Not Too Dirty For Him Now

I was the charity case the Montgomery family took in.

At twenty-two, I married Calvin Montgomery because I was pregnant with his child.

Calvin was a notorious germaphobe. He demanded separate serving utensils at dinner. He refused to kiss me on the lips. He wouldn't even touch a water glass I had used, treating my very existence as something inherently contaminated.

But at a dinner party last week, I watched him intercept a cocktail meant for his first lovethe woman who had always haunted our marriage. To spare her from drinking too much, he pressed his lips to the exact spot on the rim where her lipstick had left a perfect, rosy smudge, and swallowed it down.

That was the exact moment I knew our marriage was over.

01

I was the one who had to physically support Calvins weight as we walked through the front door.

He had taken so many drinks for Brianna that his usually sharp, calculating eyes were hazy and unfocused.

Right before we left the venue, Brianna had looked at me, her face a perfect portrait of manufactured guilt. "I am so sorry, Hermosa. Its entirely my fault Calvin drank so much."

She reached out, her manicured fingers smoothing the lapel of Calvin's jacket, her palm lingering on his chest. "I had a little too much at a gala once and almost kissed the wrong man. Ever since then, Calvin just absolutely refuses to let me get tipsy."

She offered a saccharine smile, instructing me to make sure I brewed him some warm honey water before bed.

I think, if I were any other woman, I would have slapped her right across her flawlessly contoured face.

But I didn't. I just quietly took Calvins arm, shifted his weight onto my shoulders, and said absolutely nothing. It wasn't that I possessed an endless well of patience; it was simply that I knew my place. I had no right to be angry.

When we finally got to the kitchen, I poured Calvin a glass of plain, lukewarm water.

Even through the heavy fog of the alcohol, his eyes narrowed as I handed it to him. "Whose glass is this?" he slurred, his fingers hesitating.

"Yours," I said. My voice was entirely flat.

Only then did his shoulders drop. He brought the glass to his lips and drank.

Calvins obsessive need for sterility was something I had known from the very beginning. Early in our marriage, he had been struck by a sudden, agonizing bout of stomach cramps. In my panic to get him his medication, I had filled my own water glass and handed it to him.

When Calvin realized it was mine, he threw it. The glass shattered against the hardwood floor.

"Didn't I tell you I don't use other people's things?" he had snapped.

It was the first time I had ever seen him truly furious. I had stood there, frozen against the kitchen island, too terrified to breathe. Seeing me shrink away, his tone had softened, just a fraction. "Its not you. I just have an aversion to sharing things. Just be careful next time."

But tonight, in that velvet-lined VIP booth, sharing Briannas glass had been the most natural thing in the world.

He didn't have an aversion to sharing things. He just only wanted to share them with Brianna.

The realization hit me like a physical blow to the chest. My throat tightened, a sharp burning sensation settling behind my eyes.

It wasn't that I didn't know about Brianna. I did. But she had been living in London for years. Calvin never brought her up, and he treated everyone with the same polite, icy detachment he gave me. For a long time, I convinced myself that this was enough. That we could build a life in that cold, quiet space.

But tonight, I saw what Calvin looked like when he actually loved someone.

All the tiny indignities, the quiet rejections I had forced myself to swallow over the years, suddenly rushed back in. A tidal wave of grief threatening to pull me under.

I suddenly felt deeply, overwhelmingly exhausted.

Maybe I didn't have to carry this anymore. Maybe walking away was the only way either of us would ever survive.

02

After maneuvering Calvin into his bedroom, I retreated to my own to wash the evening off my skin.

We slept in separate rooms. It was an unspoken rule. Calvin only came to my bed every other Friday. He called it "fulfilling our marital obligations," treating my body like a recurring meeting on his calendar.

But whenever he drank, the rigid, untouchable Calvin melted away. He would become inexplicably clingy, sneaking into my room, wrapping his large frame around me, and refusing to let go until morning.

Just like tonight.

I had just slipped beneath the duvet when the door clicked open. Before I could process the shadow moving across the rug, heavy arms banded around my waist. He pulled my back flush against his chest, burying his face in my neck.

He let out a long, satisfied exhale, and within seconds, his breathing leveled out. He was asleep.

In the past, even if the sharp scent of scotch turned my stomach, I would have talked myself into staying. Just go to sleep, Id tell myself. The Montgomerys gave you a life. You owe them this much.

But tonight, the debt felt paid. I didn't want to endure it anymore.

I wrestled myself out of his iron grip. If he wanted this bed so badly, he could have it. The Montgomery estate had no shortage of guest rooms.

The moment I stepped out into the dimly lit hallway, I stopped. Hudson was standing by my door, his small brow furrowed in concern as he peered past me into the room, looking for his father.

I forced a soft smile, kneeling down to be at eye level with my son. I reached out to smooth his messy hair. "Hudson, why are you still awake, sweetie? You have school tomorrow. You need to get to bed."

Hudson swatted my hand away. He glared at me with a pair of icy blue eyes that were a terrifying replica of Calvins.

"Hermosa, you don't get to tell me what to do."

Hermosa. Not Mom.

Ever since the kids at his elite prep school had cruelly pointed out that his parents didn't love each other, and he realized my pregnancy was the only reason I was allowed into the Montgomery family, Hudson had blamed me.

He conveniently forgot the countless nights I had sat awake with him when he had the flu. He forgot how he used to curl into my lap, burying his face in my chest, whispering that I was his favorite person in the whole world.

Now, his greatest wish was that someone, anyone else, was his mother.

Watching his small silhouette retreat down the grand hallway, I let out a shaky breath, stood up, and walked into the guest room across the hall.

I locked the door, sat on the edge of the mattress, and dialed the number of my former boss, Camille.

"Camille," I said, my voice finally steady. "I've made up my mind. I'll go with you to Paris."

03

There was a brief pause on the line before Camille let out a shriek of genuine delight.

"Are you serious? Hermosa, that's incredible! Okay, get your visa paperwork expedited this week. Once I wrap up the transition here, we are on a plane."

I had majored in fashion design and worked as an assistant designer at Camilles label before I got pregnant. After marrying Calvin, I had stepped back, doing occasional freelance sketches for her just to keep my sanity. Camille was currently orchestrating a massive career move, taking her core team to helm a major luxury house in Paris. She had been begging me to come with her for months.

I had hesitated. Growing up in the foster system, the concept of a "family" was something I revered. It was a holy grail. I couldn't bear the thought of abandoning my son.

But looking at it now, Hudson didn't want me.

And I was finally starting to understand that a home isn't defined by the people who happen to live in it. Sometimes, you have to become your own home.

After hanging up, I opened my laptop. I scrolled deep into my hidden files, finally locating a PDF.

It was the divorce agreement Calvins mother had drafted for me four years ago.

04

The next morning, I walked out of the guest room just as Calvin emerged from mine.

He looked tired, running a hand through his hair, his eyes silently demanding to know why he had woken up alone in my bed.

I didn't miss a beat. "You stumbled in last night and wouldn't let go. I didn't have the energy to fight a drunk man, so I let you have the room."

A rare flash of embarrassment crossed Calvins face. He cleared his throat, looking away. "My apologies. It won't happen again."

I simply nodded, already walking past him. I headed downstairs to help the chef with breakfast.

Behind me, Calvin froze.

In the past, when I brought up his drunken affection, Id look away, my cheeks flushed with a quiet, hopeful warmth. Today, my face was entirely blank. I just looked bored.

That shift kept Calvin rooted to the top of the stairs, staring at my back for a long time.

At the breakfast table, I announced that I had errands to run. I wouldn't be driving Hudson to school, and I wouldn't be dropping off Calvins lunch at the corporate office. They were on their own.

"Where are you going?"

They asked it in perfect unison. Father and son, both staring at me as if I had just announced I was moving to Mars.

I blinked, genuinely surprised they even cared to ask.

"I'm going to the main estate," I said. "I haven't seen Evelyn in a while."

The tension in Calvins jaw visibly relaxed. The corner of his mouth twitched upward. "Wait until I get off work. I'll go with you."

I shook my head, taking a sip of my coffee. "No need. I can drive myself."

Calvins eyes narrowed into slits. He studied my face for a long, silent moment before standing up. He didn't push it.

But right before he walked out the door, he paused. "I trust I won't be hearing any unpleasant rumors coming from my mother after your visit."

I stared at him for a second, and then I couldn't help itI laughed. A short, dry sound.

He wanted to come with me to make sure I didn't tattle on him. He really thought too highly of himself. The tabloids were already having a field day with him and Brianna; Evelyn didn't need me to tell her anything.

Hudson lingered by the staircase for a long time, watching me. Maybe it was just my imagination, but beneath the resentment in his eyes, there was a flicker of hurt. A quiet betrayal.

Eventually, he let out a dramatic huff and followed the driver out the door.

I shook my head, clearing the thought. I was projecting. Hudson couldn't stand me. Why would he care if I wasn't the one driving him to school?

An hour later, I was sitting in the sunroom of the main estate. Evelyn walked in, elegantly dressed as always.

I looked at her and said the words out loud for the first time.

"I want a divorce."

05

Evelyn Montgomery was the one who had pulled me out of the group home.

Years ago, Calvins father had died in a horrific accident. The family was drowning in grief, and Evelyn, desperate and grasping at anything that felt like hope, had sponsored my education. She gave me an allowance, paid my college tuition, and treated me with a distant but genuine kindness. I worshipped the ground she walked on.

Then came that awful charity gala. Calvins drink had been spiked by an overly ambitious social climber. I had simply been in the wrong hallway at the wrong time. He was delirious, burning up, and the next morning, my life was over.

Everyone in their circle assumed I was the one who drugged him. They called me a parasite. A gold-digger who bit the hand that fed her.

Calvin knew the truth. He knew it wasn't me. But he never said a single word in my defense.

When I found out I was pregnant, Evelyn came to my tiny apartment. She sat on my thrifted sofa and begged me to keep the baby. Calvin and Brianna had gone through a brutal breakup a year prior, and Calvin was spiraling. He refused to marry. He refused to move on. Evelyn saw the child as an anchor for a drowning man.

She promised me that if I just had the baby, I could divorce him whenever I wanted.

Looking at the woman who had saved me from poverty, watching the tears spill down her cheeks, I said yes.

When Hudson was born, I fell in love with him. I couldn't leave. I rationalized it, telling myself that a loveless marriage in a mansion was better than the freezing nights I had spent in the foster system.

I had vastly overestimated my ability to survive without love.

Sitting in the sunroom now, Evelyn didn't yell. She didn't shame me or beg me to stay. She simply picked up her phone, called the family lawyers, and had them bring out the paperwork. She sat beside me, explaining every clause, ensuring I was protected.

She acted more like a mother than a mother-in-law.

I hadn't realized that signing those papers would make me an extraordinarily wealthy woman.

When I finally stood up to leave, Evelyn reached out and gently squeezed my hand.

"Hermosa," she said softly. "Thank you."

My throat locked up. Tears threatened to spill. Evelyn had always been good to me. She had kept her distance when we married, giving us space, never interfering. She was a better woman than Calvin deserved.

06

I was barely through my front door when my phone rang. It was Calvins executive assistant.

He sounded stressed, explaining that because I hadn't brought lunch, Calvin was refusing to eat. He was terrified Calvins ulcer would flare up before his afternoon meetings, and begged me to make something quick and bring it down.

My immediate instinct was to say no. But then I thought of Evelyn, and the grace she had just shown me.

I sighed. "Fine. I'll be there in an hour."

When I reached the executive floor, the corridor was quiet. As I approached Calvins office, the door was slightly ajar. I could hear him talking to his oldest friend, a guy who ran a tech firm downtown.

"So, the rumors are true? You and Brianna are playing house again?" his friend asked, a smirk audible in his voice.

I heard the scratch of a fountain pen stop. "Don't believe everything you read. And if you keep talking out of line, Ill have your father drag you out of my office."

His friend laughed. "Come on, man. Its me. If it was fake, your PR team would have killed the story by now. Look, if youre still hung up on Brianna, just divorce Hermosa. Marry the girl you actually want. Put everybody out of their misery."

"No." Calvins rejection was instantaneous and sharp.

There was a long stretch of silence before Calvin continued, his voice lowering. "Brianna has ambitions. She has a career she loves. I can't tie her down to this life. It would ruin her."

"And Hermosa?"

"Hermosa..." Calvin hesitated. "She keeps the house running. She takes good care of me and Hudson."

His friend snorted. "So youre keeping her around as a highly paid nanny?"

Calvin didn't answer.

Standing in the hallway, the polished wooden box containing his carefully prepared lunch suddenly felt incredibly heavy.

So that was it. He wouldn't divorce me because I was convenient. I folded his laundry, managed his diet, and raised his son. Meanwhile, Brianna was a goddess meant for a pedestal. He loved her too much to burden her with the reality of being his wife.

And me? What the hell was I to him?

I realized then that if you spend your life settling for scraps, people will eventually assume that scraps are all you deserve.

I didn't walk into the office. I turned around, took the elevator down to the lobby, and handed the expensive lunch box to the stunned janitor cleaning the glass doors.

That night, Calvin and I barely spoke. But when I went to close my bedroom door, he was standing in the frame, blocking my way.

"What is it?" I asked, exhaustion seeping into my bones.

Calvins jaw ticked. "Its Friday."

07

I had completely forgotten. It was our scheduled night.

Calvin cultivated an image of a cold, ascetic businessman, but behind closed doors, he was entirely different. He was demanding, possessive, and unrelenting. He claimed he wouldn't kiss me, but in the dark, when the control slipped, he would fist his hands in my hair, drag my mouth to his, and swallow my breath. He would demand I say his name, over and over, until my voice gave out.

But I was leaving him. The thought of letting him touch me made my skin crawl.

"Not tonight. I have my period."

I tried to shut the door, but his hand shot out, wrapping around my wrist like a vice.

"Your cycle doesn't start for another week," he said, his eyes dark and calculating.

I hadn't expected him to keep track. I yanked my arm, trying to break his grip, my temper finally flaring. "It's early. Is that a crime?"

I didn't care if he believed me or not. I ripped my hand free, stepped inside, and slammed the door in his face, locking it with a sharp click.

I heard him stand in the hallway for a long, heavy minute before his footsteps finally retreated.

Sometime in the middle of the night, the mattress dipped.

Before I could fully wake up, large, burning-hot hands pulled me backward. He buried his face in my hair, his voice a low, stubborn murmur against my ear.

"Just because you have your period doesn't mean we can't share a bed."

I pushed at his arms, trying to wedge some space between us, but it was like fighting a statue. Eventually, the sheer exhaustion of the day pulled me under, and I let him hold me.

When I woke up, the bed was empty.

Arthur had already taken Hudson to school. I grabbed my purse and headed downtown to finalize my French visa.

On the drive back, a pang of guilt hit me. Should I sit Calvin and Hudson down? Tell them about the divorce properly? They were my family, no matter how broken we were.

But the moment I walked through the front door, that guilt evaporated.

Calvin, Brianna, and Hudson were sitting in the living room. It was a picture-perfect domestic scene. The moment Hudson saw me, he scrambled off the sofa and threw his arms around Briannas neck.

"Dad and Brianna came to pick me up from school today! It was the best day ever," Hudson announced loudly, his eyes darting toward me to ensure I caught every word. "I wish Brianna could pick me up every single day."

08

Brianna let out a musical laugh, stroking Hudsons hair with practiced affection. "If you want, sweetie, I can try to make time to come get you."

Calvin remained seated. He met my gaze, offering only a brief, dismissive explanation. "Brianna said she missed Hudson. I brought her over."

I felt remarkably hollow. I didn't even look at my son. I walked straight up to Calvin.

"Do you have a minute? I need to speak with you privately."

Calvin sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as if I were a toddler throwing a tantrum. "Hermosa, really? Are we doing this now?"

"Doing what?"

"I know you're threatened by Brianna, but she is a guest in our home, and I expect you to treat her with respect. Whatever you're upset about, we can discuss it tonight. Brianna mentioned she was craving those sweet and sour ribs you make. Go tell the chef, or better yet, make them yourself."

Brianna immediately pressed a hand to her chest, her eyes wide with mock horror. "Calvin, don't be awful! Hermosa isn't the help. We can't ask her to cook for me. I wouldn't even know how to turn on an oven."

"Its fine," Calvin waved her off dismissively. "Shes not like you. She's used to doing this kind of stuff."

"Oh. Well, if you don't mind, Hermosa, that would be wonderful," Brianna smiled at me. The look in her eyes was a lethal mix of triumph and pity.

I took a slow, deep breath.

He had given my meticulously prepared lunch to Brianna. Of course he had.

Suddenly, I had absolutely nothing left to say to this man. It was embarrassing how long I had tried to make him see me.

"I have a headache. If you're hungry, figure it out yourselves."

I turned and headed for the stairs.

Just then, the doorbell rang. It was Calvins assistant, looking pale and deeply uncomfortable. He carried a sleek leather folder. He walked into the living room, glancing nervously at me, then at Brianna, before finally handing the folder to Calvin.

"Sir, there's... another document that needs your signature."

"What is it?" Calvin asked, annoyed by the interruption.

"Its... well. It was couriered over by your mothers office this afternoon. Its a divorce settlement."

The room went dead silent.

Calvin and Hudson both snapped their heads toward me. Even Brianna looked genuinely shocked, her perfectly glossed lips parting in surprise.

Calvin flipped open the folder. As his eyes scanned the thick, legal paragraphs, the expensive pen in his hand snapped. Ink bled over his knuckles.

He looked up, his voice dangerously quiet, vibrating with barely contained rage.

"You want a divorce?"