The Bloody Box: My Ex-Husband's Regret

"Pregnant? Then get rid of it. And mail it to me. I want to see it." The day our divorce was finalized, my exhusband Damien sneered those words right in my face.

He was so sure this was a script. My last, desperate play to make him stay. The next day, a sealed styrofoam box landed on his desk. Inside was a clump of bloody, mangled flesh.

He finally broke. Through the phone, he howled, a raw, cracking, animal sound. I listened for a few seconds.

Then I blocked his number, turned, and walked through the gate for my flight to Paris.

Years later, I had barely stepped out of arrivals, my daughter's hand in mine, when Damien cut me off. His eyes were rimmed red.

He stared at my daughter with something sick and frantic burning in them. "I knew you couldn't be that heartless! She's our baby, isn't she?" His hands shook as he lunged for her.

The man beside me yanked us both behind him. He looked down at Damien, and there was murder in his eyes. "Claiming someone else's kid now?

Stay away from my wife and my daughter." Chapter 1 On our first wedding anniversary, Damien texted me the address of a private room at an upscale lounge.

I put on my prettiest dress and headed out, giddy, to celebrate our first year together. But when I reached the room, I stopped outside the door.

Damien was in there, chatting with his friends. "Isn't today your anniversary, man?

How do you have the nerve to ditch your wife for Ivy's welcomehome party?" Damien swirled the wine in his glass. His laugh came out easy and careless. "Nerve?

I invited her here myself. What's an anniversary compared to Ivy?" His buddies hooted, voices going high and mocking. "That's our boy!

You've really got her trained!" "Damn, I figured once you had a wife, you'd finally be over Ivy." Damien shot him a sideways look and took his time swallowing his wine. "Marrying her was an impulse.

How could she ever compare to Ivy?" "An impulse? The way you chased her back then didn't look like an impulse.

Sure that's not the wine talking?" Damien's gaze went cold on the man in the middle seat. His voice flattened. "It was an act.

Who knew she'd actually fall for me, crying and carrying on about how she'd marry no one else?" "Ha! Fair. And our boy here is just too kind.

Girl proposes, and he actually says yes." The laughter rolled on behind the door. I stood rooted to the floor. For a long time, my legs wouldn't move.

That night, I never walked into that room. I went home instead. But home was worse. My phone sat there, dark and silent, reminding me every single second. It was time for a divorce.

Damien didn't come home all night.

Where he went, I found out the way the rest of the internet did: from a trending gossip post. [BREAKING: Rising concert pianist Ivy caught spending a steamy night at a hotel with a mystery man!] I tapped it open.

Hundreds of words of breathless "exclusive details." And one blurry photo of a man and a woman tangled together.

A tall, handsome man holding a slender beauty against him like he owned her. They didn't spare the paparazzi cameras a single glance. Face to face, wrapped around each other.

Smiling. Intimate. Not even trying to hide it. I opened the comments. A whole scroll of congratulations: gorgeous couple, match made in heaven. I thought I would take it calmly.

My vision blurred anyway. I sat frozen for a long while, until the phone buzzed in my hand. A number I knew by heart lit up the screen. Damien.

I answered with one small, stubborn scrap of hope. I wanted to ask him if the post was true. His name never left my mouth. Ivy's voice came through first.

Soft, sweet, playing innocent. "Naomi, don't believe that tabloid trash. I got drunk last night, and Damien just took care of me at the hotel, that's all.

We didn't even sleep in the same bed. You're so understanding, I knew you wouldn't mind…" She wasn't even finished when Damien's voice cut in, bored. "What's there to explain?

You're overdoing it." Ivy kept bickering with him like she'd forgotten I was on the line at all. "I'm a girl, I know how girls think! What if Naomi gets jealous?

Sure, we spent the whole night in the same room, totally innocent, but as your best friend, I had to explain it to her." "Tsk. You women are exhausting." "Damien! Who's exhausting?

Say that one more time, I dare you." And on they went. Chapter 2 I listened to the two of them squabble like lovebirds, my face blank.

That knot in my chest wouldn't go down and wouldn't come up. I held it in. Held it in some more. Then my body decided for me. I threw up. Nothing in my stomach.

I'd skipped breakfast. Just thin, sour bile. The retching finally reminded the lovebirds that I existed. Damien dropped the flirting midsentence.

His voice came rushing through the line: "Honey, what's wrong? Are you sick?" The sound of him turned my stomach all over again. I gagged and threw up a second time.

His voice went sharper. "Honey, are you ill? Hold on. I'm coming home right now. I'll take you to the hospital." I covered my mouth to say don't bother. My stomach heaved instead.

A third time. By the time I'd wiped my mouth clean, he'd already hung up. I'd made up my mind to divorce him anyway. Better to keep things clean between us.

Me: [No need.] His reply came fast. Him: [Home in twenty minutes.] I stared at those words for a long time. How did he do it?

Flirting with another woman one second, racing home to check on his actual wife the next? I couldn't work it out.

I slid down against the wall and crouched there, and the past four years came flooding back. Four years ago, on my way to work, I came across a car crash. Damien's car.

Flames were about to catch. I dragged an unconscious stranger out of the wreck, risking my own neck, and got him to a hospital.

When he woke up, he was so moved by the woman who'd saved his life that he kept trying to press money into my hands. I refused every time.

I'd pulled him out because it was the decent thing to do, not for a payout. But the more I refused, the more interested he got. He started pursuing me. Flowers.

Rides to and from work. Boxes of fancy desserts delivered to my office to win over my coworkers. Every time I turned him down, he'd pull the same line: I owe you my life.

Let me repay it. And he never once soured at a no. Always softspoken. Always patient. Handsome, steady, never once ruffled.

I don't think any girl could have held out against a man like that. So I fell. Slowly, and then all the way. Before long, we were together.

As a boyfriend, Damien stayed every bit as gentle, as considerate as before. I sank deeper, certain he loved me the way I loved him. Three years in, I proposed to him.

He thought it over for a moment. Then he said yes. It wasn't until after the wedding that I learned about the girl he'd carried in his heart since he was young. Ivy.

The one that got away. The car crash that brought us together? It happened because Ivy had turned him down. He'd been tearing down the road to burn off the mood.

That's how he crashed. I heard the whole story on our wedding night, from Ivy herself, freshly flown in from abroad, pulling me aside to share.

I remember almost laughing while she bragged, in loving detail, about how my brandnew husband used to want her. Yes. Laughing. Because I didn't believe a word of it.

After all, Damien had spent three years being too good to me. When I got sick, he panicked more than anyone. When I hurt, he was the first one there to comfort me.

When I couldn't see a future for myself, he was the one who sat with me and talked me through it.

He was the one who convinced me to chase my dream at all, the reason I was building it, piece by piece. That was how much he loved me. I was sure of it.

Chapter 3 People say loving someone is like tending a garden. So I was certain Damien loved me. He watered. He tended.

But one year into the marriage, I saw it: while he was taking care of me, he never stopped taking care of Ivy. At first, I blamed her. She was the one stirring the pot.

Then I finally understood. The problem was him. He couldn't keep himself in his lane. He enjoyed being adored by me.

And he couldn't let go of the girl who'd made his heart race at nineteen. I loved him, so I swallowed it. Over and over. He'll change, I kept telling myself.

But he ditched me on our anniversary to throw Ivy a welcomehome party. He trashed me to his friends. He spent the night alone with her in a hotel room.

And if I still loved a man like that? then I was the most pathetic woman alive. Damien got home early. He found me sitting straightbacked on the couch.

He ducked inside for his wallet, then grabbed my hand, already pulling me toward the door. "Come on. We're getting you checked out." I tugged. His grip held. "I'm fine.

I don't need a hospital." My voice came out quiet. "Actually, there's something I need to tell you. We should get a div—" The word died in my mouth.

My eyes had landed on his collar. A lipstick mark. I knew what a man and a woman alone in a room all night usually meant. I'd known it all along.

But that smear of red hit me like a slap. My stomach turned on reflex. And then I actually threw up. That scared him worse.

He hauled me out the door and tore through every light to the hospital. By the time I was sitting in the exam room, "divorce" still hadn't made it out of my mouth.

The doctor's rapidfire questions scattered it. "Married or single?" "Trying to conceive?" "When was your last period?" I answered one after another.

She scribbled out an order form as she talked. "You're probably pregnant. Take this to the lab.

We'll check your estradiol, progesterone, and HCG." I floated out of that office in a daze. When we were newlyweds, I used to daydream about a baby.

Then a checkup found uterine cysts. Conceiving would be difficult, they said. And sure enough: a whole year of marriage, never once careful, and nothing. Now here was the joke.

The moment I decided to divorce him, my body decided to be pregnant. I walked back with the lab order, my head a mess. I was leaving him. That was decided.

But if I really was pregnant, what then? Could I really end it? I returned to the waiting area, still working out how to tell him I might be carrying his child. His chair was empty.

My phone lit up. Him: [Honey, Ivy says the paparazzi are camped outside her building. She can't even step out for breakfast. Wait for me at the hospital.

I'll drop food off for her and come right back. Love you.] My eyes stopped on those two words. Love you. The phone shook in my hand. Good. Now I didn't have to decide.

He'd just decided for me. Me: [OK.] Outside, the sun was blazing. Inside, the AC blew straight through me. I walked to the lab alone, cold to the bone.

I went straight home from the hospital. I ordered a mountain of delivery and got on the phone with the lawyer a friend had recommended, talking through a settlement.

By the time I'd eaten my fill, the lawyer had a draft ready. Everything was in place. All I needed now was Damien to come home. Chapter 4 I waited until eleven that night.

The lock clicked. The door swung open. Damien took in the bright living room, then me, sitting straightbacked on the couch. He smiled and came in for a hug. I twisted away.

As if I were only sulking, he dropped to one knee and caught my hand, all apology. "Honey, I didn't mean to leave you there.

Ivy had reporters swarming her building, she couldn't get out, and we've been friends for so many years. She begged me. I couldn't say no." I pulled my hand free and smiled.

It wasn't a nice smile. "Friends for so many years, the kind that spend the night alone in one room?" His face stiffened. A second later the smug grin was back. "So that's it.

You're jealous. There's really nothing between us. We didn't sleep together this time. When we shared the room last night, I took the couch.

Nowhere near her." There'd been a time Damien shared an actual bed with Ivy. Back then, there'd been other people in the room too.

When I blew up about it, every one of his friends took his side. I wouldn't let it go, and he finally promised me: never again. So. Not the same bed. Just the same room.

And that was supposed to be fine? My eyes went to his collar.

The lipstick mark was still there, planted like a flag. "Damien, you'd be more convincing if you'd changed your shirt." I pointed at the red still sitting on his collar. "Forget it.

Save it. Let's get a divorce." I pulled the settlement out from beside the couch and held it out. "One year of marriage, not much to split. Half and half.

You can pay me my share in cash." He took the papers, frowning. "Honey, this is a joke, right? All those times before, you never cared. Why now—" I cut him off.

My laugh came out cold. "Oh, so you can count. All those times you cheated with Ivy." "Honey, I'm not agreeing to a divorce.

Nothing happened between me and her last night." I flung the papers down and stood over him, looking at him like he was nothing. "Don't agree, then. We separate.

The clock starts now. The day I can file, I file.

And in the meantime, I can't promise Ivy's name won't end up trending with 'homewrecker' stapled to it." I turned, walked into the guest room, and locked the door behind me.

Damien pounded on it. "Honey, open the door. Let's talk." "There's really nothing between me and Ivy. We're innocent." "Honey, can you stop this? We were just drunk last night.

The lipstick probably rubbed off by accident. We never even got to the last step." I lay back on the mattress with its little yellow flowers and felt lighter than I had in months.

To the sound of his fists and his excuses, I drifted off to sleep. In the morning, I reached out to a few paparazzi.

I gave them a tip: Ivy's mystery man from the hotel was a married man. At first, I doubted it would ever see daylight.

Damien was one of New York's bestknown young moguls, rich enough to bury a story like this ten times over.

But the posts shot up the trending charts, one after another, like the wind itself was pushing them.

Chapter 5 When Damien called, spitting mad, I was halfway through a meal, with a side of internet comments: a whole feed of strangers roasting the cheating scum and his homewrecker. "Naomi Ashford.

I misjudged you. This was between the two of us. Why drag Ivy into it? She's a famous pianist. You'll ruin her." Right on cue, Ivy's sobs kept time in the background.

I had him on speaker. I'd never been calmer. "Misjudged me how? What exactly did I do to earn all this rage?" "You have the nerve to ask?

You leaked the story about Ivy wrecking our marriage!" I took a sip of soup first. "Did I check you two into that hotel? Did I book the room?

Did I force you to marry me?" A long pause. Then his voice came back, hoarse and worn down. "Honey, you have to believe me.

Nothing happened between me and Ivy." I laughed, cold. "Right. You just almost made it to the last step." Silence on both ends. A long one. Suddenly I was bored of all of it.

I took a breath and cut the knot clean through. "Damien, here's how it goes.

Either you meet me at the lawyer's office tomorrow and we finalize the divorce, or I keep dropping dirt on you two lovebirds.

If your Ivy still wants to be the pianist with the squeakyclean image, you'll divorce me sooner rather than later." I didn't wait for an answer. I hung up