The Rich and the Loved

It was our fifth anniversary and my birthday. I had been looking forward to that evening and our dinner at a high-end restaurant. I had hardly seen my husband in the last few months. He had become distant and absent ever since he had finally graduated from Harvard. I knew that he would soon take over his father's company. He had been working hard for that moment, and truthfully, I had been working nearly twice as hard to help him achieve his goal. But I'd never complained. I would have done anything for him. I loved him with all my heart. And until this moment, I thought that he loved me just as much.

“Well? Say something, Lilly.” Annoyance and impatience sharpened my husband's tone. “You've been staring at those documents for five minutes now.”

Perhaps I was, but it wasn't easy to recover from the heart-shattering shock since instead of a high-class meal I had been given several pages of brutal revelation. “You… want to… divorce me?” I choked out, slowly raising my head to face him.

He leaned back in his seat and smoothed his short, brown hair with his fingers. “You can read, can you?”

My trembling hand reached for the glass of wine, then I gulped it down as if the liquor could miraculously fix this situation. The wine fell down my throat, but the thick knot that formed there remained and kept growing. I couldn't breathe. My heart hammered at a torturous rate. A hot tear traced the skin of my cheek, but I somehow stopped the rest of them from falling. We were in a public place… Of course we were. He knew that I would never cause a scene in an expensive restaurant.

“Why Kenneth?” The strangled sound barely sounded like my voice.

There was no resemblance between the man I knew and the man sitting in front of me. This Kenneth was cold and indifferent. His gray eyes lacked any warmth, and the lips I loved to kiss now formed a tight, thin line. He held my gaze for a few more seconds before pulling out another document from his briefcase and placing it in front of me.

“You promised me an heir, remember? That was the only condition on which my parents agreed to our marriage.” He sighed, sounding almost bored. "Yet, after five years, you still didn't give me a child. Moreover, the tests prove that you are nearly barren.”

His words cut me deeper than that damn petition for divorce. “Will you blame me for the miscarriage I had a year ago? The doctor said I was healthy, and there was nothing wrong with—”

“Look at the fucking test results, Lilly,” he hissed, pointing at the documents.

A shudder coursed through me. “Why do you have those?” My hands fisted as I stared at my doctor's signature. I remembered he wanted to do some tests as—as he claimed—precaution, but this? “Even I haven't seen any of this yet. You shouldn't be able to—”

“Seriously, Lilly?” He slowly shook his head as if I were a child who needed scolding. “You know that Doctor Rogers and I were friends. He was concerned, and he gave me your results. And I am grateful that he did. We shouldn't continue something that is useless.”

Air escaped me in a rush. “Useless? You call our love—” I stopped my words as the cruel realization hit me with the strength of the speeding truck. That love was never ours; it couldn't be. There was only MY love for him. “Was the child all you wanted from me?” I whispered.

He huffed. “What else could you have given me? You have no name, no money, no talents to use... You could have only given me a child, and you failed even at that.”

“How can you be so cruel?” I breathed out, barely holding the thick layer of tears from falling.

He fixed his eyes on me and gave me a faint smile that felt nearly like sympathy. “I decided you deserved my honesty after those five years. You would rather I lie to you?”

My mouth opened, but no words came out. Did I want him to lie to me? No. But now I felt as if he had been lying to me many times throughout our marriage. He had never mentioned that having a child was some kind of priority. Now his words sounded as if being his wife was a privilege I should have earned, and I hadn't. “Marriage is not a transaction,” I said softly.

He breathed out a laugh. “On the contrary, Lilly. Marriage is business, and I was given no choice. I hope that you understand that and sign the papers. I'd hate to go to court and talk about our sex life in front of the judge.”

Was he seriously blaming ME for our nearly nonexistent sex life? I ground my teeth. “How could we have sex if you weren't even coming home most of the time?”

He rubbed his temples. “Let's be serious, Lilly. I was working my ass off at the university while you stayed at home. It was only natural that I wanted to go out from time to time. But I don't want to argue.”

For five long years, I had been shoving my anger into the farthest and darkest corners of my mind. I did it every time his family insulted me, every time they laughed at how I was dressed or questioned my makeup, and every time they mocked that my parents left me. I resisted it because I thought that HE was worth it. But that anger hadn't dispersed—it had been merely stored. Now that anger had turned into a fiery rage, ready to erupt.

“You don't want to argue?” I strained through my clenched teeth. “You think I stayed at home and did nothing? Then who cooked your food, did your laundry, ironed your shirts, and wrote at least half of your essays?”

He worked his jaw. “I agree that you were sometimes… helpful. But the CEO of Welch Med Industries needs a wife able to do more than a maid you can hire anywhere.”

“A maid…” Bitterness curved my lips into a soft smile. “That is what I am to you... a maid you didn't have to pay?”

He hit the table with his fist, drawing the unwanted attention of at least half of the restaurant hall. He glanced around and cursed under his breath. “Look what you made me do, Lilly.” That patronizing tone appeared again. “I can admit that those five years weren't all bad. I might have even loved you at some point. But we both have to be reasonable and move on.”

“Be reasonable? Move on?” I hissed as the surge of rage slowly scorched my veins.

His hands fisted. “Sign. The damn. Papers.”

My eyes drifted to the bottle of wine, and, for a moment, I imagined it smashing against his head. But hitting and cursing him wouldn't change anything. He didn't love me. He didn't want me. I was nothing but a joke to him…

Forcing a deep breath into my lungs, I pulled out a pen from my purse and placed my signature where he wanted me to. I debated shoving those documents into his throat, but knowing him, he had a copy of this petition prepared just in case. Clenching my teeth, I handed him the signed document, feeling as if I were tearing a piece of my soul.

“Good girl.” I heard him call me that way many times, and this time it hardly sounded any different, but only now did I hear the hint of mockery hidden under superficial warmth. I couldn't believe how foolish I was.

My façade of composure was cracking. I was seconds away from falling into pieces, but I would not give him that satisfaction. I started rising to my feet—

“One more thing,” he said, gesturing at me to sit down. “You need to move out of my apartment, and you have to do it tonight.”

I blinked. “W-what?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “You're on your own now.”

“I paid rent for that apartment for almost a year!” I snapped.

He shrugged. “And now you won't have to. The apartment is in my name. It doesn't belong to you, just like ninety percent of the things inside it. Go there now. Pack your things. Leave the key at the reception. I won't be back until the morning.”

My fury rose, but he was right. There was nothing I could do. I was blind and naïve, and now I was about to pay a heavy price for it.

Clenching my jaw, I rose from my seat. Then I lifted my chin, straightened my back, and pivoted to the door. There was no farewell. Our parting was silent. I had never realized that, but we were playing a game. He won, and I had to swallow the bitterness of defeat.

I curled my fingers around the railing to support my steps while I walked down the stairs. The four-inch heels weren't helping, but I kept my steps steady as if I were holding on to the final shreds of my dignity. I was five steps away from the ground floor when one of my heels broke. I lost my balance and was about to fall when a pair of strong arms circled my waist from behind me.

“Are you all right, Miss?” a deep, velvet-like voice asked.

“I… I am,” I breathed out as he helped me down. As soon as I regained my footing on steady ground, I turned around to face him. My breath hitched.

The man before me looked like a dark and dangerous version of an angel—a dark-haired and blue-eyed angel wrapped in a black tuxedo. As strange as it might sound, my cracked-open and aching heart tripped at the sight of him. I figured it must have been seriously broken, and I had to leave this place before I either shattered into tiny pieces or did something entirely stupid like embracing him.

“Thank you,” I muttered, grabbing the broken heel and snapping it off. He watched me as I tore off the other heel, and I noticed a side of his full lips curve into a smirk.

“Are you sure you're OK?” he asked, this time with a hint of amusement.

I drew a deep breath. “No,” I said truthfully. “But I will be.” A soft smile tugged at my lips as I gently bowed my head and walked to the exit.

My mother—before she left me—used to say that people could either be rich or loved, as if that could explain why she had always been penniless. I wondered where I fit according to this saying because, right now… I was neither.