Forgiven Once, but Never Again

The day my wife, Megan Carrick, is due to give birth, her ex-husband, Ian Reynolds, calls again. This time, his excuse is an alcohol allergy. To take care of him, she ignores her labor pains and wraps a thick rope tightly around her pregnant belly to delay the delivery. By the time I arrive at the hospital, the doctor tells me our baby has suffocated to death. I light a cigarette and ask Megan for a divorce. That night, despite having just lost our baby, she drops to her knees outside our door and kneels in the pouring rain for an entire day and night. She begs for my forgiveness and swears she'll never contact Ian again. I believe her and stay. For three years, I endure a sexless marriage, just to accommodate her postpartum depression. It isn't until my birthday this year that she willingly climbs into my bed. But right at the peak of our intimacy, the custom ringtone reserved just for Ian rings out in the room. "Aiden's sick, Megan. His fever won't come down. What do I do?" Megan looks at me, torn and hesitant to speak. I look at the untouched birthday cake and the disheveled clothes, and suddenly, everything feels pointless. "If you walk out that door tonight, our marriage ends here." Chapter 1 Tristan's POV Megan Carrick shut the door behind her without a moment's hesitation. She didn't even look back at me before walking out. I had lost count of how many times she dropped everything to run to her ex-husband, Ian Reynolds, and their son, Aiden Reynolds. Whenever I complained, she would just dismiss me with an impatient wave of her hand. "Aiden is still my son, no matter what happened between us. Ian is a man—he doesn't know how to look after a toddler. "You need to be the bigger person here, Tristan Hayes." The bigger person, huh? Being the bigger person was why I had tolerated this miserable marriage for three years. Reaching across the dining table, I swept the birthday cake and dishes straight into the trash can before walking out of the suffocating house. I wandered aimlessly down the streets. As I passed a restaurant, something in the window caught my eye and made me freeze in my tracks. Megan cradled Aiden in her arms while Ian stood beside her with an arm intimately wrapped around her waist. He leaned in to whisper something in her ear, which made her laugh. Looking at them, no one would ever guess they were divorced. As I looked at Aiden in her arms, a bitter ache welled up in my chest. The son I had with Megan would've been three years old this year if he hadn't died. Before I knew it, I found myself pushing the restaurant door. "I never thought our family of three would be together again, Megan," Ian murmured. His gaze was utterly gentle as his arms tightened around her waist. I let out a mocking laugh. So, this was the important matter she had rushed off for. I pulled out my phone and snapped a few photos from behind their backs. I didn't bother muting the shutter sound, and the sharp click instantly caught their attention. When Megan turned around and met my eyes, a flash of pure panic darted across her face. "Why did you follow me here, Tristan?" I expressionlessly looked at the photos on my screen and said, "I'm collecting proof that you're cheating." I kept my voice at a moderate volume, just loud enough to catch the attention of people around us. Curious, gossiping looks were immediately cast in our direction. Megan's panic vanished without a trace. She shot me an impatient look and snapped, "What are you talking about, Tristan? Aiden is sick! Am I not even allowed to take care of my son anymore?" Beside her, Ian immediately stepped forward, playing the role of her noble protector. "She's Aiden's mom, Tristan. We have a son together, even if we're divorced." He stressed the word "son" and shot me a look with a hint of provocation. I clenched my fists at my sides as a dull ache throbbed in my chest at the mention of our son. That tragedy wouldn't have happened if it hadn't been for him or Megan. When Ian saw me fall silent, he laughed and continued, "But I supposed your child just wasn't meant to live. He died just because he was born a few minutes too late… "Now that Megan has lost one child, you wouldn't want her to lose a second, would you?" Chapter 2 Tristan's POV Megan said nothing in response to Ian's taunt. Instead, she stayed by his side, as if her actions were enough to tell me that he was right. She calmly looked at me and said, "Stop making a fool of yourself, Tristan. Delete the photos, apologize to Ian, and I'll come home with you." Ever since Megan suffered from postpartum depression, I had never once mentioned the son we lost in front of her. That loss felt like a permanent thorn lodged in my heart, yet she had no problem letting Tristan rub it in my wounds over and over again. I looked Megan straight in the eyes and smirked. "Fine. I'll apologize." A flash of condescension and triumph flashed in Ian's eyes. I stepped up to him. Before anyone in the room could process what was happening, I grabbed a plate of food off the table and dumped it upside down, slamming it onto his head. The bystanders had gotten quite a show. They pulled out their phones and started taking photos of Ian's face. Megan finally snapped out of her shock and scrambled to wipe the soup and food remnants off his face. Terrified by the sudden chaos, Aiden burst into loud wails. "Consider it my wedding gift for your remarriage," I spat out before turning to walk out of the restaurant without giving them another glance. … Upon returning home, I immediately contacted a divorce lawyer. Megan rushed home shortly after comforting Ian. The second she walked in, she started smashing things around the house, right before my eyes. "You've gone too far, Tristan! Do you have any idea how humiliating that was for me?" Faced with her explosive fury, my expression remained unchanged as I said, "Oh, so you know what humiliation feels like, don't you? Why didn't you feel humiliated when you were sleeping around with your ex-husband and killed our son with your own hands? He died before he was even named!" For the past three years, I kept giving in to Megan. I couldn't let go, and I still loved her, so I kept waiting for her to turn back to me. Confronted with my sharp questioning, Megan's ferocious expression froze. Her lips trembled, as if my words brought ugly memories rushing back into her mind. "Ian was dying back then. He had no one else but me, so I couldn't just leave him to die." "So his life mattered, but not our son's?" I pointed at the calendar on the wall and continued, "He's been dead for three years, Megan. In all these three years, have you ever visited his grave on his death anniversary?" Megan clutched her chest, and her eyes were red-rimmed with tears. "How long will you keep punishing me with this guilt, Tristan? I developed depression because of what happened, and I'm a mother, too. "But to me, the living will always be more important than the dead. You don't have to keep reminding me." She clawed at her hair, looking completely disheveled and broken, as if she were the victim. Exhausted, I was reminded of a night from three years ago, right after I had first brought up the divorce. Megan had kneeled outside our door in the pouring rain for an entire day and night, swearing on her life that she would cut all ties with Ian. But what happened? Over the last three years, whenever our anniversary, birthdays, or our son's memorial came around, one call from Ian was all it took. She would always leave, no matter how flimsy his excuse was, then come home and beg for my forgiveness. When Megan saw me fall silent, her violently heaving chest slowly calmed down. She glanced at the clock. There were only five minutes left before midnight. Only then did she remember that it was my birthday. Feeling slightly guilty, she opened her mouth and said, "I'm sorry, Tristan… I promise I'll spend your birthday with you next year." As if for fear that I wouldn't believe her, she added, "I promise I'll go with you on our son's death anniversary this year. I won't leave anymore." I responded to her vows with utter indifference and almost laughed. I had heard the same words countless times before. "And how will you guarantee that promise? "Megan, do you need me to list out all the promises you've made over the last three years, and how many times you've managed to keep your word?" Chapter 3 Tristan's POV After I laid bare Megan's broken promises, her expression darkened. She was visibly stung by the sheer contempt in my eyes. Almost on instinct, she snatched the fruit knife from the counter and held it to her throat. Her hand shook violently, as if she couldn't believe that I didn't trust her at all. "We've been together all these years, Tristan. Can't you even give me this much trust? "Fine. Just kill me if I break my promise!" Before I could even say a word, she dragged the knife across her forearm twice. Blood trickled down and dripped onto the floor. Her face was pale as she held up the fresh cuts in my face. "I'm sorry that I killed our son. I'm sorry that I failed to spend your birthday with you today and made you upset. If I break my promise to you this time, give me the third cut and kill me yourself." She laid down a brutal, grim vow to prove her devotion and stared at me with the same intense stubbornness she had three years ago. The throbbing pain in my chest radiated throughout my body. It was a shame that this time, I wouldn't give in anymore. … After making her promise, Megan stopped answering Ian's calls and never replied to any of his texts. During this time, he showed up at our doorstep twice with Aiden, but Megan turned them away both times. He called her again after being kicked out and sobbed through the receiver, "Megan, I don't know what Tristan told you, but please… I'm begging you to come over just this once. "Aiden is in really bad shape. He's—" I expressionlessly listened to his voice coming through the speaker. Megan struggled with herself for a long, painful moment before she gritted her teeth and said, "You have his custody, Ian, and I have a new family now. You should learn to look after him, too." With that, she immediately hung up, as if she were severing her ties with them for good. I turned around, noticed the heavy exhaustion written all over her face, and let out a mocking laugh. "Now you've somehow made me the villain." … I thought Ian would finally take the hint and leave after being turned away so many times. But on the next day, he stormed into my office building and caused a huge scene. Ignoring the security guards trying to stop him, he charged in the moment he saw me. "Tristan, you murderer! You killed my son!" My heart skipped a beat. Before I could process what was happening, he dropped to his knees, sobbing like a madman as he pounded his fists against the floor. "You murderer! I hope you die a horrible death! You're the reason Megan never got to see Aiden one last time…" Seeing a massive scene break out, my colleagues poked their heads out of their offices for gossip. Judgmental glances and pointing fingers were immediately thrown in my way. I take a deep breath and rub my temples. Just as I was to have security haul him out, I saw Megan arrive at the office, carrying a packed lunchbox. I pressed my lips together and immediately understood. The timing was perfect. Ian had staged his pathetic performance at the right time, knowing she would be here at this hour. The color completely drained from Megan's face when she heard Ian's cries. Her voice shook as she demanded, "What are you talking about? What happened to Aiden? What happened to my baby?" Ian stopped crying and turned to her with accusing eyes. "Aiden's dead! He accidentally ate peanuts! You know he's allergic to peanuts, and by the time I got him to the ER, it was too late. "I called you, but why didn't you let me finish talking?" My expression soured. I knew that Ian wouldn't joke about the death of his son. Megan stumbled. The lunchbox slipped from her hands and crashed onto the floor. She whipped her head around to look at me, grabbed my collar, and poured all her hatred on me. "You're selfish, Tristan. This is all your fault. If I hadn't hung up, Aiden… Aiden wouldn't have died." I sighed wearily. "What does his death have to do with me? Was I the one who forced him to eat peanuts?" Chapter 4 Tristan's POV I continued, "I'm not Aiden's father. If you believe I killed him, you may call the police. But if you keep up this mess, I'll sue you for defamation." Megan's eyes widened at my words, while Ian kept wailing hysterically. "Your son is dead, so you don't want mine to live either! You're jealous! You're just envious that Megan and I have a son together!" Megan shoved me away and helped Ian up from the floor. Her voice was cold and resolute as she said, "I was completely wrong about you, Tristan. This isn't over." She stormed away with Ian by her side. The parting look she threw at me was full of raw hatred, as if she wanted nothing more than to rip me to shreds. … From that day onward, Megan completely disappeared. She blocked my number, had me blacklisted across social media platforms, and never returned home again. However, every so often, Ian would send me photos. She had moved in to stay with Ian all this time. I blocked all his burner accounts with practiced ease and forwarded every provocative photo to my lawyer. They would give us stronger leverage if we ever had to file for a divorce. Then, I looked up at the calendar on the wall. Today was our son's memorial day. Ian truly knew how to pick the best time. It was our son's fourth death anniversary, and once again, he wouldn't see his mother. My eyes stung at the thought that my son never had the chance to see the world, and I had never gotten to learn what he liked either. … I bought a bouquet of sunflowers before heading out to the cemetery. Just as I pulled up to the main gates, I received a call from the cemetery administrator, who frantically said, "Mr. Hayes, were you aware of your wife's demand to relocate your son's grave? "But we've checked our records, which show that you haven't purchased a new grave anywhere, and our facility can't temporarily hold unburied remains…" My breath hitched, and my heart started racing. "Relocate his grave? I never said anything about a relocation!" I didn't even bother hanging up the phone. My footsteps were unsteady as I sprinted toward my son's grave. The sight before my eyes crushed my ability to think. My son's headstone was carelessly tossed onto the grass, and his neatly maintained grave was dug up with shovels. Megan lifted his urn from the dirt, only for Ian to eagerly snatch it away. "Put my son's urn down!" I roared and lunged forward. Megan instinctively stepped in to protect Ian. Dark circles shadowed her eyes as she coldly stared at me and said, "Aiden is dead, and this is the perfect place to bury him. As for our son, I'll find him a new grave later. "Aiden died because of you, so don't stop me if you have a single shred of conscience left." I gritted my teeth hard and fixed my eyes on Ian. "I bought my son's grave, and he has peacefully rested here for three years. Who do you think you are to demand that I hand it over?" Ian let out a cold snort and shook the urn in his hands. "Don't bother looking for a new grave, Megan. Tristan is doing this on purpose. "Now that my son is dead, I'm going to make sure yours never rest in peace either." His eyes were bloodshot, and before I could even process what his words meant, he hurled the urn away. The sounds of ceramic shattering rang in my ears. I froze dead in my tracks, and all I could do was watch as the wind scattered my son's ashes. In the end, I couldn't even keep his ashes. Megan didn't even try to stop Ian. Instead, she looked back at him and asked, "Do you feel better now?" That single, casual sentence snapped me back to reality. I collapsed onto the floor and desperately tried to salvage what little remained of my son, but there was nothing left. "An eye for an eye, Tristan. This ends here." "No, it isn't over," I rasped out. I slowly forced myself to my feet before pulling a utility knife from my pocket. Under their stunned stares, I raised the knife high and drove it deep into Megan's shoulder. "That's the third cut. Now, we're even."