After My Ex-Wife

CAMILLA

The beep from my phone pierced through the peaceful chats of the hospital waiting room. I paused before answering. My fingers, still numb from holding the pregnancy report, reached sluggishly for the phone.

"Camilla, where are you?" Mirabel's voice was frantic and pulled me back to reality. "I'm just leaving the hospital," I replied, my tone remote. A mild, delicate delight grew inside me, blended with something deeper.

"What's going on?" Mirabel was silent before she spoke again. "Get to the hotel. Now." Her voice faltered. "Your husband is been stolen from you by another woman." It's Alex. He's... "He is with another woman."

The words hit me like a slap in the face, but I didn't respond. I could not. Not in front of everyone.

I tightened my grip on the phone, my breath wavering as I battled the nausea that was forming in my throat. "Which hotel?" I murmured. She mentioned the city's most exquisite five-star hotel, a place that seemed almost mystical to me—like something out of a storybook. Not me. Not us. The word "us" felt hollow now, like an echo of something that never existed. "Camilla?" Mirabel's voice sounded distant. "Are you okay?" I nodded, but she could not see me. "I'll be there."

I closed my eyes as I hung up. My pleasure at becoming pregnant was tempered by the weight of the reality that was weighing down on me. I am carrying a child. anticipating Alex's child. I had hoped, genuinely thought, that this would be the turning moment after three hard years- three hard years of hoping, three hard years of trying to make him love me. This child had to be the one. He had to see me and fall in love with me. But, right now?

My thoughts dashed back to five weeks ago, the night we conceived our baby, as I drove to the Hotel. That night was different. Alex had held me for the first time in three years. Not out of cold need or obligation, but something more. Even though he had been far gone for so long, that night seemed like a truce—a moment when he allowed himself to be vulnerable—I had been craving for his touch.

He had just returned from a long business trip and was tired. We sat in the living room, and for once, the air was not thick with tension.

I had made his favorite meal, as I usually did, even though I often ate alone afterwards. But that night, when he sat down with me, there was something different in his gaze. Was it sadness? Guilt? I had no clue, but I didn't dare break the illusion.

Later, when he kissed me gently—so softly that I nearly missed it—I sunk into him, engulfed in the warmth I had always sought. His hands were smooth and friendly, even sensitive, as he escorted me to bed. That night, I allowed myself to think that, just maybe, he had finally noticed me.

But the following morning, the freezing wall was back up. He left the house before I even woke up; I looked around, but he was gone. That night's warmth was like a faraway dream that I couldn't grasp again.

The hotel was before me, its towering structure creating shadows on the roadway. As I strolled around the hotel, the green surroundings and the beautiful flowers that decorate it, the liveliness outside, the magnificent halls, the contrast between the richness of the environment and the barrenness of my marriage stung. Couples grinned, hands intertwined, their love on display for everyone to see. It hurt a lot. It reminded me of something I've never had.

My sight was pulled to Mirabel near the doorway. She worked here—one of the numerous jobs she took on after the Corona virus became widespread—always working hard to support her family.

We've been good friends since college, sharing everything from sorrow to aspirations. She was the one person I could confide in, and she was aware of my misery and the heartbreaking parts of my marriage. As I went closer, I could see the concern in her posture and the embarrassment in her eyes. "Mirabel," I said softly, seeing her gaze. "How long have you known?"

Her eyes wandered and then returned to mine. "A couple of days," she mumbled in apologies. "I think I saw him here twice, but I wasn't sure if it was serious. I had no clue until now. "

"Who is she?" With a burning question mark on my tongue, I questioned.

Her eyes were filled with anxiety, as if she didn't want to hurt me any more than she already had. "Her name is Alessia." She's the daughter of one of his key investors. I have never seen her, but I have heard you mention her before."

Alessia. The name sent chills down my spine. Alex had mentioned her once or twice, always with a subtle air of respect, as if she carries something untouchable, someone he could never have. Until now.

I followed Mirabel inside, past the gilded lobby's gorgeous chandeliers and luscious draperies. The hotel was a palace, and I was the begar wandering through its hallways. My stomach churned with each step, the life inside me appearing so fragile and breakable. I had mistakenly hoped that this child would save us. But Alex had already given up on us, and specifically on me.

That's when I saw him. He was standing close to the bar, wearing blue jeans and a casual white polo shirt. He was laughing, really laughing, and Alessia was beside him. Naturally, she had flawless features, lustrous dark hair, and a form that made her seem like she belonged in places like this. I saw him give her a quick kiss on the forehead. An expression of love in public, something he had never done for me. Its sight cut like a knife through me. He showed her respect in a manner that he had never shown me. Here, in public, in front of those who knew him, he gave her a kiss devoid of remorse or shame.

My heart hammered in my chest as I came closer. Every breath was more difficult, every step seemed heavier. A scorching inferno of wrath threatened to devour me as it welled up inside me.

I was unnoticed at first by him. He was too lost in the world where I didn't exist and too lost in her. I yelled, nearly breaking into a cry, "Alex ," loud enough to penetrate the atmosphere. He glanced around, astonished to see me.

Something came in his eyes for a short moment—guilt? remorse? However, it faded just as fast as it had come.

With a stern tone, he questioned, "What are you doing here?" Alessia looked between us, perplexed yet unconcerned, "Who is she?" she inquired, her tone filled with curiosity, as though I were merely a small interruption. "She's no one," he explained. "She used to work for me." "That's all." The words struck me harder than expected. Indeed, nobody! I had become nothing to him after three years of marriage and everything we had experienced.

I opened my lips to tell him that I was carrying his child and that I was pregnant. But before I could say anything, he stepped in closer and murmured quietly. "Camilla, you must leave. Right now. You shouldn't be here in the first place."

I gazed at him, in astonishment. The world became fuzzy, and for a second, the only thing I could detect was how severe his reaction is. He was unapologetic. neither about the kid forming inside of me, nor about me.

I took a look at him. But He had already shifted his sight from me, returning his complete attention on Alessia.

Without saying anything more, I turned around and left the hotel. My once-dreamed existence is disintegrating beneath my feet.