He Said the Divorce Was Temporary, So I Made It Permanent

On our third anniversary, Adrian handed me divorce papers. His mentor's daughter was terminally ill. Her dying wish was to marry the man she'd loved for ten years. That man was my husband. "It's only a temporary divorce. Once she's gone, we'll get married again." I looked down at the pregnancy test report hidden in my purse. I didn't tell him that the baby we'd wanted for two years was finally here. Before I signed, I asked him one last question. "What if I won't marry you again?" Adrian laughed. "Elena, we've been together for seven years. You could never bring yourself to leave me." I didn't argue. I simply signed my name at the bottom of the agreement. He had no idea. This time, I wasn't going to wait for him to come back. ****** "Sign it." Adrian slid a fountain pen across the table toward me. The anniversary cake he'd ordered sat between us. The candles hadn't been lit, and the frosting around the edges had already started to sag. The agreement lay beside it, stark black ink on white paper, hard to look at. After staring at it for a long time, I asked, "When's the wedding?" "The day after tomorrow." So he hadn't come to talk it over with me. The chapel, the dress, the guests—all of it was probably already arranged. He'd come only to tell me, and to get my signature while he was at it. "When did you find out she was in love with you?" Adrian frowned slightly. "That doesn't matter." "Then what does?" "She only has three months left. Professor Martin saved my career. I can't let his only daughter die with this one regret." He said it like he wasn't sacrificing our marriage—like he was canceling a dinner reservation. I rested a hand over my lower stomach. Before I left the house that day, I'd been trying to figure out how to tell him I was pregnant. I'd even bought a pair of tiny white socks and hidden them in the drawer under the cake. Now all of it seemed ridiculous. "What if I don't sign?" "Elena." His voice hardened. "Don't throw a fit." So wanting to protect my own marriage was throwing a fit. "She wants a wedding. Why do we have to divorce?" "I don't want her to feel like she's stealing another woman's husband." "Adrian, if we get divorced, I won't marry you again." He went quiet for a few seconds, then visibly relaxed. "Lena, don't say things you don't mean. We've known each other seven years and been married three. You're not really going to leave me over this." I looked at him and understood, all at once: he truly believed I would never leave. That was why he could treat me so carelessly. "Fine. I'll sign." I picked up the pen and wrote my name on the last page. As the nib moved across the paper, I could've sworn I felt the baby give the faintest little wiggle. Adrian let out a breath. "I knew you'd understand." He gathered up the agreement and leaned down to kiss my forehead. I turned my head away. He froze for a second, then recovered fast. "I'll stay at a hotel the next few days so I can take care of Sophie. I'll come home after the wedding." I didn't answer. His phone rang just as he reached the door. Whatever Sophie said softened his voice instantly. "Don't be scared. I'm coming right now." The door closed behind him. I opened the drawer and took out the tiny socks. Beneath them was a card. I'd written: Happy third anniversary. You're going to be a dad! I tore the card in half, then into quarters. Then I made an appointment with a divorce attorney. Adrian thought he was only lending our marriage out to someone else. But I had no intention of taking it back.