under the guise of being his "childhood best friend."

I remembered seeing her at the hospital earlier that morning. She’d seen me struggling with my bags and offered to call me an Uber. I hadn't thought twice about it. I’d even thanked her for being kind.

But the ride had been wrong from the start. A sudden, violent swerve into oncoming traffic, and then the world exploded as a semi-truck plowed into the passenger side where I sat. The driver had walked away with a few scratches and fled the scene, leaving me to bleed out in the middle of the road.

I had never been so scared. Scared of dying, but even more scared for the life inside me. I had cried, I had begged, and my husband had hung up on me three times.

Usually, he answered even when he was in clinic because he was paranoid about the pregnancy. But today, when the nightmare was real, I only got a cold text: [In clinic. Do not disturb.]

I knew Lucy was his "patient" because I’d seen her name on the triage screen before I left. Through the tears and the pain, I had tried one last time.

When he finally answered, I could feel the life slipping away. I could barely find my voice. "Simon... there was an accident... outside the hospital... please, help me... the baby..."

I could feel the heat of the blood. It was everywhere. There was a long silence on the other end, punctuated by Lucy’s soft, melodic giggle in the background.

Ten seconds. It felt like a century. Finally, Simon spoke.

"I’m finishing Lucy’s bandages. Being a doctor means prioritizing injuries, Jane. Can you please stop being so manipulative?"

He hung up, protecting his time with her like it was sacred. Since when did a minor laceration require a top-tier surgeon to do the bandaging personally?

The physical agony went numb, replaced by a cold, hollow realization. A bitter laugh bubbled up in my throat, mixing with the salt of my tears.

At the moment I was ready to give up, Mag had appeared. She had seen the texts. She had heard his voice. She had grabbed my phone and screamed into a voice note:

"You don't deserve to be a father! Go to hell! You and your 'precious' Lucy deserve each other. Don't you dare ever show your face to Jane again!"

Mag saved me. But the cost was her own son.