Wishing for my husband´s child

Amelie Mason.

"I want a divorce."

My hands trembled as I held the paper my husband had just handed me.

It couldn't be true. How could I believe those cruel words came from the same lips that, just this morning, had kissed me tenderly?

"Please... is this a joke? If it is, that's enough," I tried to smile, pretending nothing was happening.

"Just name your price and sign it," he growled, impatiently tossing the papers. His gaze was cold. Mine, shattered.

"Armando! Wait... what is all this?" I read the documents over and over, without understanding what was happening.

His hardened face showed no compassion.

"Collect your things, Amelie. You must leave this house right now."

I shook my head, again and again. It couldn't be true, he... he couldn't do this to me.

Armando turned away, but I ran after him.

"My love, what is going on? This morning you left as usual, we kissed, everything was fine. Why are you doing this?"

He spun around furiously, and his words struck me harder than a slap.

"I don't love you anymore, Amelie. I want you to leave. Now!"

"This is my house too. You can't just kick me out like this, just tell me why... a single reason."

"You're useless to me now," he spat with contempt. "You couldn't even give me an heir. My family is sick of you."

"Is that why? But we talked about it! We had an agreement, and we were going to adopt. Armando, please!"

"Get out! Rosalía is about to arrive."

"What?" I paled upon hearing that name. Rosalía. His college ex.

"Get out!" Armando roared, grabbing my arm. He dragged me across the room as if I were an intruder, not his wife.

"Out, now, Amelie! You disgust me. I never want to see you again!"

"Armando, no! Please, Armando!" I knew begging wouldn't help, but I did it anyway. Then, with a brutal shove, he threw me onto the street and slammed the door shut with a sound like a gunshot.

I stood paralyzed in front of that door. My heart shattered into a thousand pieces.

I wanted to die right there.

Armando, the love of my life, my husband for seven years, had just thrown me out like garbage. I had emancipated myself from my family to be with him. I had invested every last cent of my savings to save his company. I gave him everything... and now I had nothing left. Only emptiness.

Two months later

I hadn't managed to recover from the divorce when I found myself standing in front of my father's coffin. Beside me, my mother clung tightly to my arm, sobbing with a tearing pain.

"You must fulfill your father's last wish, Amelie," she murmured through her tears. "We can't be left on the street, especially now that you're separated from your husband."

I remained silent, processing each word like a dagger. Carefully, I released her hand from my arm and took a couple of steps toward the casket.

His death hurt me... but even more, his betrayal.

"Why did you sell me, Father?" I whispered, as tears rolled down my cheeks, marking the beginning of my sentence.

I had ruined my family by giving everything to Armando. And now I had to pay the price for that mistake.

"Daughter, it's time," my mother said without a hint of guilt, taking my arm to lead me toward the man who had just arrived.

I lifted my head and angrily wiped away my tears.

"What if I don't want to go? What happens then?"

The man calmly opened his briefcase and handed me a document. I read it carefully, and each line took my breath away.

Clauses that were signed by my father without my consent: if I didn't agree to go with that man, my father's company would go bankrupt. And even worse, my mother and my sisters would be left on the street.

And I... would end up in jail.

"This is stupid," I slammed the folder against the man's chest, regardless of the consequences.

My mother, seeing my audacity, pinched my arm hard.

"Amelie, please!" she pleaded through gritted teeth. "You have no other option. You must go with this man. It is your duty to be the wife of Mr. Feldman."

I looked at the man with contempt. "Could you give me two minutes alone with my mother?" I asked without taking my eyes off him.

He nodded silently and moved a few steps away. Then I looked at her, hurt, desperate.

"I'm not going. I don't plan to, I'm not an object, you can't force me, Mom. I'm going through a divorce, I can barely breathe, and now you want to send me off with a stranger."

"Mr. Feldman is your best option," she replied without hesitation. "You only have to marry him for a year, after that... you do whatever you want."

"That man is a monster!" I clenched my teeth, restraining myself.

My mother took a deep breath, not looking at me.

"That 'monster,' as you call him, saved this family. He helped your father more than you will ever know. Don't be ungrateful, Amelie, do the right thing."

The man, still waiting, cleared his throat.

It seemed I had no more options. I walked toward him with heavy feet, as if I were being led to trial. Outside, a sports car waited, engine running. I swallowed, closed my eyes, and got in.

"Miss, my name is Eder. I am at your service, my lord is waiting for you."

"Thank you, Eder," I replied with an irony that couldn't hide my bitterness, as the car sped away toward the city's most luxurious neighborhoods.

My phone vibrated insistently in my pocket. It was a text message.

"I'm so sorry about what happened to your father, can we meet? I know it wasn't your fault that we couldn't have children... I miss you!"

My heart stopped immediately... it was him, it was Armando.

I read the message once more... and again. Two months. Two long and humiliating months since Armando kicked me out onto the street. And now he wanted to see me?

I wrote an impulsive, desperate message, demanding answers. But just as I was about to send it, the car braked sharply. We had arrived.

We parked in front of an impressive mansion, modern architecture, with tinted windows and silver-toned walls.

"We have arrived, Miss," Eder announced formally.

I glanced at my cell phone screen. Then, without sending the message, I put it back in my pocket; I had to face my other reality.

Eder circled the car and opened my door with a courtesy that seemed almost ironic. I stepped out and was dazzled. The place was simply majestic. I walked behind him, feeling tiny amidst such opulence.

I imagined the said Mr. Feldman as an octogenarian old man, possibly with several divorces under his belt and a fortune too large to spend alone. A man who sought companionship for convenience rather than affection.

I couldn't deny that I felt nervous; my heart was pounding rapidly in my chest, and for a moment I thought I was going to have a heart attack.

The main door opened, and to my surprise, a retinue of employees waited on the other side. Elegant women, all dressed in the same pearly gray uniform, and a couple of men who were clearly bodyguards. The welcome was so organized it seemed like a ceremony.

"Welcome, Miss Manson. Come this way, Mr. Feldman is waiting for you," said a middle-aged woman with a kind voice.

I rolled my eyes, stifling a sigh, and reluctantly followed her. My phone vibrated insistently in the palm of my hand. I glanced at it: Armando. Another call. A shiver ran down my spine.

The woman opened the door to an enormous office. An aroma of woody perfume immediately enveloped me, deep, masculine. I closed my eyes for an instant, bracing myself for the inevitable.

The presidential chair in front of the desk slowly rotated toward me.

And then I saw him.

"Miss Amelie Manson."

The deep, firm voice forced me to open my eyes suddenly. I looked around, stunned, and then turned my gaze forward. I couldn't believe what I was seeing.

He was there. Imposing. Tall, with a sculpted body, hair dark as night, and a piercing gaze. He had nothing to do with the old man I had imagined.

"Mr. Feldman..." I stammered.

"Yes. I'm Damián Feldman Jr. How are you?"

For a second, everything inside me shook. Seeing him from that perspective, marrying Damián didn't seem like such a crazy idea. He was the kind of man any woman-sensible or not-would desire. And then, my inner state changed. Fear turned into confusion...

"Mr. Feldman," I said, regaining my composure, "I'd like to tell you that I'm fine, but I'm not. I've read the agreements you signed with my father, and I'm here to tell you that I'm willing to pay my family's debt... but not by marrying you."

Damián took two steps toward me, his expression becoming even more serious, colder.

"I think you are mistaken, Miss Manson. I did not sign those agreements." His gaze locked with mine, disarming me immediately. "It is my father who wants to marry you."

From an adjoining office, an older man emerged, somber expression, heavy steps, and a cane in hand. His mere presence chilled the atmosphere.

"What...?" I whispered, stepping back a little when I saw him.

"Miss Manson," he said in a grave voice as he approached, his penetrating, hungry eyes scrutinizing me as if he already possessed me.

No. It couldn't be real. This had to be a cruel joke. There was no way anyone intended to force me to marry that man. With that old man.

"Son, could you leave us alone?" he ordered without taking his eyes off me.

Damián shrugged, not opposing. As he passed by me, I felt a shiver run from head to toe.

"Mr. Feldman," I tried, seeking firmness in my voice, "I was telling your son that... that... I..." the words caught in my throat. "That I don't want to marry you. My father signed those documents without my consent."

The man sketched a barely perceptible smile, without a trace of warmth.

"If you don't want to marry me, you don't have to. The door is open, Amelie." His tone was calm, almost courteous, but every word was a threat. "Just remember there are clauses... and their non-compliance has consequences."

My hands began to tremble. I pressed my lips together, looked at him fixedly... and felt nauseated. He was at least forty years older than me. He resembled my father so much that the mere idea caused a knot in my stomach.

"Sir, I deeply regret what my father agreed to with you, but I can't do it. I can't get married, I'm recently divorced."

"I know," he replied with a bitter smile. "You are Armando González's ex-wife."

"How do you know who my husband is?" I asked, taking a step back, alarmed.

Mr. Feldman's expression darkened even more. Without responding immediately, he slowly walked to his seat, enjoying my confusion.

"Who wouldn't know who the son of a bitch is who is hurting my daughter?" Mr. Feldman spat in a hoarse voice, loaded with hatred.

My eyes widened in astonishment. Then everything began to click like pieces in a puzzle. Rosalía... my ex-husband's mistress... was my future husband's daughter.

"And what do I have to do with all of this?" I asked, confused.

Feldman looked at me like a bird of prey.

"With you, I will take revenge on that imbecile... and I will get Rosalía to come home."

I was paralyzed. So, this had nothing to do with love, or agreements, or marriage. Only revenge. I was just another piece on his board, a means to punish the man who had taken his daughter.

All that man wanted was to use me to take revenge on Armando, as if I had any power against him. Armando knew how to manipulate, how to seduce, how to empty you inside until nothing was left... like he did to me. He made me fall in love, he used me, and then he threw me onto the street, taking absolutely everything from me.

And yet, as absurd as it sounded... I still loved him. It still hurt.

But the idea of revenge... that idea was too tempting.

That night, the same woman who had received me led me to a room on the second floor of the mansion. I opened the door, turned on the light, and found a perfectly decorated room. Elegant, cozy, as if it had been prepared in advance.

I left my purse on the bed, observing every detail. Everything disconcerted me.

I approached the closet with slow steps, and when I opened it, I found a display of clothes that took my breath away. There was everything: sportswear, elegant dresses, casually folded clothes, a collection of designer shoes, and a small sanctuary of exuberant jewelry that sparkled under the warm light of the dressing room. I slid my fingers across each shelf.

I shook my head, incredulous.

"All of this is for you, Miss," the woman's voice snapped me out of my trance.

I turned around, startled.

"Who did all this?" I asked anxiously.

"Mr. Feldman," she replied naturally. "By the way, I'm Amanda, the family's trusted housekeeper. But from now on, I will be at your service. Anything you need, don't hesitate to ask me."

I closed my eyes, swallowing hard. It was all too much.

"Thank you, Amanda. Could you leave me alone for a moment?"

She nodded with a discreet smile, left the room, and softly closed the door.

I sat on the padded bed and took my cell phone out of my pocket. The lit screen showed more messages from Armando.

"Are you okay?"

"Where are you?"

"I'm coming for you."

My hands trembled.

And then I cried. I cried until the pillow was soaked, until the pain in my chest exhausted me, until my body could no longer resist and I fell asleep.

I didn't understand anything. After all the damage, after abandoning me, destroying me, why did Armando want to see me? Why now?

Not even two days had passed and everything was already decided; the marriage to Mr. Feldman was a fact. The mansion buzzed with activity, everyone coming and going as if preparing for a grand event, and I felt like an exhibition mannequin while the dress and hair stylists worked skillfully on me.

I knew little about my future husband. Only that he was an eccentric millionaire, founder of multiple companies in the city, widowed for ten years, and father of two children: Damián and Rosalía. I hadn't seen the former again since that fleeting encounter in his father's office.

I blushed remembering how naive I was to initially think he would be my fiancé.

"Done, Miss. You're perfect!" the stylist announced, pulling me out of my reverie.

"Thank you," I replied coolly, and the woman adjusting my dress withdrew, leaving me alone in front of the mirror.

My eyes filled with tears. It hurt to remember my first marriage. It was simple, in a modest chapel, without an elegant dress or luxurious rings, but back then I was truly happy.

I picked up the phone. I had a couple of new messages from Armando. I didn't open them; it was cruel enough to keep hurting myself with him.

I took a deep breath and left the room. The wedding was to be held in the main garden of the Feldman mansion. I was about to go downstairs when, suddenly, Damián reappeared. I walked past him without stopping, barely forming a slight smile at the corner of my lips.

"You're a gold digger," he blurted out, and his voice, loaded with hatred, pierced me.

I spun around suddenly, eyes wide with surprise.

"What? Who do you think you are to talk to me like that?"

"I know perfectly well what young women like you do. You look for men like my father to take all their money. But I won't allow it."

I felt my face burn with indignation. What was this imbecile saying?

"Look, Damián, I don't want anything from your father. He has me threatened if I don't marry him, and believe me, I'm not in the least bit interested in what he possesses."

I pulled my arm free from his hand and resumed my path to the stairs, but he took two quick steps and caught up with me. He grabbed my arm, his fingers digging slightly into my skin.

"Listen to me carefully, Amelie. I will not allow an opportunist like you to take my family's money. I have worked hard since college, so you won't come here now and steal what doesn't belong to you."

I pulled away from his hand with a tug, and looked him up and down with contempt.

"Your warning is unnecessary. Now, I have a wedding to attend."

I rushed down the stairs. My heart was pounding hard. I didn't understand what was really happening in that house; everything seemed to be against me. The fact that my ex-husband was with Rosalía seemed to have ignited everyone's hatred toward me.

I walked through the garden, where Mr. Feldman was already waiting for me. I didn't even know his first name, and I felt uncomfortable constantly having to call him "Mr. Feldman." It was exhausting. Upon seeing me, he sketched a smile, while the guests, every one of them, watched me with disdain. It wasn't just Damián. Every glance pierced me as if I really were a harpy ready to hunt her prey.

In the front, I distinguished my mother next to my two younger sisters. As our eyes met, she smiled and sighed tenderly.

I blinked quickly to hold back my tears.

"You look very beautiful, Amelie," my future husband said softly as he took my hand. His skin was rough, his breath unpleasant, and the mere idea of having to consummate that marriage gave me a sharp pain, like knives plunging into my core.

"Thank you, sir," I replied, and the ceremony began. The priest spoke about the importance of marriage, values, love, and family. Words completely empty in the context we were in. However, my mother radiated happiness, as if none of this were imposed.

The moment for the vows arrived. The priest smiled as we exchanged rings. Mr. Feldman placed mine, and I placed his.

"If anyone objects to this marriage, speak now or forever hold your peace," the priest announced, glancing around.

I thought everything would proceed as planned, until, from the back of the garden, a voice thundered:

"I object, Father!"

Everyone turned. I froze solid when I saw her. Rosalía. That stunning blonde with sculpted curves, an angelic face, and an arrogant look advanced decisively, her heels echoing on the ground as she clutched a Versace bag between her fingers.

"I object, Father," she repeated, glaring furiously. "This harpy cannot marry my father. She only wants his money."

I looked at her from head to toe and offered an ironic smile. The sheer audacity was almost impossible to ignore. According to her, I wanted her father's money... but she was the one who stole my husband.

Mr. Feldman looked at her and forced a sarcastic smile. "Seriously, Rosalía? You think you can come here and stop my wedding? You are completely insane."

"Father, please, stop this stupidity. You are causing us national embarrassment."

He shook his head and turned back to the priest. "Continue, Father."

The priest nodded and opened the Bible again, but Rosalía stepped between us, blocking the way.

"I will not allow it, absolutely not!"

"Go with your lover, Rosalía," Feldman cut her off dryly. "And let my future wife and I get married. Otherwise, you'll have to face the damn consequences."

His face, previously kind, hardened completely. He looked at his daughter with brutal coldness, as if she were his worst enemy.

I bowed my head, overwhelmed by shame. Not just for myself, but also for the scene unfolding before everyone.

Rosalía finally stepped aside and passed by me, throwing me a look so full of contempt that it seemed capable of bursting into flames.

"You wretch... this isn't over. You're doing this because of Armando, aren't you?"

I offered a slight smile with the corner of my lips. Of course, I wasn't marrying for Armando. I was doing it for my family. But since the situation allowed it, I couldn't help but enjoy the look of suffering on her face at seeing me next to her father.

"What can I tell you? Oh, and tell Armando not to call me anymore. I'm a married woman now."

Rosalía flushed, breathing with difficulty. She squeezed her purse tightly and, stomping her foot, issued a final threat.

"This is not over, you wretched harpy!"