REBIRTH OF THE PATHETIC HUSBAND

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The distant hum of engines rolled through the estate’s gates, growing louder as the cars approached the mansion. My stomach twisted. I didn’t need to look outside to know who had arrived.  

Mr. and Mrs. Prestwick.  

Christopher smirked, the sharp edge of his amusement returning as he tilted his head toward the entrance. “Perfect timing,” he mused. “Mother’s going to be furious when she finds out you’re refusing to sign.” He let out a soft chuckle, as if he was already savoring what was about to unfold.  

I clenched my jaw, my hands tightening into fists at my sides. He wasn’t lying.  

Mrs. Prestwick hated me.  

Despised me, even.  

From the moment Eleanor had married me, she had made her feelings clear—I was nothing. A stain on their family name. An embarrassment she wished she could erase. If given the chance, she wouldn’t just throw me out of the house; she’d have me locked away somewhere, completely erased from Eleanor’s life.  

The only reason I was still here was because of her husband.  

Mr. Prestwick.  

Unlike his wife and son, he didn’t treat me with outright disdain. He was cold, distant, but not cruel. And more than anything, he was the only thing standing between me and the family’s complete rejection.  

But even he wouldn’t be able to protect me forever.  

The heavy doors swung open, and the guards ushered them inside.  

Mrs. Prestwick was dressed in an elegant, wine-colored dress, her heels clicking against the marble floor with precision. Her presence alone commanded attention, but it was the icy sharpness in her gaze that sent a chill down my spine.  

Her husband followed behind her, his suit neatly pressed, his expression unreadable.  

The moment Mrs. Prestwick saw us, her eyes narrowed, her lips pursing in immediate suspicion. She scanned the room, her gaze flicking between me, Christopher, and the divorce papers still on the table.  

Then, in a voice as sharp as a blade, she demanded,  

“What is going on here?”

A suffocating silence filled the room.  

Mrs. Prestwick’s cold, piercing gaze locked onto me like a predator sizing up its prey.  

Her sharp heels clicked against the marble as she strode further inside, the scent of her expensive perfume thick in the air, suffocating. Mr. Prestwick followed behind her, his presence more subdued but no less imposing. He didn’t speak, didn’t react—not yet. His unreadable gaze lingered on me, assessing, waiting.  

But his wife had no patience for silence.  

She turned to Christopher, her voice razor-sharp. “I asked a question.”  

Christopher smirked, shoving his hands into his pockets with an ease that made my skin crawl. He was enjoying this—every second of it.  

“John refuses to sign the divorce papers,” he said, his tone light, almost amused. “Eleanor’s already signed, but it seems her devoted husband isn’t quite ready to let go.”  

Mrs. Prestwick’s expression darkened instantly.  

Slowly, she turned to me, and in that moment, it felt like the temperature in the room dropped.  

Her hatred wasn’t loud. It wasn’t explosive. It was something far more chilling—deep-rooted, absolute, a disgust she didn’t even try to conceal.  

“You refuse?” Her voice was calm, but there was venom beneath it. “Are you under the illusion that you have a choice?”  

My throat was dry, but I swallowed down the unease clawing at my chest. “I won’t sign the papers,” I said, forcing the words out, steady despite the dread curling in my stomach. “I love Eleanor. I won’t give up on my marriage.”  

A sharp, mocking laugh burst from Christopher, but it was Mrs. Prestwick’s reaction that made my pulse hammer.  

She smiled.  

A slow, cruel smile.  

Then, in an instant, the facade cracked, and fury bled into her eyes.  

She stepped forward, closing the distance between us so quickly that I had to fight the instinct to step back. “Love?” she spat, her voice dripping with contempt. “You think this is about love?”  

She let out a sharp, humorless laugh, shaking her head before her gaze snapped back to mine, deadly and unrelenting.  

“You are nothing, John,” she said, her tone like ice. “Nothing but a leech that latched onto my daughter and drained everything from her. You don’t belong in this family. You never did.”  

Her voice rose, each word cutting deeper.  

“You are a mistake, John. A pathetic, spineless parasite who should have never had the audacity to believe he was worthy of the Prestwick name.”  

My fists clenched at my sides. I should have been used to this by now—the insults, the humiliation, the endless reminders that I was unwanted. But it never stopped cutting.  

It never stopped burning.  

“Mother,” Christopher sighed dramatically. “I think you’re being too kind. A parasite at least serves some purpose in nature. John? He’s nothing but a stain.” 

Mrs. Prestwick let out a slow exhale, composing herself as she straightened. But the look in her eyes was worse than her words—it was final.  

“Sign the papers,” she ordered. “Do it now.”  

I didn’t move.  

I didn’t speak.  

I wouldn’t do it.  

Mrs. Prestwick’s nostrils flared, her patience snapping like a thread.  

Her lips curled in disgust. “If you think for a second that you can fight this—if you think that my daughter will ever accept you again—you are more pathetic than I thought.”  

She turned to her husband then, her voice laced with bitter resentment. “Say something. Tell him to sign those papers and walk out of this house like the disgrace he is.”  

A tense silence followed.  

All eyes turned to Mr. Prestwick.  

Unlike his wife and son, he didn’t sneer, didn’t glare. He simply sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as if this was nothing more than a mild inconvenience.  

And then he finally spoke.  

“Let him stay.”  

The room froze.  

Mrs. Prestwick snapped her head toward him, her expression twisting in disbelief. Christopher’s smirk faltered, and even Eleanor finally lifted her gaze, brows furrowing.  

“What?” Mrs. Prestwick’s voice was eerily quiet.  

Mr. Prestwick met my gaze for a long, unreadable moment before he turned back to his wife. “Forcing him out like this will cause a scandal. The media will eat it up—‘Prestwick heiress divorces husband, throws him out of the mansion.’” His gaze flickered to Eleanor. “Do you want that kind of attention?”  

Eleanor frowned, clearly considering it.  

Mrs. Prestwick was fuming, but Mr. Prestwick wasn’t done.  

“He’ll sign the papers when he’s ready.” His voice was firm, unwavering. “But for now, let him stay.”  

I knew better than to mistake his words for kindness.  

He wasn’t doing this for me. He was doing it for their reputation.  

But it didn’t matter.  

Because in that moment, for the first time that night—I had won.  

Mrs. Prestwick’s jaw clenched, her nails digging into her palms. She wanted to protest. To scream. To destroy me.  

But she couldn’t.  

Not when her husband had made his decision.  

The air was thick with unspoken threats, with hatred.  

And then, finally, she hissed through gritted teeth,  

“This isn’t over.”  

Her voice was quiet. A promise.  

And as she turned on her heel and stormed out of the room, Christopher right behind her, I knew one thing for certain.  

She would make me regret defying her.

“John, follow me,” Mr. Prestwick said, and I nodded.

The night air was cool against my skin as I followed Mr. Prestwick outside. The mansion’s grand exterior lights cast long shadows across the courtyard, making everything feel colder, heavier. The quiet hum of distant traffic was the only sound besides our footsteps on the stone path.  

He stopped near the garden, his hands in his pockets, gazing up at the darkening sky as if searching for the right words. I stood beside him, waiting.  

After a long silence, he finally spoke.  

“I never regretted you marrying my daughter, John.” His voice was calm but firm, carrying the weight of something deeper. “You’re the kind of son-in-law I always wanted.” He turned his head slightly to look at me. “But not the kind my wife wanted.”  

I swallowed hard, my chest tightening.  

He sighed, shifting his gaze back to the horizon. “I don’t want to be in a position where I have to choose between you and my family, John. That’s why I’m giving you an opportunity.”  

I remained silent, listening.  

“Tomorrow morning,” he continued, his voice low but steady, “I want you to sign those papers. In return, I’ll arrange for you to leave the country. I’ll provide enough cash for you to start over—a private flight, a new beginning. You can go anywhere you want and build something better for yourself.”  

I exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of his words pressing down on me. He wasn’t threatening me. He wasn’t trying to hurt me. In his own way, he was offering me an escape—a chance to free myself from this family, from this prison.  

But even so…  

I shook my head. “I appreciate what you’re offering, sir. Really, I do. But I can’t.” I looked him in the eye, my voice unwavering. “I love Eleanor too much.”  

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. And then—he chuckled.  

Soft, almost amused, as if he had expected this answer all along.  

“Love is blind,” he murmured. “But sometimes, it leads to foolish decisions.” He turned fully toward me now, his expression unreadable. “I don’t want you to make a foolish decision, John.” His voice dropped slightly. “Think about it before tomorrow morning.”  

His meaning was clear.  

By tomorrow, he wouldn’t help me again.  

He reached out and patted my shoulder, his grip firm but not unkind. “I hope you make the right decision.”  

With that, he turned and walked back toward the mansion, leaving me standing there alone.  

I looked down at my hands, at the faint traces

of soap and dirt still clinging to my skin from the hours of work I had done today.  

The reality was crushing.  

I had no power here.  

No allies.  

And now, I had a choice to make.