I Married Him to Save My Mom, Then Destroyed Him

Three years into our marriage, and only after my mother died, I, Lori Ortega, finally asked Jeffrey Avalos for a divorce. He agreed with all the careless disdain I should have expected. In his mind, I would never actually leave. I wouldn't dare walk away from the Avalos family. And I definitely wouldn't be able to walk away from him. He was wrong. No matter how deep my feelings for him had once run, he had worn them down piece by piece until there was nothing left. I signed the divorce papers and left. So when I heard Jeffrey's name again, I assumed it would be because he'd gotten engaged to Camila Gomez, the woman he'd never been able to let go of. I didn't expect to hear that he was searching for me all over the world! Because if Jeffrey's wife in all those missing-person notices was supposed to be me, then what exactly was I supposed to tell the gorgeous man sulking beside me in bed? I glanced at the baby stretched out next to me, looking betrayed by my divided attention, and instantly threw myself at him. "Baby, come here. I need cuddles." Outside the operating room, I listened numbly as the doctors offered one hollow word of comfort after another. Then I calmly dialed Jeffrey's number. "Hello? Who is this?" a woman's voice answered, soft and flirtatious. "Jeffrey's in the shower. Hold on." I'd thought my heart had already gone numb. I was wrong. Pain still found a way in. "Jeffrey, your phone. Oh my God, you're still wet. Stop..." After a bout of sickeningly sweet murmurs, they finally seemed to remember the call hadn't been disconnected. A man's impatient voice came through the receiver. "What is it?" "Jeffrey, I want a divorce." "Have you lost your mind?" There was a hint of surprise in Jeffrey's voice, but only a hint. Jeffrey and I had been married for three years. We'd gone from wild, all-consuming love to the kind of exhaustion that made even looking at each other feel like work. I was tired. And I thought maybe he was too. "I'm not crazy. I've never been more clear-headed than I am right now. Jeffrey, I want a divorce." A heavy silence fell over the line, followed by his chilling voice. "Are you outside? You have thirty minutes. We'll talk when you get home." The line went dead. I lowered the phone and didn't bother thinking too hard about his deadline. Instead, I turned back to the doctor and started asking about funeral arrangements. There weren't many people at my mother's service. She had spent the last several years in a hospital bed while relatives and old friends quietly drifted away. So aside from the funeral home staff, I was alone in that dimly lit hall, keeping vigil by myself. My phone buzzed in my hand. It was Jeffrey. Apparently, he and Camila had finally finished whatever they were doing, and he'd remembered he still had a wife. I turned the phone off. The funeral hall fell silent again. I stared at the black-and-white photo of my mother, and at last, a single tear slipped free. Jeffrey and I met in college. At the time, he was already one of the city's rising golden boys, young, brilliant, rich, and impossible to ignore. He returned to campus as a featured alumni speaker at an anniversary event. I was there as a volunteer, standing outside in the summer heat for eighty dollars and a boxed lunch, greeting guests at the entrance. Our worlds should never have crossed. But they did. And somehow, against all logic, we ended up together. His friends used to joke that he only noticed me because of my face. To prove he was serious, he cut off all contact with the swarm of women around him. And in the second year after we met, he rented out the biggest fireworks grounds in Westbrook, lit up the entire sky for hours, and proposed in the middle of it all. "Lori, I don't want to just have fun with you. I want to take care of you for the rest of your life. Marry me." With everyone cheering around us, I said yes. Of course I did. At that time, I thought that besides my mom in the hospital, I finally had another family member, someone I could support and be supported by for the rest of my life. I loved Jeffrey. God, I loved him. For three years, I loved him so deeply. Even as headline after headline reported him leaving hotels with various A-list actresses, even as anonymous texts flooded my phone telling me exactly when and where he was booking rooms with other women, I always managed to find an excuse for him. I lied to myself for three years. But I was done lying. I kept vigil alone. I went to the cemetery alone. I stayed there alone for an entire day and night. By the time I got home, two days had passed. Jeffrey was there, which was unusual for that hour. The second he saw me, he let out a sneer edged with mockery. "Back already? I thought you'd hold out for at least another two days." To him, what I'd said on the phone had just been a tantrum. My disappearing for two days was nothing more than a little marital protest. Usually, if I came home late, I'd explain myself, but today, I truly didn't have the energy. I reached into my bag, pulled out the divorce agreement my lawyer had prepared, and set it on the table. "The divorce papers. I already signed. All you have to do is sign your name. I'm not asking for a cent. I'll leave with nothing. And the money spent on my mother's medical care over the last three years, I'll write it all down separately as debt, and I'll pay you back as soon as I can."