I left my heartless husband

I woke up from breast cancer surgery and found out my husband, Mark, had drained my bank account to buy his childhood sweetheart, Tiffany, a Hermès bag.

I called Mark, demanding an explanation.

He snapped back, annoyed, “It’s just a minor surgery. Why do you need so much money? Tiffany’s birthday is coming up, so I got her a little something.”

Before this, Mark had showered Tiffany with La Mer skincare and Van Cleef & Arpels bracelets, which I’d always turned a blind eye to.

But this time, he’d used the money I’d set aside for my surgery, completely disregarding my health.

Because of the delay in treatment, I ended up having a mastectomy.

After the surgery, I called my lawyer.

“Please draw up a divorce agreement for me.”

I spent three days in the hospital recovering, and Mark didn’t call once.

Meanwhile, I saw him all over Tiffany’s Instagram.

“Twenty-seventh birthday, thank you for always being there.”

The picture showed Mark and Tiffany close together, wearing matching outfits, looking like a perfect couple.

My heart ached.

When I finally dragged myself home, the living room was a mess.

Shoes piled up at the entrance, trash littered the floor, and empty beer bottles cluttered the coffee table.

Mark’s friends were sprawled across the couch, and Tiffany was using his lap as a pillow.

I suppressed my anger and went to my room.

I had just put away my medical bills when I heard footsteps behind me.

Mark’s arms wrapped around my waist, the smell of alcohol filling the air.

His voice was tinged with guilt, “Sarah, how’s the surgery? Everything okay?”

I pulled away from his embrace, hiding the mastectomy from him.

“I’m fine.”

He didn’t seem to notice my pale face, instead looking relieved.

“Good, good. Now, can you make us some hangover soup? We drank a lot last night, and Tiffany might have a headache when she wakes up.”

Mark patted my shoulder and walked away.

“I need to rest. I’m going back to sleep.”

Looking at his broad back, I chuckled silently, a sharp pain stabbing my heart.

Why did I still have expectations for this man?

Just a moment ago, when he’d asked about my health, I’d had a flicker of hope that he still cared.

Three years of marriage, could he really be this cold?

Apparently, yes.

But this was good. At least my resolve to divorce him wouldn’t waver now.

I ignored his request for soup and went to bed.

I was still weak from the surgery and had no energy.

I sent all my bank statements to my lawyer, adding a clause to the divorce agreement: Repayment.

Mark’s lavish gifts to Tiffany were bought with our marital assets.

I wasn’t going to let him get away with it.

Finally, I could breathe, and I drifted off to sleep.

I don’t know how long I slept before Mark barged into the bedroom, complaining about a headache.

“Where’s the hangover soup? Tiffany just woke up with a splitting headache. Why isn’t it ready?”

I got up to close the door, but he stopped me. Tiffany chimed in, adding fuel to the fire.

“Yeah, Sarah, we all drank a lot last night. Mark often gets headaches. He needs hangover soup when he’s hungover.”

Their entitled attitude infuriated me. My whole body trembled with anger.

Mark knew I’d just had surgery and was still recovering, yet he expected me to wait on them.

I gritted my teeth, raising my voice, “I just had surgery. If you want hangover soup, order takeout. Why are you bothering me?”

“Mark, have you no shame?”

The commotion woke his friends, and after hearing my words, they started blaming me.

“Oh, come on, Sarah. Don’t be so dramatic. It’s just some soup. Do you have to wake us up like this?”

“Yeah, it’s not like we’re not being considerate. It was just a minor surgery. What’s the big deal?”

“Sarah, you shouldn’t embarrass Mark in front of us like this.”

As expected, Mark’s face darkened.

He cared most about his image in front of his friends, even if it was an image built on borrowed money. He wouldn’t tolerate me challenging him publicly.

I used to suppress my anger, thinking we could talk about it later.

But over time, they’d become more and more emboldened, treating me like a doormat.

I finally realized they never cared about the respect I tried to maintain.

I turned and snapped back at them.

“If you want soup, make it yourselves. How can you act like you own the place when you’re just guests?”

“Considerate? Last time I had a fever and an IV drip, you still made me cook for you. That’s your idea of considerate?”

“Respect Mark’s face? When have you ever respected mine?”

I slammed the door and returned to my room, leaving them stunned.

I heard the door slam and knew they were gone.

Just as I was about to relax, Mark came in.

“Honey,” he said cautiously, his expression almost pleading.

“Don’t be mad. It’s not good for you after surgery.”

“I’ll make your favorite dishes tonight. Let’s talk, okay?”

I wasn’t surprised by his apology. He always did this.

After every argument, he’d coax me, do chores, and make me believe he’d change.

Within days, I’d forgive him.

But after this brush with death, I realized he was all talk, no action.

To his childhood sweetheart, my life meant nothing.

Looking at the face I once loved, my heart skipped a beat, the pain almost physical.

Before I could speak, Mark’s phone rang, shattering the silence.

Tiffany’s voice was loud and clear, a mix of whining and sobbing.

“Mark, my chest hurts, I can’t breathe. Can you take me to the hospital?”

Mark agreed without hesitation, instantly forgetting his promise to me.

“Okay, I’m coming over now. Don’t move. I’ll be right there.”

He hung up, grabbed his jacket, and left without a glance.

My heart was numb. I didn’t argue, focusing on my recovery.

It wasn’t worth getting upset over this man.

That night, I saw Tiffany’s Instagram post.

“Chest pains, and Mark took me straight to the hospital! He covered all the expenses for the checkup, hospitalization, and medication. So grateful for him~”

This time, it was a video, probably taken with her phone propped up.

I clicked play. Mark was feeding her porridge.

Tiffany whined about not having an appetite, and he patiently coaxed her, even blowing on the spoon before offering it to her.

“Be good, Tiffany. Eat your food and get better. I’ll buy you a new present when you’re well.”

She blinked, pouting, “I want that car, the one we looked at the other day.”

I saw Mark stiffen for a moment before gritting his teeth.

“Okay, I’ll buy it for you.”

Tiffany finally smiled and ate the porridge.

Their friends were commenting below, teasing them like they were a match made in heaven.

I scoffed and turned off the lights.

They wouldn’t be laughing for long.

A few days later, feeling better, I called my boss, Mr. Lewis.

“Mr. Lewis, about that transfer to headquarters you mentioned… I accept.”

A month ago, my boss had offered me a promotion.

But because of Mark, I hadn’t given him a definite answer.

I’d been纠结d about leaving everything in Jacksonville, but now, there was nothing left for me here.

While packing, I noticed my jewelry was missing.

Mark had given it to me for our first anniversary. I cherished it and rarely wore it.

I figured Mark had probably given it to Tiffany. I could imagine his generous, flamboyant gesture.

I sneered and called the police.

I reported the theft of valuable jewelry, suspecting it had been taken by my husband’s friends.

The police took down the information and filed a report.

Over the next few days, I erased all traces of myself from the house.

I threw away our wedding photo, sold our matching slippers and pajamas, and even burned the stack of love letters Mark had written me.

Finally, I left the divorce agreement and my medical bills on the coffee table.

I gave my lawyer full authority over the divorce, insisting on getting back the money Mark had spent on Tiffany.

Otherwise, I would sue her for every penny, plus more.

I received a text from Mr. Lewis.

“Got you a ticket for this afternoon’s flight. You can leave now.”

“Thank you, Mr. Lewis.”

As I dragged my suitcase out the door, I ran into a furious Mark.

“Sarah, what the hell? You called the cops over some old jewelry?”

His face was red, veins bulging on his forehead. Several police officers stood behind him.

I ignored him and addressed the officers.

“Ms. Carter, are these the items you reported missing?”

I looked at the jewelry in the sealed bag, everything accounted for.

“Yes, thank you so much.”

After the police left, Mark dropped the act.

He grabbed my arm, his face livid.

“Sarah, do you know how much you embarrassed Tiffany? The police went to her office and demanded the jewelry back in front of everyone! How is she supposed to show her face there now?”

“You never wear that jewelry anyway. Tiffany liked it, so I let her have it. Was it necessary to blow this out of proportion? Call the cops? Seriously?”

“So, it’s my fault for retrieving my own jewelry? She took my belongings without my permission. That’s stealing.”

His yelling gave me a headache. “I have to go. I have a flight to catch.”

“You…”

Mark was interrupted by his ringing phone.

He blocked my path with one hand while answering the call.

Tiffany was crying hysterically on the other end.

“Mark, Sarah’s lawyer contacted me. She wants me to pay back all the money you spent on me, or she’ll sue! I know Sarah doesn’t like me and has always had it out for me, but I’m just your friend. Why is she doing this to me?”

“Mark, what am I going to do?”

Tiffany continued to sob, and Mark quickly comforted her before hanging up.

He turned back to me, his chest heaving, eyes filled with rage.

“Sarah, you’re being ridiculous! What’s the meaning of this? Demanding Tiffany pay you back? I bought her those things willingly. Why are you doing this?”

“Marrying you was the biggest regret of my life!”

Looking at Mark’s distorted face, I felt exhausted.

This was the man I had loved for seven years, the man I’d shared a bed with for three.

He regretted marrying me. I felt the same way.

There was no point in arguing anymore.

“In that case,” I said calmly, “let’s get a divorce.”