He Hurt Me, Now He Wants Me Back

Imogene Scott

People do crazy crazy things for love. But what most people don't do, is let their husband get with other women just because they think he'll someday realize they're the only one for him.

As I say this, I feel totally stupid. I'm sitting in the lounge of Haven's hotels and Suites and I can't help but feel uneasy. I'm waiting for my husband to walk out with one of his many flings or at least get his room number.

I've always known about Damien's affairs for the past five years. Our marriage has been like that. He married me because I was pregnant with his child but after losing the baby, he completely changed.

Then the multiple affairs began and we both made a deal not to meddle in each other's lives. I was hurt, but one part of me has always reassured me that one day, he's going to get tired of the affairs and love me properly. That one day, he'll realize he's never going to find a woman like me in any of those occasionally flings.

Unfortunately, I think he just did.

He's been seeing this blonde woman for over five months. A blonde woman whose identity he has succeeded in hiding so far. Most of his flings usually don't last this long. He even stopped coming home too, claiming to be busy at the office.

To top it off, yesterday was our five years marriage anniversary and we were supposed to fly out to Los Vegas last night. But my husband left me waiting and only dropped a text claiming he had to fly out to Seattle for a business meeting. My intel however, told me he isn't in Seattle but at this very hotel with that woman.

My face begins to heat up again and I drag in a laboured breath. I should at least get home first before wallowing in self pity again. I brought this upon my self. My stupidity has led me thus far.

"Ma'am, can I help you with anything?" a concierge says, walking across the lobby to where I am sitting.

I'm in a short floral dress and hat with a pair of sunglasses. He probably thinks I'm a tourist, wondering why a woman is wearing sunglasses indoors. But can't help it, my eyes are all puffy from crying myself to sleep last night, hence the glasses.

I put on my best fake smile. Most people can tell it's fake from the way my lips always twitch, but this good looking concierge seems clueless.

"Damien Shaw. Can I get his room number?" I ask politely.

He gives me a long hard look. "I'm afraid not, Ma'am."

I open my purse and pull out a wad of dollar bills. Considering the fact that the grand opening of my first art gallery is in two days and this money is supposed to go into the payment for the studio's lighting, I'm not supposed to be throwing wads of dollar notes around. I shouldn't even be here, I should be preparing for the grand opening.

I'm finally pursuing my own dreams after spending five years of helping Damien pursue his.

"How about now?"

"Room 2672." the concierge says almost immediately, taking the wad of notes from me.

By the time I get to the fifth floor, I'm already starting to regret my decision. Shit, did I just give five thousand bucks to that man just to get a room number?

Five thousand bucks shouldn't be a problem if you're the wife of Damien Shaw, the CEO of IMU. But I have decided not to spend Damien's money and start out my own business on my own without his help.

Ding!

The elevator door opens when I finally arrive on the floor I'm headed. My feet go cold. I'm not sure what I'll find but I at least know what to expect. I take a deep breath and propel my legs forward.

My heart aches. How did my marriage even get to this point? I have been overlooking the signs and hoping on something that's never going to happen. I have been so stupid.

Standing by the door of room 2672, my fingers tremble as I raise my hand to the door, hesitating for just a moment before I force myself to knock. Three sharp raps that seem to drain all the warmth from my hand.

I wait for a response. A few seconds later, the door swings open revealing Damien in a white robe.

He's stunning as ever, looking the same as the man I fell in love with five years ago. The man I knew didn't love me but I still married anyway.

Maybe because I haven't been constantly see him these past few days, but he suddenly looks like he belongs in an Armani photoshoot. Or modeling Calvin Klein underwear.

Those sharp, deep-set gray eyes, sculpted cheekbones and full, firm lips are being wasted. He's tall, too, easily six-three or six-four with broad shoulders. And the robe he's wearing fails to hide the power of his body. What woman wouldn't want this man for herself? What the hell have you done to yourself, Imogene?

My breath seizes for a moment as I meet Damien's cold gaze. This is definitely the rule number one of meddling-showing up to places uninvited.

"What are you doing here, Imogene?" his voice is sharp and condescending.

He leans against the door like he's blocking the way. My heart churns, why's he trying so hard to hide this woman? Has he finally given his heart to her?

"You told me you were in Seattle! You missed our anniversary dinner, Damien." I say, my voice steady.

It's the opposite of the storm brewing inside me. I can feel the tears welling up again, but I blink them away, refusing to let them fall. Not here. Not now.

Shit, I thought I already exhausted all the tears in me last night.

"I just got back this morning." he replies, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Why are you here?"

The last part of my heart breaks. Lies, more lies. He's here with his woman right now, and we both know it. I don't know how I've been able to bear this for years but there's only so much I can take.

This woman has to go!

I try to peer over Damien's shoulder into the room, but he shifts, blocking my view. But with surge of strength fueled by all the emotions I have kept to myself for half a decade, I shove the door open, forcing Damien to stumble back. I storm into the room, my breath coming in quick, shallow gasps.

My eyes darts around. It's empty. The bed is neatly made, the curtains are drawn, and there is no sign of anyone else. For a moment, confusion clouds my anger. Have I been wrong? Have my suspicions twisted reality into something worse than it is?

But then, just as I'm about to turn back to Damien, I hear it. The sound of running water, the faint click of a bathroom door unlocking.

I freeze, my heart plummeting into a cold, heavy knot in my chest. I don't want to turn around, don't want to see what I've always known was coming. But I can't stop myself either. Slowly, almost mechanically, I turn my head toward the bathroom.

The door opens, and there she is. My stepsister.

Imogene Scott

There comes a moment in your life when you feel nothing is okay and nothing will ever be okay. For me, that moment is now.

My world is tilting and I'm unable to do anything about it. I can't breathe, can't think, can't do anything but stare at my step sister, Fiona who I've always felt overshadowed by, my whole life.

She along with her mother, infiltrated my life when my mother died and completely replaced us in my father's life. She's doing it again. Stealing my family wasn't enough, she's trying to steal my husband too.

No, she's already stolen him.

"Imogene..." Damien's voice breaks the silence, but I can barely hear him.

My gaze is locked on my stepsister, and my lips part, but the words don't come. They're too tangled in the agony that claws at my chest, too drowned in the tears I refuse to let fall.

"Why?" It's the only word I can manage, my voice breaking as I finally speak. I'm not even sure who I'm asking-Damien, Fiona, or myself?

Damien's eyes is filled with anger but I turn and flee the room before he can lash out. He has no right to! I push into the hallway and run to the elevator.

Frantically clicking on the buttons on the elevator, the sob I've held inside comes pouring out, my body shaking. I lean against the cold, mirrored wall of the elevator, unable to keep myself from bending at the waist and letting the tears pour.

I fight back the sickness rising up my throat as I desperately fight to wipe the offensive image from my head. During these past five years, I thought I've endured all facets of pain from watching Damien with different women. As long as he didn't love them, I could bear it. But I've been wrong. I've been so wrong.

Because nothing can compare with the pain of seeing the one you love, finally giving his heart to someone else. The heart you have spent so many years to win over.

This is what I get for loving a man who I knew was never going to love me. For putting up with his infidelity in hopes that he'll finally come to his senses. For going against my father for this same man and getting ousted by him. For abandoning my dreams to help him pursue his.

For spending five years of my life pleasing and helping Damien accomplish his dreams while being his trophy wife. Everything I've done for the past years have been for Damien. I wanted him to genuinely love me. But this is how he's going to repay me?

As soon as I get to the parking lot, I get into my black Ferrari and drive off. I just want to be alone in my room and cry or do whatever to get rid of this feeling.

When my car finally glides into the lawn of a penthouse in the heart of the great city of Los Angeles, I get out of my car and rush into our empty palatial living room.

My shoes clack on every stair, and when I finally get to my room, I slump onto the bed. A nauseating feeling craws up my spine and I have to grip my stomach to stop the feeling from ripping further through my guts.

Minutes pass, or maybe hours, I'm not sure how long I've been crying but it's starting to get dark outside. I hear Damien's car screech outside. He's back. My fists clench beside me and I sit up on the bed.

One moment, he's approaching the room. I can hear his footsteps and my heart thumps with every step. The next moment, he's standing in front of me, his face red with anger and clutching a document tightly in his hand.

He throws it on the bed next to me.

"I want a divorce," he finally says.

The words swirls around us like a cloud of poisonous fumes. Theoretically, I understand what they meant, but I can't comprehend them. Pain, the likes of which I never knew was possible, pierce my heart.

Divorce means breaking up. Breaking up means separating. And separating is simply impossible. It's something that's happens to other people, not to us. I've endured so much all these years only to give up on us?

No way, no fucking way! Who cares if he's in love with another woman? It doesn't matter, we can make this work. I love him and I don't care if he doesn't feel the same way. I just don't want him to leave. He's the only one I have.

"What's this about, Damien?" I ask calmly, my fingers curling tightly around the sheets beneath me.

Damien's dark-blonde eyebrows becomes a hard line over his eyes. "I said I want a divorce, Imogene," he repeats, watching me with no sign of guilt.

A tear rolls down my cheek, but Damien's dark gaze doesn't waver. I manage to ask the only plausible question. "Why?"

Again with the whys! Why can't your dumb brain think of anything else, Imogene?

But Damien's response breaks me.

"Our marriage has been a mistake from the start, Imogene. Frankly speaking, I tried to love you but I don't think I ever will. I love Fiona. And maybe she might be able to give me the child you haven't been able to in half a decade."

Damien gives me a long, hard look. He's never looked at me like this before. It's pitying and parental. I don't like it, but there's something to the depth of it that makes me realize he's not going to budge.

"Here's the papers. You can sign them when you're ready."

He then storms out of the study and slams the door behind him. I continue to sit there, frozen. Against my better judgment, I let myself pretend that the last ten minutes has never happened.

I let myself pretend that Damien didn't say those words to me. That all the pain and suffering I'm feeling at this moment had never been felt. And the bottomless black void that has replaced my heart is filled with light-the brightest light possible.

But this isn't our reality. Reality comes crashing back, like a storm-whipped wave dropping onto a rain-lashed beach. The pain sliced, stabbed, and throbbed away at me until I can't breathe. The pain has barely just began, moving to rip through my lungs until nothing is left. It travels with lightning speed through my body, taking all, until only pain remains.

I've wasted so many years of my life on him. Hoping and praying and this is the outcome. I allow myself to hate him, to despise him for taking advantage of me all these years without remorse, and with that comes blinding clarity.

I can't do this. I can no longer stand the man who broke my heart to shreds and unleashed this soul shattering pain unto my soul. My sobs eventually slows, then subsides altogether, and before I can second-guess myself, I grab the pen on the nightstand and sign the divorce papers. Damien's signature is already on it.

I push open the closet and pull out a suitcase, then grab what I need and toss them into it.

I don't allow myself to think. If I do, I'll chicken out, and I can't afford to at this stage. I stare at the wedding ring around my finger and slowly pull it out before placing it on the dresser.

Then I finally walk out the door. Out of Damien Shawn's life.

Imogene Scott

For the next few days, I stay in a hotel. I have nowhere to go. My own father had cut ties with me long ago when I went against him and chose to marry Damien.

He has even forbidden any of his family members-my stepmother and Fiona-from contacting me. But I don't even consider them family to begin with. Not after what Fiona did to me.

My mother is no more; she died of cancer ten years ago, and my father married his deceased driver's wife, Sasha Nice, a few years later. Talk about being shallow.

It's as if my life is at a standstill. I've stayed in bed for the past few days and haven't stepped out of the hotel room. My gallery opening is on hold, and I just want to be alone. I just need time alone to think, but I've been doing nothing but sleeping my problems away.

Because I can't summon the resolve to do anything else. As long as I can sleep, I feel numb, and numb is good; numb doesn't hurt. To top it off, I've been down with a slight fever followed by constant nausea and backaches. But the fact that I've barely made any bowel movements these past few days can be the cause of it.

The glow of the screen in the dark room wakes me as much as the chirping song. I fumble instinctively for it on the nightstand, and somewhere in my mind, I'm registering the early time on my clock-4 pm-somehow trying to sort through the dream I'm losing.

My fingers wrap around the phone and I hold it close to my face for reading. It's an unknown number. My dream is gone, and all that is left is the reality of a random number calling me when I haven't received any calls in days.

Damien hasn't even reached out to me after I mysteriously disappeared. Even though I hate him right now, one part of me wish he would call, but another part of me knows I will go running back to him if he does.

Am I so insignificant to him that he has completely forgotten about me in a few days? My chest aches and I swallow hard.

"Hello?"

"Imogene, it's Elinor. I was wondering if you needed anything. I'm about to come see you."

"Elinor." I fall back on my pillows and close my eyes. I feel relieved, but I'm too tired to try to sort out why. It's just that it's her, so it's okay. She's my only friend, and we've known each other since our college days. She's also the only one that knows about my current situation.

"I don't think I need anything," I murmur.

"How do you feel now?" Elinor's voice trailes off at the other end.

I swallow back the nauseating feeling crawling up my lungs. "Not better."

"Well, I'll see you in a bit."

The call ends, and I drop my phone beside me. I curl on my bed into a ball, and fresh tears start streaming down my face again. This time, I'm not sure why, but my heart aches like crazy, and I let out a gut-wrenching cry.

Why the fuck did this have to happen to me?

About forty minutes later, there's a knock on my door. I wipe my tears, but my face is already swollen. I open the door and let Elinor in. She's wearing a white boat-neck top and dark brown slacks. Both look fabulous on her slender figure. Her feet are in dark beige walking shoes, and her strawberry blonde hair is in a bun.

She hands a plastic bag to me with a pharmacy label on it. A shiver runs down my spine. Time slows; the air in my lungs thins as I bring out the pregnancy test stick in the bag.

"What do I need this for?" I ask with a laugh to cover a surge of mild are-you-kidding-me annoyance.

"I stopped by the pharmacy and explained your symptoms to the nurse. She thinks you might be pregnant."

I stare at Elinor, frozen in horror. There's basically no way I can get pregnant. After a miscarriage five years ago, I was told that my fallopian tubes are blocked. I hadn't been able to get pregnant since then.

I look down at my belly with horrified shock, then at Elinor, who gives me the go-on look. I walk into the bathroom to take the test. Not that I think it's going to come back positive, but I just need to eliminate the possibility.

I pee on the stick.

Then wait.

And wait.

I'm pacing, and it's only because I need the exercise, not because I'm nervous. Because I know I'm not pregnant. No way, no how, not now.

Except...

The stick slowly reveals two lines.

I put a hand over my mouth. My head goes blank-just a barren white space with nothing. I'm sure I'm supposed to feel or think something, but I just can't. Not when the stick says I'm regnant.

How could I be pregnant with Damien's child? My knees start to shake. I stumble into the sink and knock a few things off. Something made with glass falls on the floor and shatters. But it's hard to care when it feels like my life just got upended.

The door bursts open behind me.

"Hey, are you okay?" Elinor says, her eyes wide.

I turn and blink up at her. My life has already shattered into a thousand pieces, and now I find out I'm pregnant?

I want to feel joy, but all I feel is fear. How can I raise a child on my own? What kind of life could I possibly offer this baby when my own life is in ruins?

"I heard something crash." Elinor's voice jilts me. She comes over and put a hand on my shoulder. "You're pregnant?"

I nod numbly.

"Um...yay...? This is good news," she says.

My breath hitch. Good news? This feels like a cosmic joke. After years of trying, hoping, and praying, it happens now-when I'm alone, abandoned, and heartbroken.

Elinor parks herself next to me on the bathroom floor. "Okay. Are you gonna tell Damien about it?"

"No," I reply defensively.

He discarded me without a second thought. He no longer cares about me. I doubt he'll be happy to know about it.

"Are you going to keep it?"

"Probably not..."

Elinor takes my hand in hers, then squeezes them tightly. "You've wanted this your whole life, Imogene. This is a second chance for you to rebuild your life, get back on your feet, and stop wallowing in self-pity. It's Damien's loss, not yours. Don't throw this opportunity away."

I process Elinor's words through the numbness that has been spreading through my mind. What if this child is the beginning of something new, something better? The idea feels fragile.

I don't know if I can do this. I don't know if I'm strong enough to start over, but I also know that this baby didn't ask to be born into this mess.

Gradually, optimism starts to bubble up, pushing away the anxiety. I exhale, then put a hand over my fluttering belly. There's no way out of this. I'm going to have Damien's baby. I'm going to start a new life with my unborn child somewhere far away where I can make a life for both of us without the troubles of this world.

I need to be strong. For my little one.