After my husband favored the female doctor,I am divorced

Less than thirty seconds after I sent the message, Zayn called. He spoke angrily, “Yvonne, you used your parents’ lives to force me into marrying you and now you want a divorce? I’m telling you—keep dreaming!” My throat felt dry and bitter. “Zayn, I…” Before I could finish, a sweet, playful voice came from his side of the line. “Zayn, help me get my underwear.” My chest tightened painfully. The call ended with a cold beep-beep and I couldn’t help but let out a bitter, mocking laugh. When I came out of the hospital morgue, I ran into Zayn. He frowned the moment he saw me and sneered. “Didn’t you say you wanted a divorce? And now you’re chasing me all the way to the hospital. Yvonne, don’t you think you’re pathetic?” My heart trembled, but I didn’t try to defend myself. After seven years together, he had never once believed me—so why bother explaining now? Seeing me stay silent only made Zayn more certain that I was playing hard to get. The contempt in his eyes deepened. I was just about to step aside and leave when I bumped straight into Natalie coming from the other direction. She fell to the ground, her eyes instantly welling up with tears. “Why did you push me? If you’re angry with me, you can just say it. There’s no need for this kind of petty behavior.” But I hadn’t done anything at all. Before I could react, Zayn rushed over and slapped me hard across the face. The force was so strong that my body—already weak from years of abuse—couldn’t take it. I fell straight to the ground. A flicker of emotion crossed Zayn’s eyes. He helped Natalie up and she frowned at me. “Miss Quell, stop pretending. I know I’ve tested medicine on you all these years, but I’ve also kept your body strong and healthy.” She gave a soft laugh. “Pretending to be fragile and pitiful? Zayn would never fall for that kind of act.” Hearing that, Zayn’s face darkened. “You really know how to act. I almost believed you.” I was speechless, unable to defend myself. All these years, it looked like Natalie was just using me to test her medicine—but in truth, she was finding new ways to torment me. Even when my body was covered in blood and bruises—every wound laid bare before his eyes—Zayn never spared me a single glance. Instead, he believed every word Natalie said, thinking I had hurt myself on purpose just to get his attention. After Zayn left with his arm around Natalie, all hope in me died. I took my sister’s body to the crematorium. Later, numb and hollow, I carried her urn home—only to find Natalie waiting for me at the corner of the stairs. She was wearing my silk nightgown, standing there with the calm arrogance of someone who already saw herself as the lady of the house. “Yvonne, you really are something,” Natalie sneered. “I’ve already made you lose three children and yet you still managed to get pregnant again.” I froze, clutching the urn in my arms tighter, my hand instinctively moving to my flat stomach. Her eyes turned cold as she looked at me. “So what if you’re pregnant? Zayn has only ever loved me. As for that filthy little thing in your belly—it has no right to live.” A sense of dread ran through me. I tried to turn and run, but Natalie suddenly shoved me hard. I tumbled down the stairs. A sharp pain tore through my abdomen and I felt something warm trickle down between my legs. Just as she was about to mock me again, footsteps echoed from nearby. Natalie quickly slapped herself across the face. Then she threw herself into Zayn’s arms, her voice trembling with feigned innocence. “Zayn, she said she doesn’t want to be my test subject anymore—and she even slapped me.” “It’s not true! I never said that—she’s framing me!” I tried to defend myself, my voice weak and shaking. “Enough,” Zayn snapped, not even bothering to hear me out. His eyes were cold and sharp. “Natalie is kind by nature—she would never lie. Apologize to her. Otherwise, get out and kneel outside for three hours.”

Clutching my stomach, I begged weakly, “Zayn, I’m pregnant… Please, take me to the hospital. I think I’m losing the baby.” His eyes flicked to the blood pooling beneath me and for a brief moment, the hardness in his face seemed to ease. He started down the stairs to check on me, but Natalie quickly grabbed his arm. “Zayn, she’s not pregnant at all. That blood is just her period. She slapped me earlier and now she’s pretending to be hurt so you won’t blame her.” She tightened her grip on him, tears glimmering in her eyes. “Zayn, if you don’t punish her, I’ll leave right now!” Hearing that, all trace of emotion vanished from Zayn’s eyes. He ordered coldly, “Since you refuse to apologize, then get out and kneel. Reflect on your own behavior.” Two bodyguards stepped forward and began dragging me away. Seeing how tightly I clutched the box in my arms, Natalie suddenly said, “I want that box.” It held my sister’s ashes and I refused without hesitation. “No! If you want an apology, fine—but this box contains my sister’s ashes. I can’t give it to you!” A glint of cruelty flashed in Natalie’s eyes. She leaned toward Zayn, her voice soft and coy. “Zayn, I want that box.” “And look at her,” Natalie continued sweetly, “She’s so desperate to keep that box, she’s even cursing her own sister. Besides, I got a call from the hospital not long ago—they said her sister was never sick to begin with.” Zayn frowned, his voice firm. “If Natalie wants it, give it to her. As for your apology—you’re not going anywhere until she decides to accept it.” I froze, stunned. My arms suddenly felt empty. When I looked up, I saw Natalie turning the urn in her hands, a mocking smile playing on her lips. Forced to kneel under the scorching sun for three hours, I could barely stand afterward. The first thing I did when I got up was print out a divorce agreement—then head straight to the hospital for an abortion. Looking at the tiny embryo that had almost begun to form, a sharp pain twisted in my chest. Once I calmed down, I gently placed it into a foam box and arranged for a courier to deliver it. When I arrived at Zayn’s office, he was smiling tenderly—watching Natalie shape little clay figures. I still remembered the time I’d brought him chips while he was working; he’d flown into a rage, scolding me in front of all his employees. He even ordered that both I and my dog were never to step foot in his office again. Clutching the divorce papers tightly, I walked up to his desk, unsure how to begin. But before I could speak, he signed it without even looking up, thinking it was just another document from his secretary. Relief washed over me and I turned to leave quietly. But Natalie suddenly looked up, a sly, mocking smile curving her lips. “Mrs. Flynn, are you here to see how us regular people live?” Zayn finally looked up and saw me. When my eyes met his—so distant, so utterly devoid of love—my chest ached faintly. “I just wanted to ask… could you give that box back to me?” A flash of malice flickered in Natalie’s eyes as she toyed with the clay figurine in her hand, pinching it over and over. “Oh, that box? I already threw it away,” she said with mock cheerfulness. “The garbage truck should be coming to collect it right about now.” My breath caught. Without a second thought, I turned and ran. By the time I stumbled home in panic, the garbage truck was just about to leave. I rushed forward and stopped it, explaining my situation breathlessly. After rummaging through the garbage for nearly three hours, I finally found the urn. My hands trembled as I thanked the driver, clutching the urn tightly against my chest— terrified to let go ever again. The relief of recovering what I’d lost steadied my trembling heart for a moment. But when I opened the box to check inside, it was empty. I froze, staring in disbelief. Then I realized—Natalie had tricked me! A wave of humiliation surged through me, hot and choking. Unwilling to accept it, I turned back to the office and confronted her. “Where are the ashes from that box?”

Natalie’s eyes reddened as she nestled pitifully in Zayn’s arms. “Zayn, your wife really is quite the actress. She’s so vicious that she can even curse her own sister.” A sharp pain shot through my chest. “Natalie, you know how much that box means to me—” “Have you made enough of a scene?” Zayn’s voice was cold, his gaze even colder. “Look at yourself—filthy from head to toe, reeking of garbage. Where do you still look like Mrs. Flynn? Get out. Now.” I stared at the man I had loved for seven years, the man who now stood protectively beside another woman without hesitation. It felt as if a rough rope had wrapped around my heart, tightening until the dull ache swallowed me whole. From beginning to end, Zayn had only ever chosen Natalie. To him, I was nothing more than a dispensable joke. Zayn’s brows furrowed tightly before he barked an order for the bodyguards to throw me out. As I struggled to stand, a pair of high heels appeared before my eyes. Natalie looked down at me with open disdain, the corners of her lips curling into a cruel smile. “Weren’t you dying to know what happened to what was inside that box?” she asked sweetly. I froze, forcing myself to breathe evenly. The next second, Natalie lifted a clay figurine shaped like a pig and dangled it before me. “Look,” she said, mockingly cheerful, “I used that to mold this little pig. Doesn’t it look just like your dead sister?" My vision went red. Natalie laughed, delighted by my reaction. “No need to thank me. I just thought I’d help restore your sister’s beauty, that’s all. Too bad I ran out of material halfway—otherwise, I could’ve made it look even more real.” My whole body trembled with rage as I lunged to grab it, but Natalie easily dodged aside. She sneered, her tone dripping with mockery. “What’s the rush? I haven’t even finished my masterpiece yet.” As she spoke, Natalie pulled a black marker from her pocket and began scribbling across the pig-shaped figurine’s back — words that made my blood run cold. “Shameless woman.” “Cheap slut.” When she was done, she held the pig up proudly for me to see. “Well? What do you think?” she asked, her voice dripping with fake sweetness. “Imagine—hands trained to hold a scalpel, now wasting time scribbling for your pathetic family. You should feel grateful.” I stared at her, grief and fury clawing at my chest. “Give it back to me.” That was my sister’s ashes — I couldn’t lose her again. But Natalie only let out a low, disdainful laugh. “Oh, you like it that much? Then…” Before I could move, she flung the figurine hard toward the road. It hit the pavement with a dull thud — rolling straight into the street. Natalie’s voice rang out, sharp and cruel. “If you’ve got the guts, go pick it up yourself — right there in the middle of traffic!” She tossed her hair back, satisfaction gleaming in her eyes and walked away without a trace of remorse. I stood frozen, trembling with rage and disbelief. Just as I rushed forward, a massive truck roared past — crushing the clay figurine to dust before my eyes. For a moment, my heart simply stopped. Kneeling on the cold pavement, I gathered the shattered remains piece by piece, my tears blurring everything. When I finally lifted my head, my gaze landed on the massive screen across the street—it was playing the video from two days ago. In the video, Zayn stood beside me, smiling as we celebrated my birthday—playing the part of the perfect husband for all to see. Countless people envied “Mrs. Flynn.” But behind that illusion was nothing but ruin. If Zayn had never cared for me, then I would stop forcing myself to stay. I took out my phone, wiped my tears and booked a flight for the next afternoon — 2 p.m., to Rosehill. When I finally returned home with my sister’s ashes in my arms, I froze in the doorway. Zayn was kneeling on one knee before Natalie, his expression soft and intent as he carefully wiped her smooth feet with a towel. A dull ache spread through my chest, sour and suffocating. In all our seven years of marriage, Zayn had never once treated me with such gentleness. And now, all that tenderness belonged to Natalie.

When Natalie saw me return, a flicker of triumph flashed in her eyes. She drew her foot back slightly and looked at me with open provocation. “Zayn,” she said coyly, “I told you there’s no need to wipe my feet…” Zayn spoke without turning around, his voice so tender that it sliced through me like a whispering wound. “You’re always walking around barefoot. It’s easy to catch an infection or hurt yourself. I’ll have the butler lay down some carpets later. Go pick the texture you like best.” Then Natalie deliberately called out, her tone dripping with false sweetness, “Yvonne, you’re back.” Hearing the sound, Zayn stood and finally turned to look at me. His brows immediately furrowed. “Go take a shower,” he snapped coldly. “You’re filthy—can’t you see that even one of Natalie’s toes outshines you?” My chest tightened painfully. I fled upstairs in humiliation. As I was gathering my documents, the door suddenly burst open and there stood Natalie. She kicked over my suitcase with a sharp thud, her eyes glinting with venom. “Yvonne, you think copying my little ‘runaway act’ will make Zayn care about you?” Her smile twisted, cruel and mocking. “What a pathetic fantasy! Zayn doesn’t love you—he never has. He won’t care even if you die, just like he didn’t care when your sister did.” At the mention of my sister, my heart clenched violently as if countless fine, cold needles were piercing straight through it. I stood frozen, unable to breathe, when Natalie suddenly kicked me hard in the chest. The pain burst through me and I stumbled back a few steps. She folded her arms, her expression dripping with arrogance. “Yvonne, let me make this clear—Zayn loves me. He’ll only ever belong to me. If you have any sense left, you’ll obediently keep testing my drugs. Maybe, when I tire of torturing you, I’ll let you go.” My trembling fingers tightened into fists. Quietly, without her noticing, I switched on the recorder hidden at my side. My throat felt raw as I forced out, “So you admit it—you’ve been torturing me on purpose?” Natalie answered without any shame. “Of course! I can’t stand women like you—ordinary or low-status people pretending to be noble, elegant, or high-class.” She sneered. “I’m not worse than you, so why did you get lucky? I was so jealous that I joined your family as a doctor. I didn’t expect your relationship with Zayn to be so weak. A few words from me and you two fell apart.” I stayed silent. From the very beginning, my marriage with Zayn had been an accident—something I forced myself to believe in. Out of the corner of her eye, Natalie noticed the urn. She stepped forward and kicked it over. I rushed to protect the ashes, gathering the dirt and pieces in my hands. I didn’t notice that Natalie suddenly clutched her chest and dropped to the floor. When Zayn arrived, she immediately started moaning in pain. “Natalie, what’s wrong?” he asked, panicked, rushing to hold her. Natalie leaned weakly against him, voice trembling just enough to sound pitiful. “I just came to tell her to rest for a few days… not to rush the medicine tests. But I found out she was stabbing my little doll—it was right behind the door.” Zayn’s eyes snapped toward me, cold and sharp. “I didn’t! It’s not me…” I tried to explain. But before I could finish, he pulled out a small doll from behind the door—its face looked exactly like Natalie’s, even marked with her birth date and time. “Still denying it? The proof is right here. What else can you say for yourself?” Faced with his furious questioning, I stood frozen, unable to defend myself.

“Zayn… my chest hurts so much… there’s a long needle stuck right in the doll’s heart…” Natalie collapsed weakly into Zayn’s arms. He looked stricken with worry. “I’ll take you to the doctor right now.” Without another word, he carried her out the door. I stood there, staring at the empty room, a bitter smile tugging at my lips. Just as I began to pack my things to leave, two bodyguards barged in. My heart tensed. “This is the master bedroom! Aren’t you afraid Zayn will blame you for barging in like this?” They stepped forward, one on each side, forcing down my arms. “Mr. Flynn told us to punish you, Mrs. Flynn. You’d better behave.” “You hurt Miss Summers so badly—Mr. Flynn said you should get a taste of what it feels like to be stabbed with needles.” I was shaking all over with anger. I never imagined Zayn would go this far for Natalie. I tried my best to fight back, but they held me down tightly. When the cold needle pierced my skin, my already broken heart completely shattered. Even the last bit of feeling I had left for Zayn disappeared without a trace. I didn’t know how many times they stabbed me— the pain was so sharp that I almost passed out. Through my fading consciousness, I heard one of the bodyguards say, “Mr. Flynn said this thing needs to be thrown away too.” The other replied, “Let’s just flush it down the toilet. It’s only a bunch of clay anyway.” I realized they were talking about my sister’s ashes. With all my remaining strength, I grabbed one of the men by the pant leg. I begged in a trembling voice, “Please… don’t throw them away… I’ll give you anything you want, just please don’t…” The bodyguard kicked my hand off impatiently and said coldly, “We know what’s worth keeping and what’s just garbage.” “Madam, these are Mr. Flynn’s orders—we can’t disobey.” With that, he picked up the bits of clay and walked toward the bathroom. I forced myself up despite the pain and struggled toward the bathroom. One of the bodyguards kicked me hard in the stomach and said with a mocking tone, “Sorry, you’ll have to wait until he’s done.” I collapsed to the ground in despair and fainted from grief. When I woke up, I rushed to the bathroom, but it had already been cleaned. I leaned over the toilet, my stomach twisting from sadness. I gagged and retched for over ten minutes before the truth hit me — I hadn’t even managed to protect the last shred of my sister’s dignity. Numbly, I stood up and packed everything that Natalie had kicked over yesterday into my suitcase. On the way to the airport, I saw Natalie’s new post on social media. It was a photo of Zayn, dressed in a custom-made suit, kneeling devoutly before a Jesus statue. The caption read: “Every princess has her own knight. I’m no exception.” A moment later, I saw a familiar profile among the likes. I let out a cold laugh. Zayn had never once liked any of my posts—he always said social media was childish and meaningless. But for Natalie, he could post and even click “like.” So it was true—someone who never even offered you a piece of candy was never really yours. I opened our chat and sent him a message. [Your birthday is in three days. I’ve got a surprise for you. I hope you’ll like it.] He replied quickly, [The best gift you can give me is to help Natalie test the medicine properly.] I couldn’t help but sneer. I knew what he really meant beneath those words— “That’s all you’re good for now.” To keep the last bit of dignity I had, I didn’t reply. Instead, I pulled out my SIM card, snapped it in half and threw it out the car window. That was my farewell— to the past and to the version of myself who had spent seven years walking on eggshells. Since Zayn loved Natalie so deeply, then I would let go and help them have their happy ending.