Divorced And Married To The Wrong Twin

MIRA “We tried our best, Mrs. Monroe, but we lost him.” The doctor’s words echoed in my ears as I stared at my son’s tomb, clutching his favorite toy, unblinking. Rain poured violently; thunder struck with total nonchalance, as though it was mocking me and blaming me for everything that had happened. If only I hadn’t married him. Maybe I wouldn’t have lost my three-year-old son because of him. A pang of pain twisted in my chest like a double-edged sword. No matter how I thought about it, I just couldn’t understand why he was the one dead. Why did my son had to die? He was innocent, cute, and playful. He smiled at everyone. Why not me? Why not him? Why did it have to be my son? “Let’s go, Mira,” my friend, Zara, said, cutting my train of thought. She wrapped her arm around my shoulder and squeezed it gently. “You’ve been standing in the rain for hours. You might get sick at this point.” I averted my gaze for the first time since I got there and shifted it to her. Her empathetic eyes stirred emotions within me. My mouth parted, and I gasped. “He… he would still be here if Roman had come home early, Zara.” I took her hand in mine, trembling. My body shook, not from the cold but from the multitude of emotions I was feeling. “He… my son would still be smiling at me if Roman had come home. If he hadn’t gone to her house instead.” Zara nodded. “I know, Mira. Everyone knows that,” she affirmed. “Technically, Roman kil—” “No, Zara,” I cut her short before she could complete the statement. That was it. The truth I’d been shielding myself from because it was dangerous and hurtful. The truth that kept staring me in the face, but I was too much of a coward to face it. The night that was supposed to be our wedding anniversary became my son’s death day. That morning, two weeks ago, Roman left home for work like he always did. Everyone was excited. Plans were made. He was supposed to come home early for us. It was our fifth anniversary, so I thought of making it special for us. I gave the house workers a break just for the day so it would be just the three of us. Soon, dusk fell. Night came, but the clock didn’t stop ticking. It was 10 p.m., far past the agreed time, and Roman wasn’t home. But just as I had done before ten, I made excuses for him in my head. He was probably busy with some urgent assignment. 11 p.m. came, barely an hour before the end of our anniversary. He still wasn’t back. This time, I was exasperated, but a part of me wanted to understand him. Again, I told myself he was still busy with work and was definitely on his way home. My heart stuttered, my palms grew sweaty, and my knees weakened. Deep down, I was scared. What if he were in trouble? What if he had been involved in an accident? What if it wasn’t work but something life-threatening? “Mommy,” Jason’s voice pulled me out of my thoughts, and when I turned, I saw him on the stairs, rubbing his eyes. Two hours ago, I’d tucked him into bed since he couldn’t keep waiting for his dad’s arrival. “Daddy bought me… a… car. I’ll drive it to… Oh… Daddy,” he spoke incoherently. Jason was sleepwalking. I could tell from his words. Instantly, I scurried toward the stairs to hold him, but the devil had it all planned. He took the first step… the very first step, and that same step caused him to slip. With my own eyes, helplessly, I watched my son tumble down the stairs. I could only scream. My body broke out into beads of sweat, and pain enveloped me like I was the one who had just fallen. I ran over to him, my entire body shaking, adrenaline rushing to my brain. By the time I got to him, he was covered in blood. My son was slowly losing his breath. He couldn’t even cry because he had passed out. “Jason… Jason… Jason… talk to me. Open your eyes. Mommy is here,” I shouted, patting his face with my trembling hands, but there was no response. He… Jason didn’t respond to me. He just bled and struggled to breathe while his eyes remained shut, like he was tired of seeing Mommy’s face. “Love, open your eyes,” I pleaded, patting his face gently with my trembling hands. Beads of sweat shrouded my forehead, and tears rolled out of my eyes unheeded. “Mama is here. Talk to Mommy,” I whispered-yelled. I was going insane. I looked around for help, but there was none. I’d sent everyone away for the anniversary. At that moment, I regretted doing that. I shouldn’t have. My eyes caught my phone on the floor, and I snatched it instantly and called 911. Thirty minutes later, they arrived, and we headed to the hospital. “Jason. Jason,” I called as he was being wheeled to the intensive care unit. He didn’t open his eyes. He didn’t call me Mama. My son didn’t cry or refuse to leave without his mother. “You have to wait outside,” the doctor said, blocking my way before I could step into the ICU. “No. I’ll go with you, doctor. He’s my son.” My voice shook, and my trembling hands were clasped together. “Let me stay with him. He won’t be scared with me beside him. He’ll be scared when he wakes up and doesn’t see me beside him.” “I’m sorry, ma’am. You have to wait outside, ma’am.” The doctor bowed curtly, spun around, and scurried into the ICU. As soon as they left, my vision blurred and my knees weakened. I staggered, but I was fast enough to grip the wall to prevent myself from stumbling. I paced, my clasped hands against my mouth as I nibbled on them. Nothing must happen to my son. After five minutes, I remembered I hadn’t informed Roman about the situation, and he might get home and start looking for everyone. I searched for my phone and found it in my pocket. Swiftly, I searched for Roman’s number and called him. The call was picked up on the third ring, but he wasn’t the one who answered. It was Flora, his secretary. Her voice echoed through the line. “Hello, Mira. How may I help you—” “Where’s Roman? Give him the phone.” My tone was hasty and shaky. “I need to speak to him right now.” She snorted, obviously rolling her eyes on the other end. “He’s on my bed, tired from our fourth round of sex.” I was thrown off. For a few seconds, comprehension became a problem. My forehead creased at her statement. I chuckled. No way. She was clearly lying, probably trying to get a reaction out of me. Flora had always been like this. From the first day Roman introduced me as his wife, she never hid her spite for me, but I didn’t mind. She was just a secretary, not a threat to me or my relationship. “Stop, Flora!!!” I snapped, totally losing it—not because of what she said, but because my son was in the ICU fighting for his life. “This isn’t the time for your stupid jokes. Put my husband on the phone right now.” She giggled. “You’re suddenly acting like the madam. You must think you’re still the real deal, Mira.” She spoke words I couldn’t fully process because of the tension building up in my head. “I want to speak to my husband. Give the phone to Roman. Pleaaaase,” I fired, gradually losing control. Frustration was vivid in my tone. Obviously, Flora was baiting me, but I didn’t mind. I would deal with her after my son survived. Roman doesn’t joke about his son, and Flora doing this while his son was in danger would definitely get her into trouble. “What? You still haven’t grasped what’s going on?” she mocked, clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth. Then there was a brief pause. “Check what I sent you and let reality sink in,” she added proudly. My phone beeped against my ear. Pulling it away, I clicked on the message Flora sent, and my heart skipped a beat. It was a picture of the two of them on the bed, obviously naked under the duvet. Roman’s smile in the picture was wide and genuine, like he was truly happy with her. “What now? Do you still think you’re the real deal?” Her mocking tone drifted into my ears. Conflicting emotions rushed over me like a tidal wave. Staring blankly, the phone slipped from my hand. At the same time, the door opened and the doctor stepped out. From his expression, I could tell things weren’t looking good in there. “Where’s Jason, doctor?” My eyes flew over his shoulders, hoping to see my son run outside and call my name. The doctor hesitated. He inspected me for a few seconds. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Monroe. We lost him.” The world blackened almost immediately. ⸻ “Please, take care of yourself. I’ll come back after I meet with this client,” Zara promised after dropping me off at home. I didn’t answer. I didn’t care. My mind was blank yet crowded with thoughts of him—my son. My Jason. Clear images of how his lifeless body was wheeled out of the ICU that night, how I held his cold body and wished he would remove the cloth he was covered with, open his eyes, and call me Mommy. How I begged the doctors to do everything possible to wake him up. When I walked into the house, I saw Roman sitting there, his eyes following my steps. I hadn’t spoken a word to him since he returned the next morning to my son’s corpse. He bombarded me with jargon-filled lies, explaining how the investors arrived at the last minute and forced him into an overnight event. I was furious and surprised at the same time. Hadn’t Flora told him what happened, or was he feigning ignorance? He stood up and walked toward me. “Mi… M-Mira, we need to talk.” My steps halted for a heartbeat. They resumed after I swept my gaze over him, feeling irritated and disgusted. I couldn’t believe I could feel this way about the same man I had been head over heels for for six years. When he saw I wasn’t listening, he rushed forward and stood in front of me, blocking my path. I was forced to stop. Then he stretched out his hand, trying to touch me. My body recoiled; I stepped back, my brows lifting. I watched his Adam’s apple bob as his lashes flickered. Guilt-stricken, he reluctantly retracted his hand. “It’s been two weeks, and you haven’t said anything to me,” he mumbled. “I know I caused all this. I should have informed you about the change of plans instead of making you and Jason stay up for me. I—” His words were cut off when I brushed past him and continued toward the stairs. Just as I placed a foot on the first step, I heard the statement that changed everything. “I want a divorce, Mira.”