Ex-Husband's Regret(The Wife He Discarded)

I picked up the tie from the drawer and held it up for a second, smoothing the fabric between my fingers.

Navy blue with gold strips.

It would go well with the suit Dominic had already brought out.

I placed it carefully on the dressing table, making sure it lay straight, then turned to the watch rack beside it. My eyes moved over the rows before settling on a silver Rolex. I took it down and placed it next to the tie.

It was a small thing.

But I had gotten used to doing small things for him.

The walk-in closet door opened behind me.

I turned instinctively.

Dominic walked in, a towel hanging loosely around his waist, his hair still damp from his shower. He stopped the moment he saw me standing near his things.

His expression changed to immediate irritation.

"How many times do I have to tell you not to touch my stuff?"

The words came out sharp.

My fingers curled slightly at my sides.

"I'm sorry… I thought—"

"Just leave."

The rest of my words dissolved before I could say them.

I kept my face still, but my fingers curled into my palm until it hurt.

"Okay."

I turned and walked out of the room without saying anything else, closing the door softly behind me.

For a moment, I stood there in the hallway, staring at the floor.

Then I let out a small breath and forced myself to move.

It wasn't a big deal.

It shouldn't feel like one.

I walked downstairs and headed straight into the kitchen.

Breakfast was already prepared. I had woken up early to make it before he got ready, timing everything so it would still be warm when he came down.

I moved around quietly, arranging the dishes on the table, adjusting things that didn't need adjusting.

My movements were careful. Almost practiced.

By the time I finished, everything was set.

I wiped my hands on the towel and glanced toward the staircase.

Right on time, I heard his footsteps.

I straightened unconsciously.

Dominic walked down from the stairs, already dressed.

My eyes moved over him immediately, and I noticed the tie and wristwatch.

Something inside me softened before I could stop it.

At least he wore it.

I looked away quickly, as if I hadn't noticed.

"Breakfast is ready," I said, my voice gentle.

"I'm not eating."

The words came without hesitation, like he had already decided before even seeing the table.

My fingers tightened slightly around the edge of the chair.

"I already made it," I said, my voice quieter now. "You can just have a little—"

"I said I'm not eating, Aurelia."

My name sounded like a warning.

I froze.

For a second, I almost nodded and let it go like I usually did.

But today I spoke.

"I'll throw it away if you don't eat," I said, softer this time, almost like I was pleading without meaning to. "It'll just go to waste…"

There was a long pause.

Then Dominic walked over and pulled out the chair and sat down.

I blinked.

Relief came too quickly.

"Thank you," I said, almost smiling as I moved quickly, picking up the spoon and placing it closer to him.

He didn't look at me.

But he picked it up.

That was enough.

Little things like that were always enough for me.

I reached for the jug of water, pouring it into his glass carefully.

For a moment, it almost felt like a normal morning. Like nothing was wrong between us.

Then his phone rang.

The sound cut through everything.

Dominic dropped the spoon immediately, reaching for his phone like nothing else mattered.

My hand stilled mid-air, the water still pouring.

"…Hello?"

His voice changed.

It wasn't cold or distant anymore. There was a flicker of excitement in it.

I slowly lowered the jug.

"Yeah," he said, already standing. "I'll be there in a minute."

I looked up at him.

He was already grabbing his suitcase.

I blinked.

"You're leaving now?" I asked softly.

He didn't answer.

He was already walking out.

"Domi—"

But the rest of his name never left my mouth.

The door closed before I could say anything else.

The sound echoed through the house, then faded.

I stood there for a few seconds, staring at the door.

I slowly set the glass down and pulled out the chair across from his and sat down.

For a moment, I just looked at the empty chair. Then the table filled with food. The spoon lay untouched beside the plate.

I picked up the spoon and took a bite.

It tasted fine.

I lowered my gaze.

We had been married for three years. I shared a bed with him every night, yet I had never felt more alone.

I took another bite.

For a long time, I had believed things would be different.

That once I left my adoptive family's house—once I wasn't the girl they ignored, the one they discarded after their biological daughter was born—I would finally have a place that felt like mine.

A home.

A family.

Someone who actually wanted me there.

I swallowed.

But this house felt almost the same.

Just quieter.

At least back then, I knew I didn't belong.

Here… I wasn't sure what I was supposed to be.

My fingers tightened slightly around the spoon.

Dominic never said much. Never engaged in any conversations with me.

He just kept his distance, like I was something he had learned to live with.

Loving him felt like knocking on a door that would never open.

And sometimes, late at night, he would reach for me like I mattered. And I let myself believe it meant something even when I knew it didn't.

Only for him to turn away the moment it was over.

I lowered my gaze.

I didn't know why I still held on to it.

That small hope that maybe one day, he would soften.

Maybe one day, he would look at me and actually see me.

But nothing had changed in the past three years.

A faint breath left my lips.

Sometimes, it started to feel like I was the one who had forced myself into his life.

Like I had taken a place that was never meant to be mine.

Still…

I stayed.

Because leaving meant going back to a place where I had never belonged at all.

Not that I even felt like I belonged here.

I wasn't asking for much. Just to be seen by my husband. Just once.

I finished the food without realizing when the plate had become empty.

After that, I stood up and cleared the table.

I washed the dishes one by one, my movements slow and steady.

The house was quiet again.

It always returned to that.

After I finished, I went upstairs, took a shower, and changed.

I came back down and sat on the couch with my phone in my hand.

For a while, I was just scrolling through Instagram.

Then a headline caught my attention.

Mirabel Murphy Returns to New York After Divorce <

My thumb paused on the screen.

I hadn't heard that name in years.

I had almost convinced myself it didn't matter anymore.

Almost.

I didn't even know Mirabel had been married.

I tapped on it.

The article opened with a photo of Mirabel stepping out of a car, cameras flashing around her.

Nothing had changed.

She still looked the same. Flawless as ever.

I stared at it for a moment, then exited.

I didn't know why I searched her name after that.

Maybe curiosity.

The profile came up quickly.

A verified account with millions of followers.

I hesitated for a second before tapping on the profile picture.

A story had been posted a minute ago.

The image appeared and everything inside me went still.

It wasn't even a full picture.

Just a partial shot.

A restaurant table.

Food spread across it.

A man sitting across from her.

His face wasn't visible, but I didn't need to see it. I had memorized him enough to recognise him from any angle.

My grip tightened around the phone.

My fingers went cold.

The same suit.

The navy blue tie.

And that same wrist watch.

A high, thin ringing started in my ears.

The man who had just walked out of our dining room.

He had refused to eat my food.

Only to sit across from another woman and share a meal with her.

Not just another woman.

Mirabel Murphy.