Split Our Worlds, Leave One Another Alone

On the eve of our college graduation, I got pregnant.

Oliver knelt before me, his eyes bloodshot with tears as he slipped a cheap ring onto my finger, weeping as he promised to spend the rest of his life making me happy.

After that, I stayed home to raise our child while he threw himself into the brutal grind of starting a business from scratch.

He used to look at me with such fierce devotion, whispering, "Elena, Im going to give you the grandest wedding this city has ever seen. Its the least I owe you."

Now, our daughter is five years old. I was currently preparing our wedding for the sixth time, personally selecting every single crystal flute for the champagne tower.

But once again, Oliver stood me up.

"Elena, this Chicago merger is make-or-break for the company. I have to fly out tonight."

"Let's find another date for the wedding. I just can't pull myself away right now. Next time, I promise!"

I opened my mouth, wanting to ask him if his work was truly more important than his own family, when a soft, familiar voice drifted through the receiver.

"Oliver, I booked the spa hotel. Once we're finished with the clients, we can go for a soak."

Isla's voice, sweet and light, detonated like a bomb in my mind.

He had time to travel to Chicago and soak in a hot spring with his new assistant, but he couldn't spare a single afternoon to stand at the altar with me.

I calmly closed my fingers, crushing the crystal champagne flute in my hand.

There won't be a next time, Oliver.

I don't want this wedding anymore.

Sharp shards of glass dug deep into my palm, and hot, crimson blood began to seep down my wrist, dripping onto the pristine white roses on the table.

I stared at the stains, unable to feel any physical pain.

Oliver was too busy to marry me, but he had all the time in the world to pamper his assistant.

But in the beginning, it wasn't like this.

The year we graduated, we lived in a damp, cramped basement studio. Even when we were down to our last dollar, he would always pick the only piece of sausage out of the instant noodles and force me to eat it.

When my morning sickness started, he was running himself ragged trying to secure clients, drinking until he threw up.

He would lean against the bathroom door, his face pale as he offered me a weak, exhausted smile.

"Elena, trust me. Im going to build a real future for you and our baby."

We were so young back then.

We honestly believed the future was ours for the taking. We believed that love could conquer any obstacle, that the sacrifices of youth would eventually pay off.

I had stolen my own birth certificate from my parents' house, defying their wishes to elope with him.

The day I left, my mother had slapped me across the face, her hands shaking with rage and grief.

"I didn't pay for your education just so you could drop out and become a housewife the second you graduate!"

I had clutched my pregnant belly, stubborn and defiant.

"Mom! I know he's the one! I'm not making a mistake!"

Now, as my tears mingled with the blood on my hands, the bitter truth finally settled in.

I had chosen the wrong man.

"Mommy, you're bleeding! Let me blow on it so it stops hurting!"

My daughter's soft, lisping voice pulled me back from the edge of my memories. My mother let out a sharp gasp, rushing over with a first-aid kit to wrap my hand.

I quickly pulled my hand behind my back, trying to force a reassuring smile.

"I'm fine, Mom. Can you take Grace to the playground? I don't want to scare her."

My mother looked at me, her eyes filled with a mixture of pity and quiet rage.

"Oliver cancelled again, didn't he? He"

"Mom, please. Not in front of Grace."

My mother closed her mouth, instantly masking her anger with a bright smile for her granddaughter.

"Come on, Grace, let's go get some ice cream."

The front door clicked shut, the silence of the apartment settling over me like a heavy shroud.

Was there any point in continuing this marriage?

In the end, I had failed to escape the oldest clich in the book. Once a man climbs to the top, the first thing he cuts down is the woman who held the ladder.

After the clinic doctor finished dressing my hand, I sat on the plastic chairs in the hallway, watching the bustling crowd.

I saw couples holding hands, mothers kissing their toddlers, siblings laughing.

And then, I saw a husband and his muse.

Oliver and Isla.

"Oliver, I'm so incredibly sorry," Isla murmured, her face pale but her eyes sparkling with a delicate, helpless look. "If my cramps hadn't started acting up, we wouldn't have missed our meeting with the Chicago team."

"Don't worry about it," Oliver said softly, carrying a small pharmacy bag as he walked right past my bench without noticing me. "We can always reschedule the clients. Your health comes first."

I stared at their retreating figures.

Isla was holding his arm, her head resting lightly against his shoulder. They looked like a beautiful, devoted young couple.

I was the only outsider.

He could reschedule the clients. He could reschedule our wedding. But he could never, under any circumstances, allow his sweet assistant to suffer.

Cramps.

I let out a bitter, silent laugh. Oliver had completely forgotten that I suffered from severe menstrual pain too.

It was a lingering complication from a difficult postpartum recovery when he was too busy to hire a nurse. In the beginning, I used to tell him about the pain, and he would rush to help.

I've got the heating pad, the medication, and some warm tea ready for you, babe.

But as the years went on, his sympathy mutated into irritation.

"Just take some Advil and get over it, Elena. I'm dealing with a multi-million dollar merger right now. Stop being so dramatic."

Eventually, I stopped talking about it. And eventually, he forgot it even existed.

During those agonizing nights when the pain kept me awake, I would lay in the dark, listening to the steady, rhythmic sound of his snoring, weeping silently as I whispered his own words back to myself.

Just get over it. Stop being so dramatic.

You're a mother now. You have to be strong.

Late that night, after my mother and Grace had fallen asleep, I sat alone in the dark living room, making phone calls.

"Yes, I'd like to cancel the venue. No, not a postponement. A complete cancellation. There will be no wedding."

"I understand the deposit is non-refundable. Please process the paperwork according to the contract."

"And the invitations? Yes, please toss them in the trash."

I didn't realize my mother was standing behind me until I felt her hand rest gently on my shoulder. The dim light from the hallway caught the tears shimmering in her eyes.

"Mom," I whispered, my voice cracking. "You were right. I chose the wrong man."

She pulled me into a tight, warm embrace. "It's okay, sweetheart. Times have changed. No one says you have to spend the rest of your life paying for one mistake."

"I just want to be alone for a bit."

"Alright."

Years ago, my mother had threatened to disown me when I packed my bags to run away with Oliver. But during my darkest days, when I was recovering from childbirth in that freezing basement, she was the one who showed up to cook my meals and watch the baby.

I sat on the sofa for two hours, staring at the blank television screen.

The sound of the electronic lock chimed at the door. I looked up, expecting Oliver, but the door opened to reveal Isla.

"Mrs. Cole," Isla said, offering a polite, practiced smile. "I came to pack some of Olivers suits. The Chicago trip is going to be extended, and he needs some fresh clothes."

I stared at her, my blood turning to ice. Oliver had given the passcode to our family home to an assistant.

"Isla, my husband is your boss, not your college roommate. You should address him as Mr. Cole."

"And you seem to have a habit of crossing boundaries."

Isla didn't look remotely bothered. "But Oliver always tells me to call him by his first name. We went to the same university, you know. I'm only a few years behind him."

She watched me closely, a spark of malicious triumph in her eyes.

"By the way, Mrs. Cole, I heard you got pregnant right after graduation. Is the child actually his? People at the alumni association said you ruined your own reputation back then, and Oliver was just playing the hero to save you."

Her words hit me like a physical blow. For a split second, I wanted to shatter my mug against her face.

But my mother and my daughter were sleeping in the next room, and I refused to disturb them.

"Get out," I said, my voice dangerously calm. "Wait in the hallway. Ill pack his bags myself."

I threw three suits into a garment bag and shoved them into her hands, locking my eyes onto hers.

"This is my home. If you ever set foot in here again, I will have you arrested for trespassing."

Isla glanced down at the bandage on my hand and let out a soft, mocking chuckle.

"Honestly, Mrs. Cole, my cramps weren't even that bad today. But Oliver was just so frantic to take care of me, I couldn't stop him."

"Oh, and I saw you at the clinic. You looked very lonely."

The heavy door clicked shut, her smug, youthful face vanishing from sight. Even though my chest was bursting with a wild, suffocating rage, I still made sure the door closed with a quiet, gentle click.

I immediately pulled out my phone and sent a message to Oliver.

Why did you give our house passcode to an assistant?

An hour later, his reply arrived.

I'm in the middle of a major presentation, Elena. I'm incredibly busy.

Can you please stop starting fights over nothing?

I won't be home tonight. Pulling an all-nighter at the office.

I clutched the phone until my fingers turned white, the freshly wrapped bandage on my hand beginning to stain with fresh blood.

What presentation could possibly be so important that he had to stay up all night? And if he was so busy, how did he have the time to personally escort his assistant to the clinic earlier?

I dialed his number.

"Oliver, about the wedding"

His exhausted, irritable voice cut me off immediately.

"We'll do it when this merger is settled, Elena! I promise!"

"Stop nagging me! I am working myself to the bone here!"

"Can you, just once, try to be supportive of my career?"

Perhaps realizing his tone was too harsh, his voice softened slightly.

"The stress of starting this business is killing me, Elena. I have fifty employees depending on me for their livelihood."

"And everything I do, I do for you and Grace."

I hung up.

Every time he claimed his neglect was "for the sake of the family," a wave of absolute disgust washed over me. Over the past five years, he hadn't just neglected mehe had completely missed our daughter's childhood.

By three in the morning, the silence of the apartment became unbearable. My heart was pounding, my hands shaking as my mind spun out into a spiral of dark, painful thoughts.

An empty office. Late at night. Just the two of them.

Were they kissing? Were they holding each other?

Without thinking, I grabbed my car keys, ran down to the garage, and floored the accelerator toward his office.

I was going to kick his door open. I was going to scream at them, to let the entire world know what a hypocrite he was.

Oliver, you absolute bastard, I'm divorcing you!

But when I reached the executive floor, the office was entirely dark. The only light came from the glass conference room at the end of the hall.

Oliver was slumped over the mahogany table, fast asleep. Drafts and financial reports were scattered all around him.

He really had been working.

Isla was standing beside him, quietly organizing the papers into neat folders. She looked up and caught sight of me standing in the shadows outside the glass door.

Our eyes met.

And then, with agonizing slowness, she leaned down and pressed a soft, lingering kiss onto Olivers lips.

Oliver stirred, rubbing his eyes as he woke up. They stared at each other, Isla deliberately leaning forward so that her low-cut collar brushed against his arm. Olivers gaze dropped to her exposed skin, his eyes lingering there for a long, quiet moment.

"Oliver," Isla whispered, her voice sweet and teasing. "If you postpone the wedding again, won't your wife be heartbroken?"

Oliver looked away, a smug, self-satisfied smirk playing on his lips.

"No. Shes been with me for eight years, and our daughter is five. She has nowhere else to go."

"Her reputation was ruined in college, and she has no professional skills. Shes stuck with me for the rest of her life."

Isla smiled, wrapping her arms around his shoulders as she leaned in for another kiss.

"I'll never leave you, Oliver. I'd gladly have your babies, and I don't care about a piece of marriage paper."

Oliver didn't push her away.

Separated by a single sheet of glass, they embraced, while I stood in the dark, listening to the sound of my own heart breaking.

It was a sharp, clean sound. Like a crystal glass shattering on stone.

Whether they had actually slept together was no longer important. This marriage was over.

I drove like a lunatic on the highway, the roaring engine echoing my silent screams. I pushed the car to its absolute limit, the wind howling past the windows as my chest felt ready to burst.

I almost crashed into the concrete barrier.

With a deafening screech of tires, the car fish-tailed and came to a sudden halt, the silence of the night rushing back to fill the cabin.

My fingers were shaking violently, and the bandage on my hand was completely soaked through with blood. I gripped the steering wheel, my chest heaving as I gasped for air.

I had almost killed myself over a pathetic, cheating coward.

I raised my hand and slapped myself hard across the face, the sting of it clearing the remaining fog from my mind.

Love is not that important, I told myself. And marriage is nothing but a contract.

My phone buzzed. It was my mother.

"Elena, where are you? Grace woke up crying, looking for you."

My daughter's small, trembling voice came through the line. "Mommy, please come home. I want a hug."

I wiped the tears from my face, my voice softening instantly. "I'm on my way, sweetie. Mommy will be home in five minutes to hold you."

Thank goodness I had hit the brakes. Thank goodness I was still alive.

A notification popped up on my screen. It was a photo from Isla. She was lying in Oliver's arms, his shirt partially unbuttoned to reveal several dark red marks on his collarbone.

Old lady, I know you saw us tonight.

He told me you're like a dead fish in bed anyway.

I looked at the screen, my mind completely calm. I tapped the screen and saved the photo to a secure drive.

My daughter was waiting for me. Compared to her, my husband was nothing. His assistant was nothing.

At dawn, a text from Oliver arrived.

I'm boarding my flight to Chicago now. I'll bring back a souvenir for you and Grace.

Take care of the house, you're the only one I trust to handle things.

Followed immediately by a message from Isla.

Heading to Chicago for a spa retreat with Oliver! Aren't you jealous, old lady?

During the week Oliver was away, I prepared the divorce.

I hired a prominent family lawyer to handle the asset division, while I focused on systematically erasing his presence from my daughter's life.

For seven days, Oliver didn't call me once. I only knew his schedule because Isla was posting daily updates of their luxurious hotel suite and private dinners.

It was almost comical. Without his mistress's posts, I would have had no idea where my own husband was. Our social circles were completely separate.

In the beginning, I used to fight about this.

"Oliver, I'm your wife! We're legally married! Why isn't there a single trace of me on your social media?"

And he would always offer the same soothing lies. "I want to wait for the wedding, babe. I want to introduce you and Grace to the world with a grand, unforgettable celebration."

Now, I realized he simply never wanted anyone to know we existed.

I went to pick up Grace from school as usual, but a horrific drunk-driving accident near the gates left several children injured, and Grace was rushed to the emergency ward with minor cuts and bruises.

As I sat by her bed, wrapping her scratches, she looked at the other children whose fathers were holding them, her eyes turning red.

"Mommy, why do all my classmates have their daddies here? Why is it always just you?"

"Be good, sweetie. Daddy is on his way."

Isla's posts from yesterday confirmed they had returned to the city. But Oliver hadn't sent a single message to check on us.

I dialed his number. He answered after several rings, his voice hushed.

"I'm driving to a client's office right now, Elena."

"Okay. Drive safe."

I hung up, looking at the disappointment in my daughter's eyes. I felt a crushing wave of guilt, unable to explain to her that we were about to become a single-parent family.

"Mom! I heard Leo was admitted! I came as fast as I could!"

Isla's panicked voice echoed down the hallway as she rushed into the pediatric ward. Behind her stood Oliver.

The boy in the next bed was Isla's younger brother.

The boy's mother looked up, offering a grateful smile. "Mr. Cole, thank you so much for coming personally."

Oliver smiled warmly. "Isla's family is my family. It's the least I could do."

"Daddy!"

Grace's high, trembling voice cut through the room, making everyone freeze.

Oliver turned, his eyes widening in absolute horror as his gaze met mine.

"Elena... I"

"So, your important client is your daughter's classmate's family," I said, my voice dead and empty. "And your priority is Islas brother."

"I'll leave you to your family duties. We're going home."

I scooped Grace into my arms and walked out without looking back. Oliver tried to follow, but Isla caught his sleeve.

"Oliver, the Chicago clients are waiting at the office. They're verifying our production line tomorrow."

Oliver stopped. He didn't follow us.

He only shouted down the corridor: "Elena, take Grace home first! I'll explain everything tonight!"

I didn't want to hear another word. His lies had become second nature. If I hadn't run into him myself, his excuses would have been flawless. I had probably been lied to a thousand times over the last five years.

I held my daughter tight as we walked to the car, whispering in her ear.

"Grace, sweetie... would you be okay if Mommy found us a new home? Just the two of us?"

Grace rested her head against my shoulder, her voice soft and sweet. "Only if the new home makes you happy, Mommy."

My chest ached. She was so young, yet she understood everything.

That evening, Oliver actually sent me a text detailing his schedule.

Elena, I'm so sorry about earlier. I didn't mean to lie to you.

I was just worried you'd misunderstand.

Once I finish with these Chicago clients, I'll come home and make it up to you, okay?

I didn't bother replying with a paragraph.

Let's get a divorce, Oliver. I'm exhausted.

Since you don't want a wedding, we don't need one.

Oliver immediately sent a transfer of fifty thousand dollars to my account.

Elena, stop throwing tantrums. Everything I do, I do for our future. You need to be more understanding of the pressure I'm under.

Why did he think this was just another tantrum?

At seven that evening, I walked into the VIP dining room at the Celestial Hotel, pushing the door open to reveal Oliver, Isla, and their clients.

"Elena? What are you doing here?" Oliver gasped, dropping his fork.

Isla stood up, looking outraged. "We are hosting key clients, Mrs. Cole. What do you think you're doing barging in like this?"

I ignored her, walking straight to the head of the table and dropping a thick folder onto Olivers chest.

"Divorce papers. I want full custody of Grace, and we split the assets fifty-fifty. Sign it."