My Husband Moved His Mistress In as an Android—So I Remarried

Nathan: Send me your flight number. When Nathan Pierce's message arrived, I was discussing the details of our divorce agreement with my attorney. Nathan: I'll drive over and pick you up. In the 2 years we had been married, Nathan had always rearranged his schedule to pick me up whenever I traveled, whether he was working the day shift or the night shift. I stared at the messages in a daze. I took a deep breath, trying to steady the ache rising in my chest, then turned off my phone without replying. It was after 1 a.m. when the lock turned. Nathan stepped inside with a slight frown. "Why didn't you answer any of my calls or messages?" I kept patting our son on the back without looking up. "My phone died." He hung his coat perfectly straight, then placed his leather shoes on the rack with the toes at a precise 90-degree angle. "Charge it ahead of time next time. You wasted my time and reduced my efficiency." My hand paused, and I gave a bitter smile. He was always like this, measuring everything I did against his standards of professionalism and science. I would make homemade soup and take it to the hospital for him, only for him to adjust his glasses and say coolly, "This has no nutritional value. Also, you've already taken 3 minutes from my lunch break." When I designed matching outfits for him and our baby because I loved fashion design, he would criticize them in the same flat tone. "They aren't ergonomic." Then he would toss my sketches into the trash without another thought. Nathan reached for the pill organizer on the sideboard out of habit and found it empty. "Where are my nutritional supplements?" "I don't know." He stopped and turned to me, visibly surprised. "Haven't you always prepared them?" "I forgot." "Ivy Lane!" He took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Glancing at the baby, he lowered his voice. "Are you still angry about what happened before your trip?" The day before I left had been my birthday. I had bought two movie tickets and asked him to come with me, but he hadn't even looked up. "The story has no logic. It would be a waste of time. Go by yourself." The study door had slammed in my face, just like he had shut me out of every part of his world. I looked at him now and spoke softly. "Nathan, let's get a divorce." He set down his glass of water. "Over a movie?" Nathan stepped closer and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. Once, I had craved every scrap of that tenderness. "Ivy, I'm tired. Stop making a fuss." He placed a jewelry box on the table. Inside was one of only five limited-edition necklaces in the country. "You saved it in your shopping cart. Consider it a late birthday present. Don't be angry anymore." He kissed my forehead, then went into the bathroom. I felt no joy as I stared at the necklace. Instead, a dull ache spread through my chest, as if the gift had reopened wounds I'd tried to ignore. The app's recommendation algorithm chose that moment to be brutally efficient. It pushed Camille Hayes's latest social media post straight to me. On the second day of my business trip, she had posted a picture from a movie theater, leaning against a man's shoulder. I had slept beside that man for 2 years. I knew the mole on his neck. The tickets in their hands were for the very movie Nathan had refused to see with me. That evening, she posted a necklace identical to mine. My phone vibrated again with another update from Camille. Late-night barbecue with my crush! In the photo, she was feeding a kebab to a man. Despite the pixelation over his face, I recognized Nathan at once. They were standing in a cramped alley I knew well, home to my favorite barbecue stand, the one Nathan had refused to visit no matter how many times I begged. "Junk food is bad for your health," he had always said. My knuckles whitened as I gripped my phone, and I could barely breathe. I pulled the divorce agreement from its envelope and signed my name with a trembling hand.