Regret After Divorce: I Lost the Best Her

Scarlett's POV

"Miss Taylor, did you come alone? Why don't you call your husband?"

The doctor glanced at the report in her hand, then looked up at me with eyes full of pity.

That look. That damn look.

For the past few months, I'd had constant stomach pain. At first, I brushed it off, popping painkillers like candy to get through the day. I told myself it was probably just stress or diet-something temporary. But the pain had grown worse. unbearable. So, today, I finally dragged myself to the hospital.

I thought I'd walk out with some prescriptions and rest orders.

Not this.

"I'm already divorced," I said firmly, lifting my chin. "So just tell me the truth."

I had signed the divorce papers this morning. My hands had trembled slightly, but my resolve was steady. There was no point holding on to a marriage that had already withered. And even if I hadn't signed them, Everett wouldn't have come. He hadn't shown up for me in months.

The doctor hesitated. "Miss Taylor. based on the test results. You have stomach cancer."

My breath caught. The room felt suddenly cold. I clutched the arms of the chair, my heartbeat thundering in my ears.

"It's. already at the last stage."

Her words crashed over me like a tidal wave. Cold. Merciless. Crushing.

Last stage.

I didn't remember how I left the room. I just remembered the test reports digging into my hand, crumpling under the pressure of my clenched fist.

My feet led me to the hospital lobby like I was sleepwalking, my vision swimming. And then, a voice from the television snapped me back into the real world.

"Breaking news: Famous ballerina Amelia Martin was injured after a fall from the stage earlier today. She was quickly taken to the hospital by an unknown man-"

The screen flickered, showing a blurry video clip of a man carrying her. His face wasn't visible. But I didn't need to see his face.

I knew him by the curve of his shoulders. The way he walked. The way his hand cradled her head so protectively.

Everett Robinson.

My husband. The man I had loved since my youth. The man I had shared three years of marriage with. The same man who looked me in the eyes this morning and said coldly, "I don't have time for your nonsense, Scarlett. I have an important meeting."

But he had time for her.

I stared at the screen as my heart twisted. Pain bloomed in my chest-far worse than anything the doctor had just told me. I clutched the test reports tighter. My nails dug into the paper, but the real wound was inside.

Tears blurred my vision, uninvited and unwanted. I blinked them away, furious at myself for still caring.

I had loved him so deeply. And he had already replaced me.

Enough.

I wiped my tears and inhaled deeply, steadying the storm in my chest. I didn't have time for heartbreak. Not anymore.

I had only a few months left to live.

And I refused to spend them crying over a man who couldn't even take me to the hospital.

The taxi stopped outside Heavenly, the most luxurious beauty salon in the city. For years, I'd had their VIP Black Card sitting in my wallet-untouched. I never used it once during our marriage. I was too busy cooking, cleaning, and being the perfect wife.

But today? Today, I would use it. For me.

I walked in, head high.

"Good afternoon, Madam. Do you have an appointment?" the receptionist asked politely.

"Yes."

"Your name, please?"

"Scarlett Taylor."

The moment she typed it in, her expression shifted. "Ah, Miss Taylor. You're fifteen minutes early. Please wait in the lounge, and I'll have someone bring you refreshments."

I nodded and moved toward the plush velvet seating. A few young women were already seated there, chatting animatedly. I wasn't interested in their gossip-until I heard that name.

"Did you see the latest news about Amelia Martin?" one of them giggled.

"Yes! The guy who carried her to the hospital like a princess? So romantic!" another swooned.

"I heard from someone inside WS Group that it was Everett Robinson! Can you believe it? The CEO himself?"

"Oh my god, he's so dreamy. Rich, handsome, and now this? Amelia is so lucky. I would die to marry someone like that."

I closed my eyes.

Lucky?

They didn't know him. They didn't know the cold, detached man who would leave his sick wife alone but rush across the city to cradle another woman like she was made of glass.

I let out a bitter laugh under my breath, catching their attention briefly. One of them glanced at me, confused, but I ignored her.

Lucky?

No. I was the lucky one.

Lucky to finally be free of a man who could never love me the way I loved him.

I pulled the test results from my purse, unfolded them slowly, and stared at the cold, printed words again.

Stomach carcinoma. Stage IV.

Death was already knocking at my door, and yet. I'd never felt more alive than I did now-ready to shed the old Scarlett who waited, begged, hoped, and cried.

It was time to live on my own terms, even if the time left was short.

Let Everett play hero in someone else's story.

I had just begun to write the ending of mine.

And this time-it would be mine alone.

Scarlett's POV

"Miss Taylor, it's your turn."

The receptionist's voice cut through my thoughts, gently anchoring me back to the present.

I blinked, then nodded and stood up, the crumpled test reports still tucked inside my purse like a ghost I couldn't shake off. But not now. Not in this place.

I followed the attendant down a quiet hallway and into a private room bathed in soft, golden light and the faint scent of jasmine. The stylist was already waiting inside-young, elegant, her hands folded politely.

"Madam," she asked kindly, "what kind of look would you like?"

I stared at my reflection.

The woman in the mirror looked tired. Drained. A ghost of who she used to be. My skin was pale, my eyes dulled, and my long, dark hair-once my pride-hung limp and lifeless around my shoulders. There was a hollow in my chest that no amount of makeup could hide.

But my voice was steady when I spoke.

"I want to change everything. My hair. My face. My entire look. I don't care how long it takes."

The stylist looked slightly startled but nodded. I met her eyes through the mirror and added, more quietly this time, "Make me look like a different person. Someone. reborn."

There was a pause. And then she smiled gently. "Understood."

As she turned to begin, I took one last long look at the woman in the mirror.

Scarlett Taylor-the woman who waited at cold dinner tables, who stayed up at night wondering if a man would ever come home, who fought for love and dignity only to be met with silence-she was gone.

Dead.

And in her place, someone new would rise.

No more tears. No more waiting. No more Everett.

I didn't have forever. But whatever days I had left, I would spend them as me-not as someone's wife, someone's afterthought, someone's shadow.

Just me.

Scarlett Taylor.

And this time, I would finally learn what it meant to live.

I closed my eyes.

My thoughts drifted, unbidden, to a memory buried four years deep.

Back when everything began. or perhaps, when everything started to end.

Four years ago, Everett Robinson was in a car crash.

I still remember the headlines. "The CEO of WS Group in Critical Condition!"

The whole city was on edge. People whispered, speculated. Doctors weren't sure he'd survive the night, let alone ever walk again.

And Amelia Martin-his first love, the woman everyone thought would never leave his side-disappeared.

Just like that.

Gone.

She boarded a plane abroad, chasing dreams far more dazzling than a hospital room.

She loved him, sure-when he was whole, powerful, magnetic. But her love wasn't for the broken. It wasn't for someone lying unconscious, tubes in his veins and scars on his face.

But me?

I stayed.

No one asked me to. In fact, they begged me not to.

"You're ruining your future," they warned.

"He doesn't love you," they whispered.

But I didn't care. I left behind everything-my rising career, the weight of the Taylor family name, my bright future. I packed a bag and moved into the hospital.

I slept on stiff ICU chairs. Fed him. Bathed him. Read to him when he couldn't hear me. Talked to him when he couldn't respond. I became his shadow. His silent anchor. His ghost of hope.

And maybe. God had heard my prayers. Because after nearly a year, he opened his eyes.

When his lashes fluttered and he whispered my name, I laughed and cried and collapsed to the floor in relief.

That moment felt like the beginning of everything.

Like maybe. just maybe. my love had reached him.

A few months later, when he was fully recovered, he looked at me and asked softly, "What do you want, Scarlett?"

I should've said, "I want you to be happy."

I should've said, "I want to be free."

But I was foolish. I smiled-wide-eyed and hopeful-and whispered, "I want to marry you."

I saw it-the flicker of hesitation in his eyes.

I felt it-the silence that stretched between us.

But I ignored it. Because even if I had only his name and not his heart, I thought it would be enough.

The next day, he took me to the marriage registration office.

No vows. No flowers. No ring.

Just a government form, a silent assistant, and a pen.

He didn't kiss me.

He didn't even look at me when the papers were stamped.

On the ride back, he simply said, "Keep our marriage private."

I nodded. My lips trembled. But I didn't protest.

Because back then. I thought that if I stayed long enough, worked hard enough, loved hard enough. he would choose me.

I moved into Green Lake Villa-his villa. Our supposed "marital home."

I cleaned. I decorated. I transformed it from a cold mansion into a warm sanctuary.

But Everett never truly came home.

He was polite. Always distant. Always cold.

Three years of marriage-yet the days he actually stayed with me. I could count on one hand.

I woke up early to iron his shirts, packed his lunch, managed his schedule, cooked his favorite meals. I waited at the dinner table night after night. only for silence to answer me.

But I endured.

Because I believed-so stupidly-that one day he would look at me the way he once looked at her.

Then one day, he took me to a formal party.

I remember the rush of joy in my chest.

I thought-finally. He's acknowledging me.

But when he introduced me, he said, "This is Scarlett. My personal secretary."

I smiled. My heart bled. But I smiled.

Because at least I was still standing beside him.

Day after day, I lived in the shadow of another woman.

Amelia Martin - the ghost that never left his heart.

Still, I gave everything.

My dignity. My youth. My identity.

All for a man who never asked me to. and never thanked me.

Then, three months ago, everything shattered.

Amelia came back.

She returned from abroad, glowing, beautiful, radiant. And Everett.

Everett went to pick her up himself.

There were photos. Videos. Rumors.

They said they were dating. Said marriage was on the horizon.

That night, I prepared his favorite dinner. Lit the hallway with soft lights. Sprayed his favorite cologne like I always did.

And I waited.

Like a fool.

He came home late, smelling faintly of her perfume.

And something inside me-finally-snapped.

For the first time in three years, I confronted him.

"Everett," I said, my voice shaking. "Can't you see what you're doing to me? I gave up everything for you! When you were broken, I was there. She left you! I stayed!"

I spilled every word I had buried. All the pain. All the silence. All the bleeding I had done for his love.

He looked at me, calm and cold.

"You have no right to ask."

Those five words shattered everything inside me.

I broke.

I screamed. I sobbed. I shouted things I never thought I'd say. I told him how Amelia left. How I stayed. How I waited. How I endured.

And Everett?

He just looked at me.

Expressionless.

Then he said three words.

"Then let's divorce."

No explanation.

No apology.

No guilt.

He walked out, leaving me crumbling to the floor-broken and alone, my cries echoing through the walls of a house that had never felt like home.

The next morning, the first set of divorce papers arrived.

I didn't sign.

Then came the second.

And the third.

Ten sets in total.

Each envelope like a slap.

Each signature line a reminder that I was just a temporary stand-in.

Until she came back.

That's when I finally understood.

If a man doesn't love you, no matter how much of yourself you give, he never will.

Looking at the final envelope, I took a deep breath.

It was time.

Time to end this one-sided, fruitless relationship.

Time to choose me.

Scarlett's POV

"Madam, it's done."

The stylist's voice pulled me from my thoughts. Slowly, I opened my eyes and looked into the mirror.

And froze.

The woman staring back at me wasn't the same Scarlett Taylor who walked into this salon an hour ago.

Gone was the soft, obedient wife with dull eyes and a timid posture.

This woman had sharp eyes lined with quiet fire. Her long hair had been chopped into a sleek, shoulder-length cut that framed her face like a crown. Her lips were a bold shade of red-confident, unapologetic. Even her expression had changed. Steady. Unyielding. Dignified.

For a second, I didn't recognize myself.

And for the first time in years. I liked what I saw.

"I look." I whispered, touching the mirror lightly, ".free."

The stylist smiled. "You look powerful, Miss Taylor."

I nodded. "Thank you."

I paid the bill, left a generous tip, and walked outside. The afternoon sun kissed my face as a warm breeze played with the ends of my new hair. I stepped to the edge of the sidewalk, pulling out my phone to book a taxi.

Ding.

A message.

I opened it without thinking.

It was a photo.

My heart skipped once.

A hospital document. I squinted-no. A test result.

Then I saw the words:

Pregnancy Confirmation. 4 weeks.

Name: Amelia Martin

Father: Everett Robinson

And beneath it, a message.

Scarlett, so what if you married him?

He never loved you.

You were just keeping his place warm for me.

Now I'm carrying his child.

If you have even a shred of dignity left, sign the divorce papers and leave.

The air around me seemed to still. Cars passed. The breeze fluttered. Life moved on.

But inside me, everything. stopped.

I stood there, the phone heavy in my hand. My chest tightened. My stomach churned-not with jealousy, but with a hollow ache that no words could fill.

He was going to be a father. And it wasn't my child.

It was hers.

Amelia.

The woman who left him in a hospital bed to chase her own dreams. The woman who vanished when things got hard. The woman whose return burned everything I had built for three long years.

And now. she had everything.

His heart.

His attention.

His child.

A dull pain throbbed beneath my ribs. It crawled up my throat, threatening to choke me.

But I swallowed it back.

No more tears.

No more begging.

No more pretending I was fine.

I stared at the message for a long second, then typed just three words.

Then congratulations.

I hit send.

Then I turned off my phone, slipped it into my purse, and raised my hand to flag a taxi.

The yellow car pulled up. The driver leaned out. "Where to, ma'am?"

I slid into the back seat, my voice calm and clear.

"To WS Group."

I stared out the window as the city blurred by.

There was still one thing left to settle.

****

Everett Robinson's POV

The temperature in the conference room seemed to plummet the moment I walked in.

I could feel the tension coiled tight in the air as I took my seat at the head of the table. The executives stiffened. A few lowered their eyes to the polished mahogany surface like schoolchildren caught misbehaving. One director dropped his pen and didn't even dare to bend down for it.

Good. Let them squirm.

I steepled my fingers, my suit jacket pulling taut across my shoulders. The faint tick of the clock grated on my nerves.

I was irritated. No-agitated.

This wasn't because of some failed merger or a market dip. I could handle those in my sleep. This was different.

Scarlett Taylor hadn't come to work.

Not only that, she hadn't answered my calls. Or my texts. Or the email I sent at 3 AM.

Three years. Three damn years as my personal secretary and she had never taken a single day off. Never been late. Never ignored me. She was reliable to a fault-quiet, efficient, unobtrusive, always there when I needed her.

And now? Vanished.

My jaw tightened. The coffee in front of me had gone cold. Not that I had touched it anyway. I hadn't touched anything all morning.

Someone cleared their throat at the far end of the table. I shot them a look and the sound died instantly.

Scarlett. what the hell are you doing?

I pulled out my phone under the table, thumb hovering over her name. Maybe I should call again-

Click.

The door opened.

Every head in the room turned.

And so did mine.

A woman stepped in.

"I'm sorry, everyone, for disturbing like this."

The voice froze me.

Scarlett?

I blinked. My mind couldn't reconcile what I was seeing.

This wasn't the Scarlett Taylor I knew.

Gone was the demure woman who wore plain blouses, hair tied back in a lazy ponytail, hiding behind thick-rimmed glasses.

This Scarlett.

Her hair was loose, long black waves cascading down her back like a silken waterfall. Her eyes-free of glasses-were striking and clear, sharp enough to cut through the silence in the room.

Her lips were painted in a deep rose color that made her look almost. untouchable.

Her figure was wrapped in a tailored suit that hugged every curve with a deliberate elegance. She didn't walk. She strode. Confident. Purposeful. Heels clicking like punctuation in the thick, suffocating air.

It wasn't just her appearance.

Her aura had changed.

She wasn't hiding anymore.

Even the board members, men twice her age and status, stared at her with wide eyes.

And me?

I couldn't look away.

After three years of marriage, I thought I knew Scarlett inside and out. She had always been soft and quiet, the perfect picture of composure and discipline. At the office, sleek black skirts and neutral blouses. At home, floral dresses and gentle smiles.

But this woman?

This wasn't the Scarlett I married.

This was someone else.

She looked straight at me.

And for the first time, her gaze didn't hold warmth. Or tenderness. Or the quiet affection I had grown so used to seeing.

It was cold. Indifferent.

Something in my chest tightened, sharp and unfamiliar.

Fear?

No. It couldn't be.

"What the hell is she playing at?" I muttered under my breath.

The murmurs in the room were nothing but static in my ears.

Scarlett walked toward me, unhurried, unflinching. And I didn't move. Couldn't.

She stopped just a foot away.

From her bag, she pulled out a crisp envelope and held it out.

"Mr. Robinson," she said, voice calm and cool. "This is my resignation."

For a moment, I thought I'd misheard.

The silence in the room was deafening.

I didn't take the envelope. My hand stayed by my side, clenched into a fist.

"You think throwing a tantrum is going to change anything?" I hissed.

Her eyes didn't waver.

"I'm not throwing one," she replied. Her voice was like a blade-sharp and precise.

Before I could speak, she reached into her bag again.

Thud.

A thick folder slammed against my chest. The sound echoed off the walls.

I caught it by reflex, the weight almost making me drop it.

Papers slipped out, scattering across the floor.

Divorce papers.

My breath hitched. My pulse stopped.

Scarlett looked at me, chin tilted high.

"Since you've been so eager to send them," she said, "I've saved you the trouble."

The edges of the folder crumpled in my grip.

"I've signed every copy," she added. "Ten, to match the ten times you reminded me how disposable I am."

My throat closed. Words wouldn't come.

"Please clear your schedule tomorrow, 8:30 AM. Civil Bureau. Let's get this over with."

Then she turned.

No hesitation. No second glance.

Her heels clicked against the floor as she walked out, her hair swaying like a final flourish.

The room stayed frozen long after she was gone.

And I-

I stood there, fists clenched, heart pounding like a war drum.

For the first time in years, I realized-

Scarlett was really leaving me.

And I had no idea how to stop her.