Let Him Go, He Cried Regret

I was scrolling through a forum while waiting for my test results at the hospital when a question caught my eye: “What’s the most thrilling thing you’ve ever done?” An anonymous user commented: “Going through a divorce, sleeping with my lawyer’s husband, and now I’m pregnant with his child.” “She’s so buried in legal statutes, she has no idea I’m the one that got away, his first love.” “Even better? I control his finances now, and she’s completely in the dark.” “Oh, and that woman is pregnant, too. I told him I couldn’t stand the thought of her child being born. He promised he’d convince her to get rid of it, citing developmental issues.” “He’s mine. So is his money.” At the edge of the accompanying photo, a watch was faintly visible. My blood ran cold. That watch… it was identical to the one on my husband’s wrist. Just then, the door to my room swung open. My husband walked in, his voice as gentle as ever. “Honey, the doctor said… the baby isn’t developing well. For your own health, maybe we shouldn’t keep this one.”

01 The corner of the report was crumpled in his tight grip. I unfolded it, my eyes locking on the words “Suggested Termination.” My throat tightened. “Is that… really what the doctor said?” His gaze darted around the room, never once meeting mine. He just murmured, “You weren’t careful, you took that medication.” “Just to be safe, it’s for the best.” A sharp pain bloomed in my chest, shattering the last shred of hope I was clinging to. But before the wave of emotion could drown my reason, professional instinct took over. I forced myself to detach. I did a quick mental calculation. My physical condition and the medication I’d recently taken meant keeping the baby was a risk. I had to protect myself first. Finally, I nodded. Seeing my crestfallen expression, he moved closer, taking my hand. He soothed me with a warm voice, “Honey, we can always have another baby. Your health is what’s most important.” What a hypocrite. I pulled my arm away and turned my back to him. “I’m tired. I need to rest.” And just like that, with a few careless words, he had discarded the child we had longed for. In ten years of marriage, he had always been the perfect husband. But I had just learned that he was playing the same devoted role for another woman. The anonymous comment had already exploded into a full-blown flame war. The replies were split into three camps: those who called her a homewrecking monster, those who romanticized their “fated love,” and those who speculated that I must have stolen him away first, claiming they couldn’t judge without knowing the whole story. The first thing I did after being discharged was pull up that post and read every single word. Four months ago, Isabelle Croft was fighting for a divorce. I was her lawyer. And through her, I was reunited with Marcus. [My lawyer didn’t just win my case; she brought my first love back to me. What a godsend.] [The day of the hearing, her husband dropped her off. I knew it was him the second I saw him. My first love. And from the way he looked at me, I knew he’d never forgotten.] [After we won, I went to their house to thank her. I cornered him in the kitchen and kissed him against the counter.] [As I was leaving, he made up an excuse to get my number.] [He started finding reasons to see me, saying he wanted to celebrate me finally getting away from my scumbag ex.] [We talked so much about the past, about why we broke up. He cried.] [Seeing his eyes glistening with tears, I leaned in and kissed him, and then… we just did it.] [Later, he saw me arguing with my ex about the settlement money and got angry. He said if I needed money, I should have just asked him, that I didn’t need to degrade myself.] [I never wanted to destroy his family. His wife helped me, and I’ll always be grateful for that…] [But he told me he never really got over me. He said he only agreed to the blind date with her back then because she looked a little like me.] [Before I could even figure out what to do, I found out I was pregnant. I guess it was fate.] I stared at the screen, my nails digging so deep into my palms they nearly drew blood. Twenty-two and thirty-two. A decade lies between those years. From cramming for the bar exam side-by-side to propping each other up as we started our careers; from sharing a single bowl of instant noodles in a cramped apartment to owning a home of our own. Everyone called us the picture-perfect couple, a match made in heaven. I never once doubted that we were each other’s one and only. But it turned out our decade of love was nothing but a mirage. I remembered four months ago, when a distraught Isabelle was about to jump off the West End Bridge, and I was the one who talked her down. Later, I took her case and fought to get her the best possible settlement. I also remembered the strange way Marcus froze the first time he saw her. I’d even joked about it. “What are you staring at? You smitten or something?” He was quiet for a long moment before murmuring, “She… reminds me of a friend who’s no longer with us.” I didn’t suspect a thing. I even comforted him. “Life is unpredictable. You never know when you’ll see someone for the last time.” He hummed in agreement, pulling me into a hug, his arms wrapped tightly around me. That night, he had whispered in my ear, “You have to promise you’ll always stay safe, right by my side.” At the time, I thought he was just being sentimental, leaning on me for comfort. Looking back, it was probably the thrill of touching a ghost from his past. Or maybe, it was the unease of a guilty conscience. A new comment appeared at the bottom of the thread. [His wife’s procedure went smoothly. Next up, dividing the assets.] [He said he has plenty of ways to make sure she leaves with nothing. After all, he knows exactly how to handle her.] […I really am sorry, but I can’t help it.] I read that last line and a bitter laugh escaped my lips. Isabelle, have you forgotten how we met? I’ve handled countless divorce cases. And I have never, ever lost.

02 As a lawyer with over a decade of experience, digging up information was second nature to me. It didn’t take long to piece together the whole ugly picture from the digital breadcrumbs they’d left behind. In just four short months, Marcus had poured all his energy into Isabelle. All that was left for me were lies and manipulation. Four months ago, shortly after filing Isabelle’s case, I’d pulled several all-nighters gathering evidence and ended up with acute gastritis. Marcus said he was on his way. I waited for four hours. The IV drip finished, and he never showed. Now I know why. He was so worried something would happen to Isabelle that he stayed by her side all night. Then there was the high-profile case I took on, the one that made the news. I was targeted by the defendant’s family. I was attacked and hospitalized, frantically calling his phone, but he never picked up. Because he was with Isabelle, taking a trip down memory lane at their old university, reliving their teenage romance. After the attack, I was left with severe anxiety and trauma, walking around in a constant daze. He canceled all his work to be with me during that time. He put me first in everything, planned little surprises, and surrounded me with a sense of security. My favorite gift was a custom necklace. He said it had a GPS tracker so he could always find me. Turns out, it was just a mass-produced freebie from a brand event he and Isabelle had attended together. The treasure I cherished was just a cheap party favor from one of their dates. It was all a calculated act to monitor me, a way to prevent his secret from ever coming out. I watched a video of them, surrounded by people, laughing together. My fingers slowly curled into a fist. The worst part? Our mutual friends, every single one of them, knew. No one warned me. No one said a word. The dinner parties continued, the likes on social media kept coming. They all tacitly agreed to ignore my existence. But it was what I found next that sent a true chill down my spine, plunging me into an icy abyss. It was a neatly organized document titled: Evidence Chain Regarding Attorney Audrey Lane’s Improper Use of the ‘XX Case’ for Self-Promotion. It contained my home address, social security number, place of employment, and dozens of clear photos of me. The document was created a month before I was attacked. And I found it on Marcus’s computer. A note inside read: This person is a glory-hound, using a major news story to build her own brand and manipulate public sympathy. Below that was a screenshot of Isabelle’s social media. She had reposted the message that leaked my private information. The image attached was a scan of my ID. Her caption read: [I can’t believe the lawyer I respected so much is this kind of person. I really hope someone teaches her a lesson.] Someone replied below: “You sure it’s her?” Her response was a single word: “Yes.” A roar filled my ears. The attack I’d suffered wasn’t random at all. They had worked together, leaking my personal information, deliberately putting me in harm’s way. The storm of online harassment and public condemnation that followed wasn’t a coincidence either. It was them, meticulously, step by step, pushing me to the edge. How is that any different from murder? I laughed until my eyes burned with tears. All the little pieces I had dismissed came rushing back, sharp and jagged: The faint scent of an unfamiliar perfume on his clothes. The hushed phone calls on the balcony late at night. His overly attentive behavior after I was attacked… What I had believed to be love. It was just a carefully measured dose of poison. I wiped my eyes fiercely. Fine. If he wanted to play this elaborate, cruel game, then I would be more than happy to play along. As a lawyer, I knew exactly what it took to utterly destroy someone. I opened my laptop and began compiling the evidence I had gathered. Marcus’s asset transfer records, proof of his affair with Isabelle, the email logs tracing the leak of my personal information… It was more than enough to build a complete evidence chain for a criminal complaint. Just as my thoughts were racing, my phone rang. It was Isabelle. I took a deep breath and answered. Her voice, light and smiling, came through the phone. “Audrey, it’s me. I’m having a little party this weekend to celebrate my… well, my new beginning. I especially want to thank you for everything you did for my case. You absolutely have to come.” Her tone was sincere, but then she added, almost as an afterthought, “Oh, by the way, Marcus promised he’d be there too. You’ll grace us with your presence, won’t you, Audrey?” She slowly recited an address. It was only twenty minutes from my law firm. I listened to the flawless blend of intimacy and calculation in her voice and smiled without a sound. Thank me? The audacity was staggering. “Of course,” I said, my voice perfectly steady. “I’ll be there.” They were so eager to put on a show, right under my nose. A celebration of a new beginning? Perfect. Let’s see if they can stomach the feast I have planned for them.