Divorced my Abusive Husband, Married his Rival!

I sat there in the sterile, cold room, my eyes fixed on the doctor's lips as they moved, but the words didn't seem to register at first. Pregnant. The word echoed in my mind, bouncing off the walls of my thoughts, each time growing louder until it drowned out everything else. Pregnant.

I'm pregnant.

My heart hammered in my chest, a mix of emotions swirling like a violent storm inside me. Was I supposed to feel happy? Relieved? This was something I had once wanted so desperately, something I had prayed for, month after month, hoping for a sign that I could fulfill my role as a wife, as a mother. But now that it was here, now that those two lines on the test were confirmed by the doctor's words, I wasn't sure what to feel.

There was happiness there, somewhere deep inside, buried under layers of fear and uncertainty. My husband, Lucas, and I had been married for three years, and the first year had been bliss. He was everything I'd ever dreamed of—charming, handsome, kind, the perfect gentleman. We had been high school sweethearts, and everyone envied our love story. To the world, I was the luckiest woman alive, married to one of the most sought-after bachelors in the country.

But they didn't know the truth. They didn't know the man he had become behind closed doors.

The change had been subtle at first. A sharp word here, a cold glance there. But as the months passed, his cruelty grew more overt. The loving man I had married slowly morphed into someone I barely recognized. He was volatile, his moods unpredictable. He became controlling, possessive, and his love turned into a weapon he wielded with precision, cutting me down whenever I dared to stand tall. His anger was a force of nature, relentless and destructive. And his mother—oh, his mother was even worse. She was the architect of my misery, constantly undermining me, feeding Lucas's insecurities and stoking the fires of his rage.

Yet, I stayed. I endured. Because I remembered the man he once was. Because I believed in the vows we had taken. And because I had convinced myself that if I could just get pregnant, if I could give him a child, everything would go back to the way it was. He would love me again. He would be that sweet, gentle Lucas who had once held my hand and promised me the world.

I glanced out the window of the car as it drove me home, my mind racing. Could this child be the answer? Would this baby rekindle the love that had been lost between us? My hand drifted to my stomach, a small smile tugging at my lips as I imagined the possibility. Maybe, just maybe, this was the beginning of a new chapter, one where the darkness of the past two years could be erased by the light of our future together as a family.

The car pulled up to the house, and I got out, excitement bubbling up inside me. Lucas's car was in the driveway, and I knew he was home. My heart skipped a beat as I hurried up the steps, the words already forming on my lips. "Lucas, I have exciting news!"

But as soon as I opened the door, the smile froze on my face.

There he was, sitting in the living room, a drink in his hand, his eyes cold and dark as they locked onto mine. I knew that look all too well. The storm had already begun to brew, and I had walked right into the eye of it.

"Lucas, I—"

"You fucking bitch," he snarled, cutting me off. The venom in his voice made me take a step back, my heart sinking. "You've been sleeping around?"

"What?" I gasped, my mind reeling. Before I could even process what he was saying, he threw a stack of photos at me. They scattered across the floor, images of me with Lucas's brother, Richard. My stomach dropped as I stared at the pictures, my mind racing to comprehend what I was seeing.

Richard had been making advances on me for months, each time more insistent than the last. I had always refused him, but last week, he had cornered me in the kitchen, his intentions clear. I had pushed him away, but someone—someone had captured that moment from an angle that made it look like something else entirely. The pictures were damning, the angle and photoshop making it look like we were kissing, like I had betrayed Lucas in the worst possible way.

"Lucas, no, this isn't what it looks like!" I cried, my voice trembling as I tried to explain, but he wasn't listening. He was already on his feet, his rage boiling over. I could see it in his eyes, the way his hands clenched into fists, the way his jaw tightened. He was beyond reason, beyond listening.

"You think I'm a fool?" he shouted, advancing toward me. I backed away, my body shaking with fear. "I knew you were a whore, Peyton, but my own brother? How low can you sink?"

"Lucas, please," I begged, my voice breaking. "I swear, nothing happened. He—he was the one who—"

My words were cut off as his hand connected with my face, the force of the slap sending me crashing to the floor. Pain exploded across my cheek, tears springing to my eyes as I clutched my face, my heart pounding in terror.