The Unwanted Wife's Ultimatum

The Unwanted Wife's Ultimatum

Gavin

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I was seven months pregnant, a text from my distant husband, Ethan, promised a New Year's Eve "surprise." I desperately hoped it was a chance to mend our fraying marriage before the baby. But stepping into the upscale lounge, the "surprise" became my worst nightmare. Ethan was intimately draped around his executive assistant, Lily Vance, who was brazenly wearing my designer gown. His friends snickered, their amusement signaling my reaction was the only surprise. When confronted, Ethan showed no remorse, just cold annoyance. Lily gloated that my dress looked better on her. Then Ethan cruelly dismissed me, claiming I couldn't satisfy him, calling me "not exactly arousing." Lily sneered he needed "a real woman, not a... vessel." Overcome, I vomited, splattering her stolen dress. She shoved me, I fell, hitting a table, and my water broke. "The baby!" I gasped, but Lily convinced Ethan I was faking. He dragged me to a VIP restroom, locked me inside, dismissing my pleas for help as "drama." Alone, trapped, in agonizing labor, my phone lost, I heard their indifferent laughter, their intimacy, through the door. Hours later, strangers found me, covered in blood, barely breathing. I woke in a hospital, heart-shattering truth: my baby girl was stillborn. And Ethan, the man who'd built an empire with me, had blocked the hospital's desperate calls about our child. His utter callousness, his active neglect in our daughter's death, burned away every last shred of loyalty. He would not, could not, get away with this. In that sterile room, a cold, pure resolve ignited: he would pay for everything.

Introduction

I was seven months pregnant, a text from my distant husband, Ethan, promised a New Year's Eve "surprise."

I desperately hoped it was a chance to mend our fraying marriage before the baby.

But stepping into the upscale lounge, the "surprise" became my worst nightmare.

Ethan was intimately draped around his executive assistant, Lily Vance, who was brazenly wearing my designer gown.

His friends snickered, their amusement signaling my reaction was the only surprise.

When confronted, Ethan showed no remorse, just cold annoyance.

Lily gloated that my dress looked better on her.

Then Ethan cruelly dismissed me, claiming I couldn't satisfy him, calling me "not exactly arousing."

Lily sneered he needed "a real woman, not a... vessel."

Overcome, I vomited, splattering her stolen dress.

She shoved me, I fell, hitting a table, and my water broke.

"The baby!" I gasped, but Lily convinced Ethan I was faking.

He dragged me to a VIP restroom, locked me inside, dismissing my pleas for help as "drama."

Alone, trapped, in agonizing labor, my phone lost, I heard their indifferent laughter, their intimacy, through the door.

Hours later, strangers found me, covered in blood, barely breathing.

I woke in a hospital, heart-shattering truth: my baby girl was stillborn.

And Ethan, the man who'd built an empire with me, had blocked the hospital's desperate calls about our child.

His utter callousness, his active neglect in our daughter's death, burned away every last shred of loyalty.

He would not, could not, get away with this.

In that sterile room, a cold, pure resolve ignited: he would pay for everything.

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I was four months pregnant, a photographer excited for our future, attending a sophisticated baby brunch. Then I saw him, my husband Michael, with another woman, and a newborn introduced as "his son." My world shattered as a torrent of betrayal washed over me, magnified by Michael's dismissive claim I was "just being emotional." His mistress, Serena, taunted me, revealing Michael had discussed my pregnancy complications with her, then slapped me, causing a terrifying cramp. Michael sided with her, publicly shaming me, demanding I leave "their" party, as a society blog already paraded them as a "picture-perfect family." He fully expected me to return, to accept his double life, telling his friends I was "dramatic" but would "always come back." The audacity, the calculated cruelty of his deception, and Serena's chilling malice, fueled a cold, hard rage I barely recognized. How could I have been so blind, so trusting of the man who gaslighted me for months while building a second family? But on the plush carpet of that lawyer's office, as he turned his back on me, a new, unbreakable resolve solidified. They thought I was broken, disposable, easily manipulated – a "reasonable" wife who would accept a sham separation. They had no idea my calm acceptance was not surrender; it was strategy, a quiet promise to dismantle everything he held dear. I would not be handled; I would not understand; I would end this, and make sure their perfect family charade crumbled into dust.

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