Divorcing My Attempted Murderer Chapter 2

Now, she sat by my bed. Her surgery was over, but she looked like a ghost of herself. Her lips were trembling, and her face was drained of all color. Her tears splashed onto my hand, heavy with a guilt she didn't deserve.

"I'm so sorry," she sobbed. "If I hadn't been so selfish... if I hadn't wanted that coffee... I should have been in the car with you. I should have protected you."

I reached out to her, my heart breaking for her more than for myself. Before I could speak, her husband Derek called. She put it on speaker.

"Did you just scream at my brother?" Derek’s voice was sharp, accusatory. "What is wrong with you, Mag? He’s a doctor; he doesn't choose his patients. Stop letting your delusional friend brainwash you."

"And a miscarriage? Really? That’s the lie you’re going with? You were eight months along, Mag. You don't just 'have a miscarriage.' You couldn't lose that baby if you ran a marathon. It’s pathetic."

"If I wasn't busy fixing Lucy’s plumbing, I’d come over there and give you both a reality check. You don't throw around the word 'divorce' unless you mean it. You want out? Fine. Let’s do it. See who blinks first."

He hung up.

Mag stared at the black screen for a long time. I looked at her, seeing my own reflection in her shattered eyes. "It’s over, Mag. Maybe the universe is telling us that these men were never ours to keep. You’ve lost so much blood... you need to rest. Your health is the only thing that matters now."

We clung to each other, two broken women in a sterile room, letting out the screams we had kept muffled for years. Our devotion had been a weapon, and in the end, it had pierced us both through the heart.

Looking back, the end was written into the beginning. Simon had insisted on getting married on Lucy’s birthday. It was a petty, transparent move to get a reaction out of her after she’d moved away.

The Whitman brothers hadn't married us for love; they had married us to fill a void Lucy left behind. We were placeholders. Trophies to show her what she was missing.

And we were fools. We believed them when they said she was just "like a sister." We even followed their instructions to post our wedding photos on Instagram, making sure the privacy settings were adjusted so that only Lucy could see how "happy" they were.

Even now, even though we were literally in the hospital where Simon worked, he couldn't be bothered to type my name into the patient registry to see if I was telling the truth.

Trust wasn't just broken; it had never existed. I realized that too late. And the price was far too high.