REBIRTH OF THE PATHETIC HUSBAND

My Biggest Mistake

The hours dragged on as I worked tirelessly, my body moving on autopilot. I scrubbed, wiped, and polished every surface of the house, making sure everything was spotless before moving on to the next chore.  

The laughter from earlier had long since faded, but their words lingered, circling in my mind like vultures. Pitiful. Useless. A well-trained pet. I tried to push them away, but they clung to me, sinking deep beneath my skin.  

By the time I stepped outside to wash the cars, exhaustion weighed heavily on my limbs. The night air was cool against my skin, a small relief after spending hours under the warmth of the house.  

I filled a bucket with soapy water, grabbed a sponge, and started scrubbing the first car—Eleanor’s sleek black sedan. I worked in silence, my movements slow and methodical, focusing on every inch of the vehicle as if it were the most important task in the world.  

Then I heard it.  

Laughter.  

I glanced up just as Eleanor and her friends stepped out of the house, still immersed in whatever joke they had been sharing. Their heels clicked against the pavement, their expensive perfumes filling the air as they made their way toward their cars.  

For a brief moment, Eleanor’s eyes met mine. There was no warmth in them, no acknowledgment of the fact that I was her husband. To her, I was just… there.  

She turned away without a word, walking towards her friends. I watched as Eleanor’s friends entered their vehicles, engines roaring to life one after the other.  

Eleanor stood by her car for a moment, her phone in hand, scrolling through her messages. Then, finally, she looked up and waved lazily at the others. “Drive safe, girls.”  

They all responded with cheerful goodbyes before their cars pulled out of the driveway, one by one, until only Eleanor and I remained.  

She turned toward me then, her expression unreadable. “John.”  

I immediately stopped what I was doing, dropping the sponge into the bucket as I straightened. “Yes?”  

“Come inside.”  

I didn’t hesitate. I quickly wiped my hands on my already damp clothes and followed her back into the house, leaving the half-washed car behind.  

She led me to the living room and gestured toward the couch. “Wait here.”  

I obeyed, watching as she ascended the stairs, her form disappearing into the upper floor of the mansion. The house was eerily silent now, save for the faint ticking of the clock on the wall.  

Minutes passed.  

I sat stiffly, my hands resting on my knees, my mind racing with thoughts. Something felt different. There was something in Eleanor’s tone, something final in the way she had spoken to me just now.  

When she finally returned, she wasn’t empty-handed.  

She walked toward me, a stack of crisp white papers in her hands. Without a word, she placed them on the coffee table in front of me and slid them across the smooth surface.  

I frowned, glancing down. The bold letters at the top of the first page sent a sharp jolt through my chest.  

DIVORCE AGREEMENT.  

I felt the air leave my lungs.  

Eleanor crossed her arms, watching me with an air of impatience. “I’ve already signed,” she said, nodding toward the papers. “Now you just have to do the same.”  

I didn’t move.  

Didn’t speak.  

My gaze traveled lower, to the elegant signature scrawled at the bottom of the page—Eleanor Prestwick.  

It was real.  

She wanted to leave me.  

My hands trembled slightly as I reached out, my fingers barely brushing the edge of the document. I swallowed, my throat dry, my mind scrambling for something—anything—to say.  

Finally, my voice came out, hoarse and quiet.  

“…No.”

Silence fell between us. Heavy. Unyielding.  

Eleanor’s expression barely shifted, but I saw the flicker of irritation in her eyes, the way her fingers tapped impatiently against her arm. She had expected me to sign without hesitation, to comply like I always did, like a dog obeying its master.  

She should have known better.  

“No?” she repeated, her voice dangerously calm, as if she hadn’t heard me correctly.  

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to meet her gaze. “I won’t sign.”  

Eleanor let out a sharp, humorless laugh, shaking her head. “John, don’t be ridiculous. You knew this was coming.”  

Had I?  

Maybe I had been too blind, too hopeful, too desperate to believe that some part of her still wanted me. That beneath the contempt, there was something left of the woman I had fallen in love with.  

But staring at her now, I saw the truth.  

There was nothing.  

Not even anger. Not even sadness. Just cold, detached indifference.  

“I love you,” I said, the words raw, unfiltered, slipping from my lips before I could stop them.  

Eleanor sighed, exasperated. “John, please.” She gestured at the papers. “This isn’t about love. This is about moving on. You and I both know this marriage has been over for a long time.”  

Not for me.  

For her, maybe. But for me, Eleanor was still my wife. The woman I had vowed to spend my life with. The woman I had sacrificed everything for.  

She exhaled sharply, taking a seat on the couch across from me, her knee bouncing in irritation. “Listen,” she said, her voice softer now, almost coaxing. “I didn’t want to do this in a messy way, but if you refuse to sign, I’ll have no choice but to take this to court. And trust me, John, you won’t win.”  

She wasn’t wrong.  

I had nothing. No power. No wealth. No influence.  

I was just a burden to the Prestwick family. A stray they had tolerated for far too long.  

But none of that mattered.  

I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms as I shook my head again. “I won’t sign.”  

Eleanor’s eyes darkened. The patience drained from her face, replaced with thinly veiled disdain. “You’re pathetic,” she muttered, standing up abruptly. “Absolutely pathetic.”  

I flinched at the venom in her tone, but I didn’t back down.  

She turned her back to me, rubbing her temple as if I had given her a headache. “Fine,” she said after a moment, her voice eerily calm again. “If you want to make this difficult, go ahead. But the outcome won’t change.”  

She faced me once more, her lips curling into something that wasn’t quite a smile.  

“I’m marrying someone else, John.”  

The words hit like a hammer to my chest.  

A slow, suffocating pain spread through me, but Eleanor didn’t seem to care. She just watched me, waiting for my reaction.  

When I said nothing, when I didn’t break the way she expected me to, she huffed and turned away. “Do whatever you want,” she said over her shoulder, already walking toward the stairs. “But I’m done waiting for you to accept reality.”  

And just like that, she was gone.  

Leaving me alone with the divorce papers.  

A slow, mocking laugh echoed behind me, cutting through the suffocating silence that had settled in the room.  

I stiffened. My fingers curled into fists on my lap as a familiar chill ran down my spine.  

I turned around slowly, my gaze landing on the figure leaning lazily against the doorway.  

Christopher.  

Eleanor’s elder brother.  

I hadn’t even heard him come in.  

He stood there with his arms crossed, his perfectly tailored suit unwrinkled, his polished shoes gleaming under the dim lights. His sharp features twisted with amusement, and the smirk playing on his lips sent a wave of unease through me.  

"God, you’re funny," he said, shaking his head, his laughter still lingering in the air.  

I didn’t say a word.  

I just stared at him, my expression blank, my body rigid as I braced myself for whatever venom he was about to spit next.  

Christopher took his time, stepping into the room with an air of casual arrogance, like he owned not just the house, but me as well. He walked toward the coffee table, his eyes flickering down to the divorce papers before meeting mine again.  

“I’ve been waiting for this day,” he admitted, his smirk widening. "Ever since Eleanor brought you into this family, I knew it wouldn’t last. A man like you?” He scoffed. “A nobody, marrying into my family? It was always a joke.”  

I remained silent, my heart pounding against my ribs, but I refused to let him see how much his words affected me.  

He leaned down slightly, resting his palms on the back of the couch, bringing his face closer to mine. His voice lowered, but the malice in his tone only sharpened.  

"And now… the day has finally come."  

I exhaled slowly. My hands trembled, but I forced myself to meet his gaze, to hold my ground.  

“I won’t sign,” I said.  

Christopher’s expression darkened in an instant. The amusement drained from his face, replaced by something much colder.  

His jaw tightened. His eyes, once filled with mocking delight, hardened into something far more dangerous.  

He straightened, inhaling sharply through his nose before exhaling a quiet, humorless laugh. “You really are as stupid as you look.”  

Then, his voice dropped, laced with quiet fury.  

“Oh, you’re going to sign, John.”  

He stepped closer, towering over me now.  

“As long as you’re breathing, you will sign those papers.” His tone was measured, deliberate, but there was an undeniable threat lurking beneath it.  

His lips curled into something cruel.  

“And if you think for one second that you can stop this divorce—” His hand gripped the edge of the table, knuckles turning white.  

“—then I will personally make sure that death is the only thing that prevents you from signing.”  

A heavy silence followed his words.  

The air between us turned suffocating, thick with an unspoken promise of violence.  

Christopher’s eyes bore into mine, his lips still curled in that half-smile, as if he was daring me to test him.  

I swallowed, my throat dry, but I refused to look away.  

I knew he wasn’t bluffing.  

I knew that in his world—in their world—men like me didn’t get choices. And that was when I knew—I had just signed my own death sentence.