Watch Me Marry Someone Else, My Dear Ex-Husband

“Your biological father is looking for you, Hayley. Would you want to see him? He’s been wanting to talk to you.” My lawyer’s assistant said over the phone.

I took a shaky breath. “Tell him… tell him I’m divorcing Marco now,” I said, my voice so steady it surprised even me. “If he really wants to make up for the last twenty years of pretending I didn’t exist, then he should pick me up after a week. Take me far away from here.”

There was a pause. The assistant cleared their throat. “You’re divorcing your husband, Marco? Are you sure about that, Hayley?”

I let out a soft, humorless laugh. “Yes. It’s final. Draft the papers. I’ll make sure he signs them immediately.”

I didn’t wait for a reply. I hung up. The phone slipped from my hands, landing on the scratchy blanket that covered my battered legs.

My palms trembled as I reached for the sleeve of my hospital gown and pulled it up, just enough to see the twisted, angry scar that slashed across my right forearm.

A reminder of just how deep betrayal could burn.

Three days ago, I was caught in a fire sparked by Sandra. My best friend. The same Sandra who had been sleeping with my husband.

She barged into my boutique and started yelling, telling me that I should leave Marco. Not even hiding their affair anymore. Then, in a blur, she knocked over a canister of cleaning solvent, grabbed a candle off the shelf, and threw it down.

I screamed. Flames burst to life faster than I could react. But when the smoke began to spread, Sandra didn’t help. She didn’t run. She watched. Smirked. And when she finally stumbled out, crying and clutching her wrist, she blamed it all on me.

By the time the paramedics arrived, the damage was done. I was the one burned. The one unconscious. The one blamed.

And Marco? He stood outside the ambulance, arms around Sandra, jaw tight like none of this mattered. When the doctor told him I needed a blood transfusion — that I’d lost too much and was already in danger — he didn’t flinch.

“She’s four months pregnant,” the doctor added carefully. “Without urgent care, she and the baby could both—”

“I don’t care,” Marco snapped. “Just save Sandra. That’s all I want. I don’t give a damn what happens to the other one.”

The other one. As if I was a stranger. As if I wasn’t the woman he married. As if I wasn’t carrying his child.

Later, when I came to, blistered and bandaged, I asked the nurse about the baby.

She hesitated. Her eyes were too soft, too sorry.

“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Villaruel,” she said. “We did everything we could. But it was too late.”

My phone buzzed, snapping me out of the memory. Marco’s name flashed across the cracked screen. For a moment, I considered letting it ring. Maybe he’d think I was dead this time, a small mercy.

But I answered. I always did. That’s who I was, the good wife. The invisible one.

“Where the hell are you?” Marco’s voice was sharp enough to slice through my skull. “Sandra wants caviar tonight. The best. So go find it.”

I swallowed. “I… I can’t. I’m still in the hospital. The doctor said I need—”

“You think I give a damn?” he snapped. “If I want you here, you show up. Or did you forget your mother’s heartbeat is in my hands? If I switch off that machine, she’ll die. And it’ll be your fault. You want that, Hayley?”

A lump lodged in my throat. The words refused to come. I just closed my eyes. “No. I’ll come.”

“Good girl,” he sneered. And the line went dead.

I sat there, numb, the phone slipping from my fingers. I didn’t want to move. Every part of me screamed to stay curled up under the sterile hospital blankets, to pretend the world outside didn’t exist.

But then the door cracked open and the nurse stepped in, looking anywhere but my eyes. “Mrs. Villaruel… I’m so sorry, but… Mr. Villaruel called. He said you need to leave now.”

I blinked at her, my throat tight. “I can’t even stand—”

“He insisted,” she said quietly, already gathering my things, setting my bag on my lap like this was normal. “He… he said you know what would happen if you didn’t.”

The threat lingered in the air. My mother’s heartbeat.

So I let her help me to my feet. It took everything I had to shuffle down that blinding white hallway.

The city blurred past the window, neon lights dancing on my halfhealed scar.

The car stopped in front of the Villaruel estate. One more week, I reminded myself. Just one more week and I will free myself.

I flinched at the sound of laughter inside.

I was halfway up the driveway when it happened.

A splash. Cold, muddy water hit my face and drenched my hair, soaking into the thin coat I’d thrown over my hospital gown. I gasped, nearly slipping on the wet stones.

“Oops!” a voice called down from the balcony above. I looked up and there she was. Sandra. She pressed her fingertips to her lips, feigning surprise. “God, Hayley. I didn’t see you there. What a shame.”

The bucket of murky water she had just poured now soaked me from head to toe. My hospital band still clung to my wrist. I hadn’t even made it past the garden gate.

Sandra came rushing down in her silk robe, her voice all fake concern. “I’m so sorry,” she cooed. “I didn’t mean for it to hit you—really, I was just cleaning the balcony!”

She leaned in close, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper. “You deserve this. You’re garbage. A walking waste. No wonder Marco hates you.”

Before I could speak, a hand yanked Sandra back. Marco.

“What are you doing near her?” he snapped, brushing imaginary dirt off her arm. “You’ll ruin that dress just by being close to her. Stay away from trash.”

He turned to me, eyes narrowed with disgust. “What the hell is wrong with you? Why did you come back here looking like a drowned rat?”

I tried to stand straight, my voice weak. “It was Sandra… she poured—”

He raised his voice. “So now you’re blaming Sandra? What, to get my attention? You really are pathetic. You already killed our baby, and now you’re playing victim again? What purpose do you even serve in this house?”

I flinched. The pain wasn’t new, but each word still sliced deeper.

He grabbed my wrist, dragging me through the backyard toward the pool. “Since you’re already wet, go clean yourself—and that damn pool—with your dirty self. I have guests coming, and I don’t want them smelling your misery.”

With a hard shove, he pushed me into the water.

“I want you to cook and serve them,” he said as I surfaced, gasping. “Got it?”

Sandra walked up, feigning concern again. “Marco, are you sure? She’s not fully healed yet. I can do it.”

“No,” he snapped. “You’ll stay with me. Let her do what she does best! She wanted to be my wife, then she should do better!”

The cold stung every part of me as I lay halfsubmerged, my arms trembling. The weight of the soaked clothes made it impossible to move quickly. My entire body ached, the scarred skin on my arm pulling sharply with every breath.

And then, memories came rushing back — seven years ago.

The crash. The rainslicked road. Harriet’s scream echoing in my head like a ghost that never left. My twin sister Harriet.

She’d always had Marco wrapped around her little finger. They were inseparable, the perfect couple since college, the couple everyone envied. But behind those perfect smiles were cracks I’d seen but never dared to name.

That night, Harriet was furious. I still remember her grabbing my keys off the kitchen counter, her eyes wild with betrayal. She’d found out Marco had been seeing someone else — maybe even Sandra — but she wouldn’t listen when I told her to wait, to calm down, to stay home. She said she’d confront him, end it all on her terms.

I’d tried to stop her. I ran after her, jumped into the passenger seat, begging her to pull over, to talk to me. But she drove like a woman possessed, the rain hammering the windshield, the wipers useless against the sheets of water.

The headlights of an oncoming truck blinded us for a second, then tires screeched, metal crunched, and the world flipped upside down.

When I woke up, Harriet was gone. They said she died instantly.

And Marco? He never even asked what really happened. He never listened when I tried to explain that Harriet was the one behind the wheel, that I’d been the one screaming for her to slow down.

But in his eyes, I killed her. The twin who was everything. And from that day on, he made sure I paid for surviving. Marco never let me forget it. He proposed to me six months after the funeral. I thought it was grief turning to love. I told myself he had forgiven me. That maybe… maybe he could fall for me too.

But the moment we were married, the truth came out. He wanted to torture me. The mistresses started flooding in. He’d bring them home. Make me serve them drinks. Sometimes, he’d make me stand there while he moaned Harriet’s name in their bed. Like a sick, cruel ritual.

And then came Sandra. My best friend. My last ally. Until she became the sharpest blade.

I don’t know how long I was in the pool. But when I tried to climb out, my body gave in. My limbs burned. My head spun. Water rushed into my throat, and I gasped. “Help…” I whispered, clawing at the edge.

From the balcony, Marco looked down with disinterest. “I know you’re just doing this for attention. You can swim, Hayley. Don’t waste my time.”

And then… nothing.

The next time I opened my eyes, I was on the edge of the pool, halfdrenched and freezing. The garden lights were now lit, laughter echoing in the distance.

The party had started. And I—still in my soaked clothes—was nothing but a sideshow. I turned my head slightly and saw Marco and his friends laughing nearby, drinks in hand.

“You’re really making her suffer,” one of them chuckled. “What if she divorces you?”

Marco smirked, swirling his glass. “She wouldn’t dare. That woman owes me. She killed Harriet. This is the least she can do. Even if she tries, I’ll crush it. I’ll bet a million bucks she won’t last a day without crawling back.”

Their laughter rang in my ears as I dragged myself toward the house.

But they were wrong.

Because in my pocket was a message.

From the lawyer: “Your father agreed. He’ll be picking you up in five days. Your mother’s transfer is scheduled. Everything is in place.”

I pressed the phone to my chest, clutching it like a lifeline.

Just a few more days.

Then I’ll be gone.

Then… I’ll finally be free.

The shower hadn’t washed away the cold in my bones. As soon as I dried off, I went straight to the small desk I kept hidden behind my closet door. I pulled out the crisp divorce papers, fresh from the printer, the ink barely dry.

Downstairs, music thumped through the house — the kind of expensive party Marco loved to throw just to show off. Laughter, clinking glasses, murmurs of secrets behind manicured hands. But none of them ever noticed me.

I slipped into the crowd, the folder clutched tight under my arm. I found Marco near the bar, already a few glasses in, his eyes glazed but still sharp when he spotted me.

“What the hell are you doing here? You look like a drowned rat,” he sneered. "If you won't help with the party, then maybe you should be gone."

I forced a tight smile. “It’s urgent, Marco. Some house supply forms. They need your signature tonight.”

He scoffed. “Now? Are you insane? I’m busy.”

“Please. Just sign,” I pressed, keeping my tone even. I could feel the eyes of his friends on me — the pity, the disdain, the curiosity like I was a stray dog that had wandered in to ruin their fun.

Marco reached for the folder but before he could look closer, a commotion broke out. Sandra — draped over the couch like a spoiled cat — gave a theatrical gasp and tumbled to the floor, giggling like a child.

“Oh no,” she slurred, eyes flicking to Marco with that manipulative glint I’d grown to despise. “I tripped… Marco, help me.”

He pushed past me, not sparing a glance. But I stepped in front of him, heart racing. “Sign it. Please.”

He glared at me like I’d just spat in his drink. “For fuck’s sake, Hayley!” But he snatched the pen from my hand anyway, scribbled his name on the line — not even bothering to read it — and tossed the folder back at me. “Happy now?”

“Perfect,” I whispered, my fingers already tucking the papers away safely.

Sandra was up again, wrapping herself around his arm like a snake. “Baby, she’s always ruining your mood. Let’s go upstairs — you promised me a dance.”

He shot me one last disgusted look before disappearing with her into the sea of drunken laughter and clinking glasses.

I made it back to my room. I closed the door, dropped to my knees, and pressed the folder to my chest. It was done. One signature. One step closer to freedom.

I pulled out a bag I’d hidden in the back of my closet months ago — packed and repacked a dozen times in my head. A few clothes, the small stash of money I’d scraped together, my mother’s medical documents. I dumped everything Marco ever gave me into the trash.

Jewelry, dresses — all poisoned by his touch. Except for the necklace my mother left me, hidden deep in my drawer. That, I slipped around my neck. It reminded me I still belonged to someone who once loved me.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand, dragging me back. I grabbed it, thinking it was my lawyer confirming the pickup.

But my breath caught when I saw the name: Scott. Marco’s old rival, the man who’d spent years circling our marriage like a vulture.

“Hayley,” he drawled when I answered. His voice was smooth, smug, but there was a strange warmth there too. “Your father told me what that bastard did. You always deserved better.”

I let out a shaky laugh. “That’s a generous way to put it.”

“So?” he said. “You want out. I can help you. Marry me. It’ll be fun, scandalous even. Marco will choke on it.”

I pressed my hand to my lips, stifling a hysterical giggle. Was it reckless? Yes. But better reckless than rotting here another day. “Fine. You want me, Scott? You can have me. I’ll be waiting.”

“Good girl. Don’t back out,” he warned lightly.

“I won’t.” I hung up just as the doorknob rattled. “I’m packing my things. I’m coming.”

Marco. His silhouette filled the doorway when he burst in, eyes bloodshot from drink and jealousy.

“Who the hell were you talking to? And what’s with you packing your things?” He stormed across the room, snatching my phone from my hand. “Password.”

I just tilted my head. “Our anniversary.”

He punched it in — February 18th — and the phone buzzed red. Wrong.

He glared. “What’s this shit? Our anniversary is the eighteenth.”

I swallowed the bitter taste in my mouth. “No, Marco. That’s you and Harriet. Your anniversary with her. Not me.”

His face went pale, rage flickering in his eyes. “Tell me who it was.”

“No one,” I lied. “I’m packing. I want to stay with Mom at the hospital for a few days.”

He barked out a laugh. “Did I give you permission? You didn’t even help tonight. Look at you — acting like you have rights.”

His fingers dug into my arms. He threw my phone across the room; it shattered against the dresser.

Sandra’s sickly sweet voice drifted in from the hallway. “Is everything okay? Oh — are you fighting about me again? Maybe it’s about me staying here a while longer?”

I blinked at her, words trapped in my throat. I hadn’t even known she’d moved in. Marco’s grin was cold. “No, baby, it’s nothing. She just thinks she can walk out.”

Sandra slithered closer, hooking her arm around his. “Well, maybe when we’re in Tokyo, she can stay with her little coma mom, right? So she won’t feel so lonely.”

Marco nodded, dismissive. “Good idea. For now, clean up the mess, Hayley.”

They started to walk out. Sandra paused in the doorway, leaning in close so only I could hear. “Be thankful I agreed. Maybe you and your dying mother can both rot together. You’re nothing, Hayley. You always have been.”

She spotted the necklace around my neck — my mother’s last gift — and ripped it away with a cruel laugh. “Oh, this? Mine now.”

The moment Sandra’s hand curled around my mother’s necklace, something inside me snapped.

“No!” I lunged forward, grabbing her wrist. “That’s mine — my mother gave it to me before she fell sick! You can’t just take it!”

Sandra’s lips curled into that poisonous smile I’d once trusted. “Oh, look at you — suddenly brave, huh?” She tugged it harder, the chain digging into my neck before it snapped free.

I slapped her. The sound cracked through the hallway. For one heartbeat, I almost felt powerful. “You filthy snake — you’ve stolen everything else, you don’t get to have this!”

But Sandra’s fake tears came quick — she stumbled back, clutching her cheek. “Marco!” she screeched, her voice shrill as a bell. “Marco, she hit me! She’s gone crazy!”

He appeared out of nowhere, still smelling like whiskey and expensive cologne. “What the hell is going on?”

Sandra ran to him, draping herself on his chest like a wounded pet. “I was just trying to help her pack and she attacked me! She slapped me, Marco! And she said she hopes my baby dies too — she wishes your child dead!”

“Liar!” I spat. I didn’t even know she was pregnant. “She’s the one who said she hopes my mother dies! She—”

“Shut up!” Marco’s eyes flared with that familiar hatred. “You’re pathetic. Blaming Sandra for everything? After what you did to Harriet — and now you hurt Sandra, too? Is this how low you’ll go?”

“It’s true — she wants me gone!” Sandra whimpered. “She keeps saying I ruined everything, but it’s her! She’s sick, Marco. She’s crazy!”

I shook my head, the words sticking in my throat like shards of glass. “She’s lying. That necklace — she stole it. It’s the only thing I have left of my mother—”

“You’re going to stand here and whine about some cheap necklace?” Marco snapped. He pulled out his phone, eyes cold. “You don’t want to apologize? You don’t want to kneel and beg like the useless dog you are?”

I lifted my chin, refusing to let the tears spill. “No. I won’t beg. Not to her. Not to you.”

His smile was razor sharp. “Really?” He hit speed dial. My heart plummeted when I heard the nurse answer on speaker. “Turn off the machines for my motherinlaw. Yes, you heard me — no more free ride for that vegetable. Let her rot, she’s just like her daughter—”

“Stop!” I fell to my knees so fast the floor bruised my bones. “Please! Don’t — I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Sandra, I’m sorry — just don’t hurt my mother!”

Sandra sniffed, wiping fake tears from her cheeks as she tilted her chin at me like a queen. “See? That’s better.”

I pressed my forehead to the floor, fists clenched so tight my nails cut my palms. This humiliation. This last performance. I let it happen because I knew — only a few days left. Then I’d be gone. For good.

Marco hung up and gave me one last look of disgust. “Pathetic. Be grateful Sandra forgives you. Now get up and clean this mess. Make yourself useful for once.”

They left me there, the necklace broken in Sandra’s palm, their laughter echoing down the hall. But I didn’t cry. Not this time. I crawled to my closet, pulled out the rest of my old letters, photos, the little cards Marco had given me during those first fake years. All the illusions. I carried the stack to the backyard, lit a match, and watched them curl and burn to ash in the wind.

When Marco came out and saw the flames, he sneered. “What the hell are you doing now?”

I didn’t flinch. “Old memories. They’re garbage now.”

He scoffed. “Crazy bitch.” He went back inside.

I knelt by the dying fire and lit a small candle for the child I’d lost — the baby I’d buried alone in my heart. For Harriet, too. My twin sister, the one whose ghost had chained me here for so long.

Their laughter drifted from the hallway — Sandra’s moans, Marco’s grunts. Once, that sound would’ve gutted me alive. Now? It was just noise. They were rotting together and I was already somewhere else in my mind — far away.

The next morning, I laid fresh flowers at Harriet’s old photo. It was her death anniversary. I wanted to go to the church, light a candle, ask her for forgiveness — for surviving.

But Marco blocked the door, arms crossed. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“To church. It’s Harriet’s day—”

“So what?” He leaned in, breath sour. “You think you deserve to mourn her? You killed her. You were behind the wheel!”

“That’s not true!” My voice cracked. “She was driving — I tried to stop her—”

“You lying bitch.” He shoved me back inside. “You want to play saint now? You’re not leaving this house. You owe her your life. Stay here and rot like you should have years ago.”

He slammed the door. The lock clicked. Alone again. Always alone.

I sat by the window, hugging my knees, staring at the broken necklace I’d managed to snatch back when Sandra dropped it during the fight. Tarnished. Useless. Still my mother’s. I pressed it to my chest and whispered, “I’m so sorry, Mama. Just a few more days. I’ll make this right.”

That night, the shadows were heavy in the hallway. I thought it was Marco, come to gloat. But when the handle turned and the door creaked open, I saw strangers. Two men in masks, rifling through my drawers, yanking at my jewelry box.

“Please… don’t—” I begged. “Just take it, take it all—”

One of them turned. The glint of a knife caught the moonlight. Pain shot through my ribs as he backhanded me across the face. I stumbled, hit the wall. I scrambled for my phone, dialed Marco, desperation pouring from my throat.

“They’re here — robbers — please help—”

His voice came through, bored and low. “I know you’re bluffing. I’m with Sandra at the hospital, don’t add to my stress. Clean up your mess.”

The line went dead.

The man grabbed my hair, slammed me to the ground. I heard the drawers crash open, the sound of silver and glass scattering.

And then I let the darkness take me.

When I woke up, I was staring at the same pale hospital ceiling I’d seen too many times before. My whole body felt like a single bruise, pulsing in places I didn’t even know could ache.

My head throbbed with the memory: the crash of glass, the shouting, the men’s rough hands yanking open my drawers — then one of them spotting my necklace, my mother’s last gift, and tearing it away as I screamed.

I had begged Marco to help. I called him, sobbing, hiding behind the heavy curtains while the intruders ripped my bedroom apart. But all I got was his cold voice, dripping with mockery:

“Stop trying to get my attention, Hayley. You’re bluffing. I’m with Sandra. Don’t add to my stress.”

That was the last thing I heard before one of the robbers struck me across the face. Everything after that was darkness.

A gentle hand on my arm jolted me back. A nurse stood beside my bed, worry etched deep into her expression. “Mrs. Villaruel… Hayley… the police would like to speak with you when you’re ready. Do you remember what happened?”

I forced my eyes open, throat raw. “The house… they broke in. They stole everything.”

The nurse hesitated. “The officers noticed… other injuries. Hayley, did someone do this to you too?”

It was like someone cracked open my chest right then. I could’ve lied. I could’ve protected Marco again, just like I’d done for years. But instead, the words fell out of me, trembling but true.

“My husband. Marco Villaruel. He did this. He’s been doing this. He hurt me.”

She squeezed my fingers, nodding as if she’d been waiting for me to say it. “Thank you for telling us. The police will take your statement, okay? We’ll help you.”

When the detectives arrived, I told them everything. The robbery. The threats. The bruises. The pool. The constant fear. Even the scars on my arm, the burns that still stung every time I showered — proof of Marco’s indifference when Sandra had set me on fire.

They took photos. They jotted notes while I spoke, my voice quivering but never breaking. Because this time, I wanted every ugly truth laid bare.

Hours later, I was alone again. I thought maybe — just maybe — the worst of it was over.

But then the door burst open. Marco stormed in, his expensive shoes squeaking on the linoleum, suit jacket thrown over one shoulder. His eyes locked on me, redrimmed with rage.

“You called the police on me?” His voice was so soft it made my blood run cold. “You made me look like some abusive piece of trash? You told them our business?”

I sat up, wincing at the pain in my ribs. “They asked what happened. I told them the truth. I’m not lying for you anymore, Marco.”

He lunged, his fingers digging into my chin so hard I whimpered. “Truth? There is no truth without me. Do you want your mother to die for this? Huh?”

I didn’t think of it. I was so done with him that I thought…

“Marco, please—” I sobbed.

He whipped out his phone, smirking as he dialed. “Turn off the machine. Right now.”

My body went icecold. “No! Marco, please— I’ll do anything—”

He tilted his head. “Anything?”

I nodded frantically. “Please, please don’t do this. I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to call the police on you. I was just having a hard time…”

“Fine. Tell them it was nothing, just a mistake.” His lips twisted into a cruel smile. “Then find my millionpeso necklace that got stolen during your little ‘robbery drama.’ And when I come back? You better be on your knees, apologizing for humiliating me like this.”

He slapped me so hard my teeth rattled. Then he stormed out, leaving the door wide open behind him.

I was released the next day, battered but breathing. I didn’t go home immediately — I went straight to the hospice instead. I raced through the sterile hallways, praying the machine was still humming its steady rhythm.

But when I got there, I was too late. One of the nurses, face pale and eyes downcast, met me at the door.

“It was only a few moments when your husband asked to stop the machine. But her heart… I’m so sorry, Hayley.”

I dropped to my knees beside my mother’s bed. The hum was gone. So was she. This was all my fault, but if Marco hadn’t been cruel, then nothing would have happened.

I buried my mother alone. No flowers from Marco. No Sandra in her silk dress. No one. Just me, the dirt, and the weight of years of pain pressing against my chest.

When I got home that night, I checked my phone for the first time in days. Marco hadn’t called — but Sandra had posted a photo, her belly round under a designer coat, Marco’s hand resting possessively on it. They were at a café in Tokyo, smiling like they hadn’t just killed the last good thing in my world.

“Baby on the way. Blessed to be loved by you forever.”

I didn’t cry. I just sat there, staring at the gleaming marble floors, the cold chandeliers. Then I stood up. I went to the study and found the deed Marco had forgotten — the house was still under my name, a gift from the early days, back when he wanted to prove I wasn’t Harriet’s shadow. Back when he still lied sweetly.

I sold it the same day. I called the estate and said to make sure to get all the things, so Marco and Sandra wouldn’t have place to go when they come back.

Back at the house, I packed every last piece of my past. Then, I took the divorce papers, my ring, and my mother’s death certificate. I placed them neatly on the kitchen counter. Then I lit a single candle for my unborn baby and Harriet.

For the final touch, I left a tiny cake in the fridge with a note: “Happy Divorce, my darling exhusband. Don’t worry — you’ll be invited to my wedding soon.”

I stepped outside into the dawn air. Scott was waiting in the car, his window rolled down, a warm smile on his lips.

“You ready?” he asked.

“More than ready,” I said, my voice steady for the first time in years.

As we drove away, I tossed my phone out the window. Then, finally boarded the plane... to my freedom.