Midnight Fragments
Everyone expected me to swallow my pride and let it go.
Instead, I trashed the party and demanded a divorce.
Matthew turned to me, a smirk on his face. “Are you sure about this? There are no take-backs with me.”
I nodded. “I know.”
Three years later, I went to pick up my boyfriend, a doctor, from his shift.
And there was Matthew, holding a beautiful little girl, sitting in my boyfriend’s office for a consultation.
The moment our eyes met, a cold smile touched his lips. He pointed at me and said to the little girl, “Weren’t you looking for your mother? There she is.”
1
The hospital corridor was bustling. The door to the consultation room had just been closed by the last patient.
Matthew strode toward me, stopping just inches away. His chiseled face was as hard and cold as I remembered. A perfectly tailored suit accentuated his model-like physique. And in his arms, the little girl in a couture princess dress was utterly adorable. She clung to his neck, shyly sizing me up.
“What’s the matter? Don’t you recognize your own daughter?” Matthew’s lips curled, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Then again, you haven’t seen her in years. How could you?”
A wave of bitterness washed over me. In my haste to divorce him, I had given up everything, including our infant daughter.
Everyone said I was heartless. Even my own parents thought so.
The day I first brought up the divorce, my mother had summoned me home. “You’re divorced, so why didn’t you take the child with you? She’s your own flesh and blood! How could you be so cruel?”
When I didn’t answer, she grew agitated. “Now that you’re divorced, your sister will be marrying Matthew soon. Do you want your sister to be your daughter’s stepmother?”
My hands, already cold, clenched into fists. In her mind, this marriage had always belonged to my sister, Claire. I was just a placeholder.
But Claire wasn’t my real sister. In a cruel twist of fate, we had been switched at birth. When I was finally returned to my biological family, the arranged marriage with Matthew fell to me. Claire was forced to break up with him. In a fit of anger, she left the country and cut off all contact. I don’t know how my parents convinced Matthew, but he eventually agreed to marry me.
For two years, we were civil, even harmonious. But everyone knew Matthew was still looking for Claire.
2
The day he finally heard from her was the day I went into labor.
I woke up in the middle of the night with sharp pains in my stomach. I reached for Matthew, but he was on the balcony, on the phone. His voice was soft, coaxing. “I’ll come get you myself. Don’t worry, no one will say a word… Okay, I’m leaving now.”
He turned and saw me.
“My stomach hurts,” I said calmly. “Can you take me to the hospital?”
He paused for a fraction of a second, then continued toward the door. “I’ll have the driver take you.”
I called his name again just as he reached the door. The look he gave me was anything but warm. “What is it now?”
A contraction seized me, and my voice trembled. “Matthew,” I said, “if you walk out that door today, we’re over.”
His face darkened. “What are you trying to pull now, Isabella? I’m just going to pick her up. What are you so afraid of?” He added, “Don’t forget, this marriage was supposed to be hers.”
It was like being doused with a bucket of ice water. In our two years of marriage, I wouldn’t say he loved me, but he had never mistreated me. I had even started to believe he was over Claire, that he was ready to build a life with me.
It was all a lie.
Another contraction hit, and I had to bend over, gasping for breath.
Claire’s cold voice came through Matthew’s phone. “If she doesn’t want me here, I’ll just buy a ticket and go back.”
Matthew’s face tightened. He turned and strode out the door. “Don’t be ridiculous, I’m on my way… Claire, don’t you dare leave…”
And then he was gone. The door clicked shut, sealing away all his domineering affection, all of which was for her.
I leaned against the window, trying to breathe through the pain. But it only got worse. A heavy, pulling sensation started in my lower abdomen. Then, a warm liquid trickled down my legs.
I frantically dialed Matthew’s number. The moment he answered, his voice was laced with ice. “How long are you going to keep this up?”
“I’m bleeding,” I stammered. “The baby…”
“Enough!” he snapped, his voice dripping with scorn. “I thought you were different. I can’t believe you’d resort to such cheap tricks. Whatever it is, we can talk about it when I get back.”
He hung up.
Before we got married, my adoptive parents had told me, “If you don’t want to marry him, you don’t have to. We’ll support you forever.” I had thought that with our families’ business ties, he wouldn’t dare be so callous. I learned then that you can’t expect someone who never intended to love you to care about you at all.
The thought of divorce first entered my mind that night.
3
An ambulance took me to the hospital.
As I lay on the operating table, my life hanging in the balance, memories flooded back. At the beginning of our marriage, we had been happy. He would take me to see the sunrise over the ocean. He would kiss me when he was a little drunk. He was a passionate and attentive husband.
My friends were envious. “Your husband spoils you rotten,” they’d say.
But that only lasted for six months.
I first realized something was wrong when I overheard him talking to a friend. “All this public affection,” his friend had asked, “is it to make Claire jealous? Doesn’t seem to be working.”
Matthew leaned against the railing, a faint, mocking smile on his lips. “Then we’ll just have to see how long she can hold out.”
“But your wife… she’s a catch. Are you sure you’re not catching feelings?”
Matthew took a sip of his drink and scoffed. “It’s just an act. Nothing to get emotional about.”
The casual indifference in his eyes became a constant source of pain for me. I tried giving him the cold shoulder. He was a perceptive man; he always noticed when something was wrong and would coax me out of my moods. And in the process, I would start to coax myself. I told myself he was just holding on to his past with Claire out of pride. If he was willing to pretend to love me for the rest of our lives, I was willing to play along.
I didn’t know then that time is not a cure. A reunion is.
As the surgery dragged on, the medical staff’s movements became more frantic. As my consciousness faded, another memory surfaced. After our engagement was announced, Claire had gone on a hunger strike and fainted from low blood sugar. Matthew had carried her into the emergency room in the pouring rain, his white shirt soaked through, his hand clutching hers as he called her name over and over. I had followed with the payment forms, watching as he fumbled in his pocket for a piece of candy, carefully unwrapped it, and placed it between her pale lips. I stood by the IV stand, watching the sweat and rain mingle on the back of his neck as he leaned over her. He had been suffering from a stomach ache himself that day, but he refused to leave her side, staying in the ER all night.
And now, as I was dying from an amniotic fluid embolism, I couldn’t even reach him on the phone.
I liked him, yes. But I wouldn't debase myself for him.
Perhaps by some miracle, I survived.
It was five days before I was moved out of the ICU. I still hadn't seen Matthew, but I heard about him from the nurses. While I was fighting for my life, he had been throwing a welcome home party for Claire. He had even arranged a fireworks display for her. Under the glittering sky, they had shared a look, full of deep, restrained emotion.
In this marriage, I had forgiven so much that should never have been forgiven, all in the hope of finding happiness. But I finally understood that he had already decided our ending. There was nothing I could do to change it.
The first thing I did after being discharged was ask for a divorce.
He was silent for a long time. “Don’t overthink things. Just focus on getting better.” He thought it was just postpartum hormones.
It wasn't until three months later, at my birthday party, that I brought it up again. He was carrying a soaking wet Claire to a room.
He turned to me, a smirk on his face. “Are you sure about this? There are no take-backs with me.”
“I know,” I said calmly.
4
“Matthew! Poppy!” Claire’s voice pulled me back to the present. She was flawlessly made up, and she glided to a stop beside Matthew. “What did the doctor say?”
“The surgery is scheduled for next month.”
Claire let out a sigh of relief. “You have no idea how hard it is to get an appointment with Dr. Hayes! Now our little Poppy can finally…” She trailed off, as if just noticing me. “Isabella?”
Before I could speak, she continued, “Did you come back because you heard Poppy was sick? I suppose that makes sense. You are her mother, after all.”
Then Matthew’s cold voice cut in. “Her mother? She doesn’t deserve the title.”
I froze, my eyes instinctively going to the child in his arms. In her eyes, I saw a flicker of disappointment and sadness that I couldn't bear to face. For a moment, it felt like my chest was filled with broken glass, the pain spreading through my entire body.
At first, Matthew had agreed to let me take our daughter. But he changed his mind.
When I demanded to know why, he was lounging on the sofa, his long legs stretched out. “Claire is worried about her figure. She doesn’t want to have children.”
“She’s my child!” I had screamed.
“She’s my child too. Don’t worry, Claire will treat her as her own.”
I refused. He used every trick in the book to force me. No matter what he said, I wouldn't budge. Finally, his gaze turned icy. “Isabella, don’t forget how your adoptive parents got their jobs.”
In that moment, I knew I was powerless against him.
Claire, sensing the tension, tried to smooth things over. “Why don’t we all have dinner together? We can catch up. What do you say, Matthew?”
Matthew glanced at me, his eyes cold. “I have no interest in catching up with my ex-wife.” He turned and walked away.
Claire took a few steps after him, then came back to me. “You’re not here to try and take Poppy from me, are you?”
“No,” I said. “I’m here to get married.”
“Ah,” she said, surprised. “You’re getting married?” It was no wonder she was shocked. It had been two years since my divorce, and she and Matthew still hadn't tied the knot. And here I was, beating her to the altar again.
But then, to my surprise, she let out a long breath of relief. “Congratulations. Have you set a date?”
“The eighth of next month.”
She hesitated. “You haven’t told your parents yet, have you? Maybe you should ask for their opinion.”
“We’ll see.”
That night, my parents called and asked me to come home.
The moment I walked in, my mother’s face was a mask of disapproval. “What are you doing back here? I thought you said you were never coming back. And who are you marrying? What’s his family like? Does he know you’ve been married before, that you have a child?”
5
I used to think that home was a safe harbor. But for me, it has always been the source of the storm. My own parents were the ones who knew just where to pour salt in my wounds. As much as I knew they disliked me, their words still struck a nerve. My eyes welled up, a wave of pain making it hard to breathe.
Seeing my silence, Claire quickly intervened, though her words were for me. “Isabella, just say something. Mom is just worried about you. If he doesn’t know, you should probably tell him sooner rather than later.”
I smirked, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Don’t compare him to you. You’re not worthy.”
My parents both snapped at the same time. “What did you just say?” “Say that again!”
Just then, Matthew’s voice came from the stairs. “What’s going on?” He was standing on the landing, holding Poppy’s hand.
Claire went to him and took Poppy’s hand. “Matthew, Isabella is getting married.”
“Oh,” Matthew said, his voice as indifferent as ever. “Congratulations.”
“That’s what I said,” Claire chirped. “Congratulations on finding true love. By the way, Isabella, why didn’t you bring your fiancé home with you today?”
“Dinner isn’t necessary. He’s very busy,” I said. I placed an invitation on the coffee table. “This is for you. Come if you want. And from now on, don’t call me unless it’s an emergency.”
As I turned to leave, my eyes met Poppy’s. I paused. Her lips moved, forming a silent word: “Mama.”
My hand clenched. After a few seconds of internal struggle, I looked away, my face a blank mask, and walked out.
6
I was waiting for my fiancé, Noah, outside the neighborhood when a car pulled up beside me. The window rolled down, revealing Matthew’s cold, handsome face.
“Get in.”
“No, thank you,” I said politely. “My fiancé is coming to get me.”
He let out a soft laugh. “Isabella, haven’t you done your research?”
“Research on what?”
“Bigamy is illegal.”
“We’re divorced.”
“Are we?” His long fingers tapped a lazy rhythm on the steering wheel. “What if I never signed the papers?”
I couldn’t believe my ears. “What did you say?”
He didn’t answer my question. “Get in the car.”
I didn't move. I tried to speak calmly. “Why didn’t you sign them?”
He rested an arm on the open window, looking utterly relaxed and infuriatingly smug. “You want to know? Get in the car.”
They say some people’s love is only a fraction of what they pretend it to be. Matthew was one of those people. Even after our divorce, he was still playing the victim.
“Matthew,” I said, my gaze steady, “you’re not still hung up on me, are you?”
A flicker of surprise crossed his dark eyes, then vanished, replaced by a scornful smirk. “Are you worthy?”
“Oh? Then why haven’t you married Claire yet?”
His smile was back, but it was cold. “So, you’re dropping the act?”
“What act?”
“You’ve been asking around about when Claire and I are getting married. Weren’t you hoping to get back together with me?”
I didn’t deny it. I had been asking about them. But not for the reason he thought. I wasn’t trying to get back with him. I was preparing to fight for custody of my daughter.
A few weeks ago, I had received an anonymous email. It contained a recording of a conversation between Claire and my mother.
“Mom,” Claire had said, “Isabella is getting remarried, but Matthew still won’t marry me. Do you think he doesn’t love me anymore?”
“Of course he loves you,” my mother had replied. “You’re just overthinking things.”
“But for the past three years, all his attention has been on that child. He barely spends any time with me.”
“You fool, you have to be clever about these things. If all else fails, just have a son for him. He’ll forget all about that other girl.”
“But I said I didn’t want to have children…”
“That was just an excuse to keep him from getting back with Isabella, wasn’t it? Just listen to me. Have a son for him as soon as you can. A mother’s status is secured by her son.”
Claire was convinced. “You’re right, Mom. You’re always so good to me. I was so afraid that when Isabella came back, you would start to favor her.”
“Don’t be silly. There’s a difference between the child you give birth to and the child you raise…”
The recording ended there. I lay awake all night, and by morning, I had made my decision.
I was getting my daughter back. I had a plan. The only thing I hadn’t counted on was Matthew not signing the divorce papers.
“You have one minute to decide,” Matthew said, breaking into my thoughts.
I looked at him. “What do you want?”
He still wouldn’t give me a straight answer. “Poppy wants to go to the amusement park. I’m busy tomorrow. You take her.”
The refusal was on the tip of my tongue, but I couldn’t say it. Matthew’s eyes were too sharp; I couldn't hide anything from him.
“Nine o’clock tomorrow morning. Don’t disappoint her.”
7
The next day, when I arrived at the amusement park, Matthew and Poppy were already there. He handed Poppy over to me with a practiced ease. “I’ll be back to pick her up at five,” he said, then left in a hurry.
I held Poppy’s hand as we walked inside. “What do you want to ride?”
Her eyes were big and dark, but there was a hint of caution in them. “I want to ride the bumper cars, but Daddy won’t let me.”
Her sweet, childish voice melted my heart. “You’re still a little small for the bumper cars,” I explained gently. “You might get hurt. How about we find something else to ride?”
“Okay!”
But we had only taken a few steps when someone blocked our path. It was Claire. She was holding a cake box, a wide smile on her face. “Matthew asked me to pick up Poppy’s favorite cake. You should take it with you.”
I didn’t want to take it, but when I saw the excited look in Poppy’s eyes, I relented.
Claire’s smile widened. “Have fun!”
For the rest of my life, whenever I would remember that moment, I would be filled with a burning desire to claw that smile off her face.
She knew Poppy was allergic to mangoes. And the cake was filled with them.
At the emergency room, Matthew and Claire rushed in. Claire pointed an accusing finger at me. “How could you buy her a mango cake? Don’t you know she’s allergic to mangoes?”
I already knew she was manipulative, but I never expected her to be so brazenly dishonest.
And what was worse, Matthew believed her.
His face was pale with fury. “You gave it to her?”
“It wasn’t me,” I said, my lips pressed into a thin line. “Claire brought the cake. She said you…”
“Isabella!” Claire interrupted. “I was at dance rehearsal all morning! How could I have brought you a cake?” She was already tearing up. “I’ve been taking care of Poppy for years. Of course I know she’s allergic to mangoes! Even if you’re trying to take her away from me, you can’t play with her health like this!”
I wanted to say something, but the words wouldn’t come. As her mother, I didn’t even know about her allergy. I had watched her eat the cake without a second thought.
I tried to explain, but the undisguised disgust on Matthew’s face stopped me cold. He had never looked at me with such revulsion before. It was a first. A sharp pain lanced through my chest, a pain that wouldn't go away. The words died in my throat. What could I say? That Claire brought the cake? That I was completely ignorant of my own daughter’s medical history? No matter what I said, I was still responsible.
8
Just then, my parents arrived. Without even asking what had happened, they started screaming at me.
“I knew you were up to no good, coming back here! Even a tiger won’t eat its own cub! How could you do this to your own child? Are you even human? You were raised in the countryside, a wild animal! We never should have brought you back!”
My hands clenched at my sides. I was rooted to the spot. I knew they favored Claire, but to condemn me without even hearing my side of the story… I was the victim here, yet they were all treating me like the enemy.
I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood. My hands and feet went cold. Just when I thought I was going to drown in their accusations, a man’s voice cut through the noise like a saving grace. “That’s enough!”
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