The CEO's Ex-Wife

The Divorce

Chapter 2

Jennifer’s Point of View

He didn't hand them to me. He threw them. A thick wedge of legal pages that sliced through the air toward my head. My hands shot up on instinct and caught the bundle before it struck my face. The weight of it was a shock.

I looked down. Petition for Dissolution of Marriage. So, that was his answer. He’d chosen their story over mine. Over us. A hot pressure built behind my eyes, but I forced it back. Tears were a luxury I couldn't afford now. They’d just be more proof for them. I wiped my cheeks with the back of my hand and straightened my spine.

Since he wanted this, I had finished letting them watch me break.

I walked toward him. My heart was a frantic drum against my ribs, but my steps didn’t falter. I saw the surprise in Jason’s eyes, in Nancy’s smug face, and in Lucy’s cold stare. They’d expected a collapse. They wouldn’t get one.

I had to think of the baby. This couldn’t be for nothing.

"Alright, Jason," I said. My voice came out clear, which surprised even me. "I'll sign."

"It's not as if you have any other option," Nancy chimed in, her tone dripping with fake sympathy.

I kept my gaze locked on my husband. The father of the child he didn't know existed. "I'll sign. But I need alimony."

The room went still. I held my breath. This was it…the final piece of evidence for their narrative. See? She only ever wanted the money. But my private, precious secret gave me a strength I didn't know I had. The modest savings I’d scraped together over three years would disappear in a month with a baby. I’d never planned for an exit. I’d believed in 'forever.'

His expression hardened, a muscle ticking in his jaw. "Of course," he said, the words slow and venomous. "It always circles back to money, doesn't it? Even now, when you should be begging for mercy, your hand is out."

I stood perfectly still, letting the insult settle over me. I absorbed it. It was the toll for my child's future.

A cruel, mocking smile twisted his lips. "Fine. I'll transfer funds now. Enough for you to get lost and start over somewhere far from here. All you have to do is sign."

"Transfer it first," I said. I wouldn't move until I saw the proof.

With a look of utter contempt, he pulled out his phone. A few silent taps. A moment later, a bright ping echoed from my phone on the sofa.

"Now. Sign." His voice was granite.

I picked up the pen. The metal was cold. As I began to write…J-e-n-n-I-f-e-r my hand paused. A foolish, traitorous part of my heart made me speak. "Jason… Please, just be careful with Lucy. She's not who you think."

It was a final, wasted gift to the man I’d loved.

"Just finish it," he snapped, not even looking at her.

I completed the signature. Jennifer Carter. A name that felt suddenly unfamiliar. He snatched the document, verified it with a glance, and turned away.

"You have twenty-four hours to collect your belongings and leave my property," he stated, already walking out. He didn't look back.

I moved toward the staircase, ignoring the triumphant whispers behind me. I just needed my things.

"Oh, don't bother," Nancy sang out. "We took the liberty of packing for you. We assumed you'd be headed straight to prison. We were going to donate it all. Such clutter."

Lucy’s light, cruel laughter followed. They disappeared into the hall closet and emerged dragging two large, lumpy trash bags. My life, packed into garbage sacks. I pressed my tongue hard against the roof of my mouth, fighting back the sting in my eyes. I would not let them have my tears, too.

Nancy strode over, grabbed my upper arm, and marched me to the front door, hauling the bags behind her. "The show's over. You're not part of this family. GET OUT!"

The heavy door slammed shut. The sound of their laughter, muffled but unmistakable, filtered through the wood.

I stood on the porch. Divorced. Evicted. Alone. And pregnant.

My mind felt numb, lagging behind reality. This couldn't be happening. A low rumble of thunder rolled across the sky, and before I could even react, the clouds broke open. A cold, drenching rain fell in sheets, soaking my hair, my clothes, the pathetic bags at my feet in seconds.

I didn't seek shelter. I just stood there, a disbelieving smile touching my lips. The universe had a sick sense of humor.

This morning, my world had been different. The doctor's visit. The quiet, awe-filled news. One month along. I’d carried the secret all day like a sun in my chest, imagining Jason’s face, dreaming of the family we could become.

Then I came home to find his father on the floor. And in the brutal hours that followed, my husband chose to believe I was capable of monstrous things. He chose them over me.

The rain streamed down my face, mixing with what I refused to call tears. If I’d been home, could I have stopped it? Could I have helped? The guilt was a sharp, twisting companion, even in my own devastation.

But the time for crying was over. I had to move. My aunt’s house was not a sanctuary; it was a different kind of trap.

Jason’s own bitter words echoed in my head: ‘Start over somewhere far from here.’

He was right, though not in the way he meant. I had to vanish. I had to go to a place where Jason Owen’s shadow couldn’t reach, where my child could have a future untouched by his father’s rejection. I bent down, my fingers closing around the soaked plastic of the bags that held all I had left. My back ached, my heart was scarred, but a new, fierce resolve was taking root.

It was time to go.