My Wife Handed Me My Bride

Every time my wife brought home a new boy toy, she made sure to bring back a college girl for me.

I need some excitement, and you need company, shed say, her voice dripping with casual indifference. We both get what we need. No hard feelings, right?

But this time, she flew too close to the sun.

Stroking her slightly rounded three-month-old belly, she spoke to me with a veneer of sweet, reasonable negotiation:

"We slipped up, and I got pregnant. Troy wants me to give him some status before he agrees to let me carry this baby to term. So, we need a temporary divorce."

"Until we get back together, you can play around with her. I won't stand in your way."

I looked at the seemingly innocent home-wrecker standing beside her, and then at the college girl on the other side, whose ears were burning a bright, embarrassed red.

I looked up and smiled.

"Sure. Whatever you want."

The cigarette dangling from her lips froze.

Every time Marina brought a young boy home, she made sure to have a college girl in tow for me.

For three years, she had never missed a beat.

In the past, I would face them with a cold expression and hand over a check.

Five thousand, ten thousand, sometimes thirty thousand dollars.

Id tell them to take the money and get the hell out of my house.

Marinas circle of friends used to mock me behind my back. They said I had a ridiculous moral purity complexthat if I so much as touched another woman, my skin would crawl off.

Marina believed them.

That was why she was so utterly fearless. She brought woman after woman into my home, parading them before me just to test my limits and trample on my remaining dignity.

But this last time, she brought Troy.

He was a young college student with clear, clean eyes and a low, soothing voice. And alongside him, she brought Ivy.

Ivy was different. She was five-foot-eight, a top pre-law student, a mock trial champion, and on a full academic scholarship.

Marina had spent real money this time. This wasn't some random girl she had picked up from a nightclub.

"We slipped up," Marina said, her hand resting on her stomach as she spoke in a tone so light she might have been commenting on the weather. "Troy wants a ring before he lets me carry this baby to term. We need a quick, temporary divorce."

"Until we get back together, you can do whatever you want with her. I won't care."

Later, in the hallway, I overheard her friend Lauren asking her in a hushed whisper, "Marina, seriously? This is the man you climbed ninety-nine wet stone steps at St. Jude's Cathedral on your bare knees to pray for. Are you really this generous?"

"Yeah," Rachel chimed in. "You didn't even give that college girl any ground rules. What if she actually touches Dylan?"

Marina took a slow, elegant drag of her cigarette. "I don't have a cuckold kink. You all know Dylans obsessive need for absolute fidelity. He won't touch her."

"Ah, Marina, you're brilliant. You bring the girl to his doorstep, but if he doesn't use what's offered, that's his problem. It's the perfect crime."

I stood at the top of the stairs, hearing every word clear as day.

In the past, I would have stormed down. I would have smashed a glass, screamed at her, and demanded to know how she could treat me this way. And then she would have looked at me with cold amusement and asked, "Are you done throwing a tantrum yet?"

Then would come the weeks of agonizing silence, followed eventually by the arrival of the next girl.

But today, I didn't storm down.

I walked down the stairs calmly.

Every eye in the living room turned to me. Marina looked up, a smug, victorious grin hovering at the corner of her lips. She expected the usualthe thrown check, the demands for them to leave, the tearful fight.

Instead, I looked up and smiled.

"Sure. Whatever you want."

The living room fell into a sudden, heavy silence.

Lauren was the first to react. "Wait, Dylan, what did you just say?"

I set my phone down, my gaze sliding past Marina to land directly on Ivy.

"I said sure."

I looked her up and down.

"She is actually quite beautiful."

Someone in the back gasped.

"Dylan actually agreed?!"

"No way. He's not kicking her out this time?"

"Marina, did you hear that?"

Marinas expression didn't change. That faint, confident smirk remained on her face, but the fingers holding her cigarette tightened slightly.

Troy, looking a bit nervous, clung tighter to Marinas arm. "Marina, he's finally seeing reason. You should be happy."

Marina didn't reply. She stubbed her cigarette out in the glass ashtray, walked over to Ivy, and patted her on the shoulder.

"Take good care of him."

With that, she wrapped her arm around Troy and headed upstairs.

I withdrew my gaze and looked at Ivy, who was still standing in the same spot, her ears burning red.

"Are you staying here, or do you need to go back to campus?"

She swallowed hard, her voice quiet and thin. "Either... either is fine."

"Then stay here."

I turned and walked down the hallway. Behind me, the whispers started up again, sharp and quiet.

"Is he serious this time?"

"Usually he throws a fit that ruins the whole night!"

"Oh, relax, Marina knows him. He's just trying to get a rise out of her. Remember the last one? He had security throw her out on the lawn."

"He's probably just doing this to spite her because Troy got her pregnant."

I kept walking, the words pricking at my back like tiny needles. They didn't cause a sharp pain, but they left a dull, aching throb.

They were right. I had been foolishly proud. I had been too convinced that my refusal to touch anyone else would somehow protect my marriage.

But what did my emotional cleanliness actually protect?

A signed divorce agreement. An empty bed. The laughingstock of her social circle.

At the door of the guest bedroom, I pushed it open.

"Here you go."

I leaned against the doorframe, watching Ivy stand nervously in the room, her fingers twisting the hem of her shirt.

"Are you doing this for the money?" I asked.

She nodded. No hesitation. No excuses.

The old Dylan would have scoffed, thrown a check, and told her to get out. I would have stood on my moral high ground, treating every girl Marina brought home as if they were dirt.

And what did that get me? The girls left, but Marina never stayed.

In truth, none of those girls were dirtier than she was.

"Let the housekeeper know if you need anything," I said, walking into the room.

She followed me inside. "I'm Ivy," she murmured.

"I know," I said without looking back. "Marina told me."

I walked out onto the balcony. I didn't ask her to follow, and she didn't try to.

Below, the guests were finally leaving. I had lost count of how many times they had gathered here to watch my life fall apart.

Returning to the bedroom, I glanced at the divorce papers sitting on the nightstand.

For three years, I had closed my eyes to her behavior because of what had happened back then. We both had our debts to pay.

At first, I told her: "just don't bring them home."

Then I said: "just make sure you use protection."

I had retreated step by step, and she had pushed further and further.

Now, since we were both thoroughly exhausted by this marriage, there was no point in hesitating.

I picked up the pen and signed my name.

Ivy had just finished her shower and walked out of the bathroom, her hair half-damp. The moment she saw me, her ears flushed red again.

"I'm... I'm done washing up."

I stood up. Marina had really chosen someone who blushed easily this time.

The previous girls usually had a look of resentment in their eyes when I paid them to leave. One had even screamed at me: "Are you two crazy? One pushes us in, the other kicks us out. What do you think we are?"

I had only looked at her coldly and said, "Take the money and shut up."

Now, I realized she was right. We were both sick. One had a craving for betrayal, and the other had a pathological need for purity.

My phone buzzed. A text from Marina: "Go to sleep early."

I stared at the words, finding them laughably absurd. She had never sent me texts like this before. She only sent it now because I had kept Ivy.

Because she realized that the husband who "never touches anyone" might actually do it this time.

I didn't reply.

The lights outside went out, and the entire house fell silent.

Troy had moved in, and Ivy had moved in.

This place finally felt like a landfilla dump where anyone could be thrown. Including me.

I switched off the light, a faint, mocking smile on my face in the dark.

She thought I was still the same Dylan. She thought I didn't dare. She thought I would always keep myself clean for her.

She was wrong.

The next morning, when I went downstairs, Ivy was in the kitchen helping the housekeeper. When she saw me, she almost dropped the spatula.

I smiled. Where had the brave girl from last night gone?

Just as I sat down at the dining table, Marina came downstairs.

"Up so early?" She sat across from me, a cryptic smile on her face. "How was last night?"

Before I could answer, the front door was pushed open.

Lauren rushed in first. "Marina, Marina, who won the bet? I put down twenty grand that he wouldn't last until noon!"

"I bet hed kick her out last night. Three-to-one odds!"

The excitement died instantly when they saw me sitting there.

"Dylan... morning!"

Marina picked up her coffee and took a sip, her expression relaxed, as if her friends weren't treating her marriage like a casino game.

"Sit down," I said. "Breakfast is ready."

I turned to Ivy. "You should get ready for class."

Ivy blinked, took off her apron, and slipped out the door.

Once the front door closed, Lauren lowered her voice. "See? He sent her away anyway."

Rachel laughed. "Of course. Marina knows him inside out. That's how you train a husbandone who stays home and never strays."

Marina sat there, finishing her egg, the corner of her mouth curving up in satisfaction.

I took a breath and walked out of the dining room.

Marina and I spoke almost at the exact same moment

"Come back to the family estate for dinner tonight..."

"Meet me at the courthouse at two this afternoon..."

The room went quiet.

I laid the signed divorce papers on the table. "Let's get this done first."

Marina froze, her eyes locking onto my signature.

She expected me to tear the paper to pieces, weeping and asking her why she was doing this. She expected a fight.

She looked up, her tone lazy. "What's the rush? I told you we'd wait until the pregnancy stabilizes."

"I can't wait," I said. "Two o'clock. Will you be there?"

Her eyelids twitched. "Dylan, are you out of your mind?"

"You wouldn't want me to change my mind and tear up the papers when I wake up, would you?"

Troy came down the stairs then, his voice soft and trembling. "Dylan, please don't be angry. I just don't want the baby to be born with any stigma... We can wait until Marina's pregnancy is safe. Otherwise, her health might suffer..."

He looked so fragile, his eyes red as he clutched his shirt. He looked more devastated by the divorce than I was.

Marina looked at Troy. His delicate, submissive act, combined with his gentle pleading, seemed to poke at her pride. Since when did she need anyone to push her into a decision?

"Dylan, you think I don't dare sign?" She laughed, grabbed the pen, and signed her name with a flourish.

She threw the pen back onto the table. "I keep my word. Everyone here is a witness."

"Once Troys baby is born, well get remarried."

She stood up and leaned in close to my ear, her voice dripping with possessive affection. "You're the man I dragged back from the edge of death. No one out there can compare to you. This child... only you have the right to raise it, understand?"

I let out a soft laugh.

So this was her version of love.

I didn't say another word. I grabbed my pre-packed suitcase and walked out the door.

Behind me, Troys voice drifted out. "Marina... is he really not coming back?"

Marina held an unlit cigarette in her mouth, silent.

In her original plan, we would divorce but still live under the same roof. My sudden departure was entirely unexpected.

But she didn't let it show. "You," she said, glancing at Troy. "With Dylan gone, you must be thrilled deep down."

"No, of course not!" Troy hung his head. "How could you say that? My upbringing wouldn't let me destroy a marriage... It's all for the baby."

He looked so vulnerable, like a child terrified of being abandoned. It instantly disarmed her anger.

"Alright, I'm just teasing."

Troy was much smarter than the others. He didn't send me smug texts or call me to gloat. He played the innocent victim, making sure Marina always felt the need to protect him.

At 1:50 PM, I sat on the bench at the courthouse. I dialed Marinas number for the ninth time.

She finally picked up. "Where are you?" I asked.

"I'm at the hospital with Troy for his appointment. I can't leave right now. Just wait for me, I'll head over when we're done."

"I told you, our appointment is at two."

"The courthouse isn't going to run away," she said, as if placating a difficult child. "Wait until we're finished."

Wait. Always waiting.

I watched the couples passing through the lobbysome crying, some entirely numb. I had cried like that once. And her temporary softness had always been my "reward."

But today, that wasn't the reward I wanted.

The clerk called the next number.

I pulled out my phone and texted my lawyer.

"Mr. Lawson, let's file for a contested divorce. I'll send you the materials this afternoon."

That evening, after several urgent calls from Grandpa Richard, I went back to the family estate.

The entire drive over, I wondered how to explain things to him.

Should I tell him his granddaughter was pregnant by a boy toy? That she was forcing me into a divorce? Or that I was already moving forward with a lawsuit?

Family debts are always more tangled than legal ones.

When I walked in, I was alone. Grandpa paused. "Where's Marina?"

"She's busy," I said.

"Busy?" He slammed his silverware onto the table. "What could be more important than her husband?"

I remained silent.

Grandpa Richard and my father had been brothers-in-arms, surviving combat together in their youth. He had championed our marriage from the start, though Marinas mother, Catherine, had been fiercely opposed. She looked down on my family background and thought my childhood illnesses made me a liability.

But Marina had refused to let go.

She had gone to St. Judes Cathedral, kneeling on the cold stone steps in a freezing rain, dragging herself up all ninety-nine steps until her knees were bloody.

She had prayed: "I don't even have to end up with him, just let him live."

When I found out, I had wept. From then on, I stopped hiding. I told her if she was brave enough to marry me, I was brave enough to stand beside her.

And indeed, my health recovered. I married into her family, and Grandpa Richard transferred a third of his private stock options to my name to ensure I would be respected within the family.

I used to think her mother was our only obstacle. Now I knew better.

The front door opened, and Marina walked in, her arm looped through Troy's. She froze when she saw me.

Grandpas face darkened instantly. "What kind of trash are you bringing into my house?"

Marina sat down next to Troy, her tone casual. "Grandpa, it's just dinner. Don't make a scene."

Then she shot me a look. "Dylan, you should leave first. I didn't think you'd come tonight. This is Troy's night, okay?"

I let out a soft laugh.

Troy's night. She was so eager to establish his place that she brought him to meet her family before our divorce was even finalized.

Catherine came downstairs, her gaze sweeping over me before landing on Troy. "So this is the new one? Our family certainly has a habit of attracting low-class grifters."

One sentence, insulting both of us.

In the past, Marina would have stood in front of me and declared, "Dylan is the man I chose."

But today, she frowned and shielded Troy. "Mom, don't talk about my partner that way."

Her voice was fiercer than it had ever been for me.

Troy leaned against her, his eyes red, playing the victim. I stood up quietly. "I'm leaving."

Grandpa tried to keep me, but I didn't stay. Marina didn't even look up.

Walking out of the estate, those ninety-nine steps crossed my mind again.

"Just let him live," she had prayed.

Well, she got her wish. I was alive, and we were done.

The divorce proceedings went surprisingly fast. Marina likely assumed that once the baby was born, we would simply remarry and return to normal.

On the day we signed the mediation agreement, she arrived forty minutes late, but she signed without hesitation.

Afterward, she leaned in, her voice uncharacteristically soft. "Didn't you always want a beach wedding?"

"When we remarry, I'll plan it myself. The island, the white dress, everything you wanted."

I looked at her. "Marina, don't bother."

She smiled. "I know you think we don't need to put on a show, but I owe you a real wedding. I want to make it up to you."

I shook my head. "In a week..."

Before I could finish, her phone rang. She answered, then stood up abruptly. "What do you mean he's not feeling well? I'm on my way!"

She took two steps, then paused to look back at me. "I know the divorce is officially finalized in a week, but that's just a legal formality. The papers belong to the court, but you belong to me. Those are two different things."

She patted my shoulder and hurried out.

Standing outside the mediation room, I quietly finished my sentence: "...In a week, you won't just receive the divorce decree."

The day the official divorce decree was delivered to the estate, Grandpa Richard called Marina back in a fury.

"I don't care what you have to do, call Dylan back here right now. I have things to say to him."

"Once I'm done, if you still want to go through with this ridiculous divorce, I won't stop you."

Marina frowned. Though she didn't know what Grandpa wanted, she knew deep down how chaotic this divorce had been.

Her phone had been silent for a week. No texts, no calls from me.

She claimed she didn't care, but the emptiness was settling in. She had never gone a whole week without speaking to me. She needed an excuse to reach out, and Grandpa had just handed her one.

"Fine, fine," she sighed, pulling out her phone. "So annoying. I'll call him."

Despite her words, her fingers flew across the screen faster than usual.

She pressed call.

She cleared her throat, rehearsing her opening line. Should she say, "Dylan, Grandpa wants you to come to the estate," or "Stop acting like a child, we aren't actually separated, are you really not coming home?"

The call connected.

A voice on the other end spoke first: "Hello, the groom is currently busy with the toasts. Are you a guest of the groom?"