Cruel Husband, I Don’t Want It Anymore!

On a typhoon day, my husband rang our son at school out of the blue, craving oranges, and told him to grab some.

Our boy battled the gale and downpour to fetch the oranges, but got nailed by a falling tree on route.

By the time I got wind of it and dashed to the hospital, he was gasping his final breaths.

"Dad craved oranges, but I messed up. Sorry..."

He couldn't get the words out before he slipped away, still clutching the shattered oranges.

Tears streaming, I blew up my husband's phone till he finally answered. His first words? "What's the most embarrassing thing you've ever done?"

With laughter echoing from his end, I was shaking with rage. I blurted out, "Alexander, you loathe oranges! Why'd you send our son?"

His old flame's tearful voice cracked through. "Claire, don't rag on Alex. I flunked a dare, and he had your boy run the errand to save my hide. Blame me, okay?"

Drying my eyes, I shot back frostily, "Tell Alex, he’d better come home and sign these divorce papers!"

Alexander was all sweet nothings to Vivian, then snapped at me, "Divorce’s fine, but I’m keeping the kid."

——

I dragged myself around, sorting the funeral solo.

For three whole days, Alexander might as well have been off-planet, not a peep from him.

he’d totally spaced on us.

"This dump’s a pigsty! Clean it up, will you?" He barked as he stormed back in after three days.

Swapping his shoes, he casually swiped a finger over the table, scowling at the dust.

Muttering his orders, he strutted off to the shower.

With his germ phobia, Alexander’s pad was off-limits to outsiders. To keep him cozy, I’d been the queen of clean for a decade—no days off.

But his nagging now? I ignored it this time..

Stepping out of the shower, he found me on the sofa, stone-faced.

He studied my red eyes and frowned, "Still stewing over that silly game? It’s peanuts, isn’t it?"

Fuming, I fired back, "Peanuts? You think sending our kid into a storm for your least favorite snack is peanuts?"

Those peanuts got him killed!

My heart tore up, thinking how our boy blamed himself for those smashed oranges right till the end.

Catching my sudden outburst, Alexander looked taken aback and offered, "He mad? No biggie. I’ll smooth things over next holiday. He’s always been a daddy’s boy—he’ll come around."

He chucked a fancy gift box at me.

"Check this out, see if it’s your style."

Casting a glance at the box, I was certain that Inside was a necklace.

"Picked it out just for you," he claimed.

But the box had been tampered with.

If my memory served right, this necklace had made a cameo in Vivian’s socials two days back.

Her post read: "He said only the finest for me," as she flaunted it."

She smiled in the selfie, mirroring the diamond necklace reflecting bright sunshine.

But there it was in her trash in the background—a rejected gift.

The same necklace Alexander gave to me.

What a joke.

He was palming off Vivian’s castoffs on me.

I barely glanced at it and calmly asked, "So, when’s this divorce happening?"

Alexander’s mood soured, "Claire, enough already!"

"Fine, but the kid’s mine. You'll have to hash it out with him yourself!"

He stormed off to the bedroom, slamming the door.

That’s Alexander all over—every fight ends and the silent treatment, no matter who's winning.

I’d always groveled, mending fences.

But not this time.

I whipped out the prepped divorce papers from the drawer, signed off briskly, and marched out with my suitcase.

The first time I met Alexander was in the women's restroom at the university library.

Back then, stalls didn’t have doors.

I had just squatted down when Alexander barreled in, stopping dead in his tracks.

I startled out of my wits.

He bolted, muttering about being in the wrong place.

Outside, he was pacing by the door, waiting for me. showering me with apologies.

Tears welled up as I shot back, "Apologies won’t unsee what you’ve seen."

He rubbed the back of his neck, then pledged with conviction, "I’ll make it right."

I retorted, "And how do you plan to fix this? It’s unforgivable."

Gently, he wiped my tears and promised, "Post-grad, you and I are getting married."

Then he was gone.

Watching him go, I was convinced I’d encountered a full-blown nutcase.

That was the last I saw of him until graduation.

A typhoon was brewing that day. My folks were anxious and came to fetch me.

But they never made it—they were killed in a crash.

I clung to their lifeless bodies, weeping until I blacked out.

On the day I laid them to rest, the heavens opened up, and I knelt there drenched.

My tears mingled with the relentless rain.

Drowning in sorrow and helplessness, the will to go on just evaporated.

Just then, a black umbrella cropped up, shielding me from the downpour.

Alexander stood there, a pained expression on his face, "Marry me, and I’ll look after you forever."

I snapped back, not missing a beat, "Don’t do this out of guilt."

“It’s not guilt,” he pressed on.

He locked eyes with me, sincerity in his voice, "From that day in the restroom, I couldn’t look away. I watched over you all through college. This isn’t some fleeting thing."

"I want to build a home with you, to be your shelter from any storm, to spend all my days with you. Marry me, will you?"

His tone was gentle, yet there was an undeniable resolve that reached out to my shattered spirit.

It sparked a sliver of hope in my heart.

Dazed, I nodded, and we got married later.

Alexander turned out to be the caring type, showering me with love and attention.

Under his devoted wing, we welcomed our son into the world.

The first time he held our boy, he was overcome, vowing to be our rock so that our son could thrive and I could lean on him without worry.

At that time, he gave a lot for me and our children.

No matter the chaos at work, he was there for our boy—feeding, changing, bathing, and walking our son.

Once, he slipped, and our little guy took a nasty fall. Gutted, Alexander smacked himself.

He swore it wouldn’t happen again and promised better days for our son.

But when Vivian came back to town, everything changed.

She was his old flame. They two shared a long history.

Her return yanked his full attention and love away from us.

"Vivian’s back—I’m tied up for a few days."

"Vivian’s under the weather—I’m taking her meds. You two have fun without me on his birthday."

"Vivian can’t be alone right now—she needs me. Try to understand..."

Any call from Vivian no matter when the time was and where he was, and he’d drop everything and go to her place.

If I dared to question him, I was the villain.

Night after night, I lay awake, wrestling with sadness.

But for our son’s sake, for the family, and because of my undying love for Alexander, I kept tolerating him.

I figured as long as I could hold down the fort quietly, our son would have a happy, secure life.

How wrong I was.

My patience only seemed to allow Alexander to ignore us, culminating in him treating our son like this during the typhoon.

Knowing full well how I lost my parents, how could he risk our son the same way?

How could he be so heartless?

My heart is heavy, and I feel utterly abandoned.

As we said goodbye to our son in the flames, my love for Alexander turned to dust.

Four days after I moved back into my parents' old place, I chose the cemetery for my son.

I was about to take my son's urn for burial when I opened the door to Alexander's stern face.

Vivian was there too, flanked by several bodyguards.

As soon as Alexander entered, he scanned the place, then zeroed in on me, demanding, "Where's our son?"

His face darkened, and anger flashed in his eyes. "I’ve been calling non-stop, checked the school. I can't find him. Where are you hiding him?he stole Vivian's things. Let him come out and apologize to Vivian!""

I clutched the urn wrapped in black cloth and said, "Looking for him now? Bit late, don't you think?"

His voice suddenly stopped.His pupils shrank as he stared at the urn in my hand.

"What's that?"

With hatred, I raised the urn in my hand and sneered,"Aren't you looking for our son? He's right here!"

"You must be lying to me!"

Pulling out his phone, he barked into it, "Bruce, track down my son, get him to my private villa, whatever it takes."

There was a hesitant pause before Bruce responded, "Mr. Grant, didn’t you know? Your son died a week ago."

Alexander blanched, disbelief in his voice, "What? Repeat that?"

"He died a week ago, heading out to buy oranges for you."

"Mrs. Grant already arranged to bury his ashes today at the cemetery！"