Part 2She Signed My Divorce By Mistake

That night, my wound became infected. My fever spiked to 104 degrees.

I pulled myself out of bed, shivering and delirious, to find a nurse and settle the bill. As I stood at the station, I heard the staff whispering.

“The guy in the VIP suite only has a few bruises, but his girlfriend is acting like he’s dying. Meanwhile, the guy who actually got hurt is wandering around alone.”

I gave them a grim, self-deprecating smile and turned to leave, only to run straight into Margot.

Slap.

My head snapped to the side.

“Nick, you’ve gone too far!” she yelled.

“Why did you use my secondary card to pay your bill? Toby’s going to see the name on the transaction! He’ll figure out who you are!”

She stepped closer, her voice a frantic whisper. “I told you, I’m ending it. I just need time. I’ve done everything you asked—what more do you want from me?”

My body swayed. The handprint on my face burned, a stark contrast to the deathly pallor of my skin.

Margot’s expression suddenly shifted to something resembling pity. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around me. “You know you’re the only one I truly love, Nick. You have to feel that.”

“If you just wait, I’ll be back home for good. I promise.”

Years ago, as an unwanted orphan, I thought marrying Margot was the greatest stroke of luck in human history. People in our circle used to say, “What did you do in a past life to deserve a woman as devoted as Margot?”

I had drowned in that "devotion."

Until... Toby.

When Toby was bored, Margot would show him old videos of me being bullied in foster care just to make him laugh. She let her friends mock me as a "gold-digger" while she stood by and smirked.

Once, she left me stranded in the middle of a hiking trail in the Adirondacks because Toby called saying he had a nightmare. I had to walk ten miles in the dark, barely escaping the local wildlife.

It got worse. She let Toby call me in the middle of the night just so I could hear the sounds of them together in bed. When the stress landed me in the hospital back then, she told me I was "weak" and "dramatic" for not being able to handle a little competition.

Sweat poured down my face. Margot pressed my car keys into my palm.

“You being here is making Toby anxious. He can’t recover with you lurking around. I need you to discharge yourself and go home. Now.”

My vision was tunneling into black spots. I just nodded.

Margot’s eyes flickered with a brief moment of confusion at my compliance, but then my phone buzzed. It was the director of the Saint Jude’s Home, the woman who had raised me—Mrs. Gable.

She’d had a massive heart attack.

I stumbled toward the elevator, dragging my leaden limbs to the cardiac wing. I found Mrs. Gable gasping for air, her face a terrifying shade of purple.

The doctor, mid-resuscitation, looked at me grimly. “A young man was in here screaming at her just a few minutes ago. They got into a physical altercation. He said some horrible things.”

My heart stopped. Mrs. Gable was the only mother I had ever known.

I turned around, and there was Toby, throwing himself into Margot’s arms, weeping.

“That old woman called me a home-wrecker! I was just trying to talk to her, and she fell down to try and frame me! She’s trying to sue me, Margot!”

Furry boiled over my fever. “You’re lying!”

Toby glanced at me over Margot’s shoulder, pulling back his sleeve to show a few faint, "clumsy" scratches. He wailed louder.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Gable’s arms were covered in deep bruises and jagged scratches from where he had clearly grabbed her.

Seeing his smug, mocking smirk hidden from Margot's view, I lost it. I stepped forward and slapped him—harder than Margot had slapped me.

But a second later, a much heavier blow sent me reeling.