My husband, Tristian Kent, was a military officer. I’d been receiving his military allowance, only to be told during a medical checkup that we’d been “divorced” for six months.
I laughed out of absurdity, then withdrew my mother-in-law, Emilie Kent, from her nursing home in no time.
That night, I brought the bedridden Emilie straight to the gate of Tristian’s military camp.
The next day, Tristian and his bride had just registered their marriage when they saw me sitting in the reception room of the military camp with Emilie.
“Why did you bring my mom here?” His face turned livid as he questioned me.
I coldly tossed the copy of his marriage certificate at him. “Now that you’re remarried, you’d better fulfill your obligation to support your mother.”
His bride flushed crimson, squeezing her own marriage certificate so hard that her knuckles turned white.
As I looked at them, I felt nothing but the joy of revenge. Next, the military’s disciplinary action and Emilie’s medical bills would be more than enough to trouble them.
***
The town health center reeked of Lysol and dust all year round.
I sat on a hard wooden bench outside a gynecologist’s consulting room, unconsciously twisting the hem of my clothes with my fingers. Nervous sweat filled my palms.
The corridor bustled with people. Footsteps, coughs, and children’s cries blended into a noisy hum.
But I heard none of it, save for the loud thud of my own heartbeat.
I was waiting to consult a gynecologist.
The doctor once mentioned that I was slightly weak and required adequate rest as well as proper nutrition.
I wondered if Tristian would be happier if I could get pregnant with another baby this time.
He always said he was tied up with the military, that his career came first, and that there was no rush to have more kids.
But we’d been married nearly seven years, and I was twenty-eight now. If we kept putting it off, the risks associated with pregnancy would only increase for me.
Perhaps having another child would turn this house into more of a home and make him come back more often.
“Christina Steele?”
A young female doctor in a white coat and gold-rimmed glasses pushed open the door, holding my medical report in her hand.
I jumped to my feet, an ingratiating smile plastered on my face. “Doctor, that’s me.”
She adjusted her glasses, glancing back and forth between my face and the papers in her hand, then knitted her brows.
“Aren’t you married?”
My heart lurched at that question. Was there something seriously wrong with my results?
I rubbed my hands together nervously. “Yes, I am. My husband’s a soldier. He’s in the military now.”
The doctor’s look of doubt deepened. She flipped over the form in her hand, then pointed to her computer screen.
“That’s strange. Why does your status in the medical records system say ‘divorced”?”
Divorced?
That word hit me like a thunderclap.
My mind went blank, my blood running cold.
There must be something wrong.
“Doctor, did you … did you make a mistake? My husband’s name is Tristian Kent. he’s a military officer. We’re in love. How could we be divorced?”
My voice trembled uncontrollably, each word wavering.
The female doctor, probably startled by my reaction, turned her computer screen toward me. She pointed at the record on it, her tone softening a little.
“See for yourself. The system says you and a man named Tristian completed divorce proceedings six months ago.”
She checked the info again. “Name and ID number both match. Look, the date was June 12th.”
June 12th?
I felt like an invisible hand clamped around my heart and dragged it into an endless abyss.
I remembered that day.
Six months ago, Tristian had come home on a rare leave. He said the military needed to update his family files, and there were a lot of documents to sign.
He’d held out a stack of papers, pointing to a few places that needed my signature.
“Tina, just sign it. It’s all routine stuff. I have to report back to the unit early tomorrow morning,” he urged, his tone gentle yet tinged with impatience.
Back then, I’d been busy turning Emilie over in bed to wipe her back. The scent of the ointment I’d put on her still lingered on my hands.
I didn’t even glance at the papers, just taking the pen and signing where he pointed.
My trust in him had long been carved into my bones.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.