After My Husband Caused My Mother's Death

Chapter 3 Humiliated

Her words still hung in the air when, BAM! The office door flew open. The deputy dean's wife stormed in, swinging a sloshing bucket like a weapon.

"You goddamn homewrecker!" she shrieked. "Still sniffing around my husband? Can't survive without stealing another woman's man?"

Before I could blink, the rancid sludge of piss and s**t splashed across my face and blouse, the stench making me gag.

Henry moved like lightning, shoving Vivian behind him and taking the brunt of the filth on his tailored suit. "Try laying a finger on her," he snarled, "I dare you."

Their embrace unleashed a flood of memories. The memory hit me like a sucker punch, back when he still gave a damn. That night at the bar when some drunk tried to cop a feel, and Henry? Cracked a bottle over the bastard's skull without hesitation. When his father bailed us out, the old man's slap left a red handprint on Henry's cheek. That night burned two firsts into my mind: meeting the Grant family patriarch and watching my proud man take a hit. The Grant family's "perfect" life wasn't so shiny up close.

Yet it only made me love him harder. Fight for him fiercer. But over the years, he'd turned to ice. Now here he was playing hero again, just not for me. Now, his heroics belonged to someone else.

Thwack! The deputy dean's wife came at me with a club, swings wild and furious. I scrambled back, but this hulking woman had fifty pounds on me. Blow after blow rained down until she finally stepped back.

"Filthy w***e!" a wet wad of spit smacked my temple. "Next time I catch you near him, you'll leave in an ambulance!"

I curled into a ball, pain radiating through every limb. Henry took half a step forward, then backpedaled, nose wrinkled in disgust at the mess covering me. For a split second, regret shadowed his face, then vanished.

"You're benched anyway," he muttered, irritation sharpening his tone. "Stay put until this shitstorm blows over. I'll get your job back."

"Henry, she's pure evil! What if she finds out it's me in that video? Will she come after me too?" Vivian burst into tears before he could finish. "Henry! What am I supposed to do? I can't take this anymore. I should just die!"

With a choked sob, she buried her face in her hands and fled. Henry tore after her without so much as a backward glance.

I forced myself up, trembling, my clothes caked in filth, and trudged out. The mandatory 30-day divorce cooling-off period loomed ahead, along with paperwork for my move abroad. Every step sent pain shooting through me as I hobbled home, strangers' eyes burning into my stained clothes.

We'd bought this top-floor duplex nearby after marrying, just a short walk from the hospital where we both worked. I'd poured myself into designing every detail, filling it with traces of our life together. Now, every memory here twisted into a knife.

I dragged out my suitcase. My belongings amounted to barely anything, most bought with my own meager salary. The lavish gifts from Henry? His family's ritzy monthly care packages? I left every last one behind.

Then I saw them, two knitted dolls perched in the walk-in closet. When he'd proposed, there'd been no diamond ring. Just these dolls, stitched with shaky hands, a makeshift promise.