My husband threw divorce papers at me in the hospital, said: sick woman, I am marrying Air Hostess!

The Day the Papers Were Served

Larry’s words stung as he stepped into my hospital room with a smirk. “You can’t even manage basic household tasks, we should just get a divorce,” he said. His first words were cutting: “You’re useless, can’t even do housework, let’s get a divorce, and you better pay me compensation,” he sneered, oblivious to my financial standing.

Beside him stood a woman I didn’t recognize, hooked up to numerous medical devices. A young woman stood by his side, smirking disdainfully at my plight. I watched them silently, noting how little Larry knew about my true financial worth: $10 million, to be precise.

His suggestion of divorce seemed almost laughable, given the stakes involved for a housewife like me. With a grim resolve, I decided that I could no longer be with someone who would treat his wife so harshly in her time of need. Resolute in my decision, I realized I couldn’t remain with someone who demeaned his spouse during such vulnerable times.

I retrieved the divorce papers I had kept, almost as a talisman, from my bag. Reaching into my bag, I retrieved the divorce papers I had been carrying, prepared for a moment like this. Handing them to him with a forced smile, I said, “Here, I guess it’s time we said goodbye”.

I watched as Larry accepted them. Larry grinned smugly as he took the papers. “I’ll be happier with her, so don’t worry,” Larry declared, draping his arm around the woman whom he introduced as Brenda. “I’ll be happier with her,” he declared, his arm around the young woman.

She leaned against him and mockingly said, “Take care, madam. Oh, you’re not a Madam anymore, take care, old lady”. Brenda gave me a condescending look and remarked, “Take care, ma’am, not a miss anymore”. With those parting words, they left the room, laughing. Laughter trailing behind them.

Their joy seemed transient. Alone, I couldn’t help but burst into laughter myself. I felt a bittersweet relief wash over me, free from his disdain. It was Friday, and by Monday, the divorce would be processed.

The thought of only four more days until freedom made my heart race with anticipation. I now face the future with a significant inheritance and a life to rebuild on my terms. As I lay in my hospital bed that Friday, laughter bubbled up inside me. The divorce papers had been served, and by Monday they would be processed.

My name is Natalie Ruth, a 40-year-old housewife living on a farm. While I might not boast any special skills, I take great pride in my extensive cooking abilities. My husband Larry and I share the same age and once walked the halls of the same college.

After graduation, we moved from the countryside to Florida, living by ourselves. I often cooked for Larry, using fresh vegetables and rice sent by my family. Many believed that my cooking was the way to his heart, and I tended to agree.

Larry to this day struggles with any kind of household chore. Ever since our dating days, I’ve taken care of him, and nothing changed after our marriage. Although we never had children, we found joy in our shared lives, especially our mutual love for food.

When we were newlyweds, Larry was gentle and kind. However, about two years into our marriage, he started to change, becoming more controlling. He never became physically aggressive, but his sharp words often stung.

I found myself too weary to argue, doubting he would listen to a full-time housewife like me. Larry initially landed a prestigious job after university but left it within five years. He moved between jobs frequently afterward, which meant our financial situation was uncertain.

This instability and his increasingly harsh demeanor made our relationship more challenging. But I continued to manage our home and hoped for better days ahead. Larry seemed to have found some stability at his latest job, where he’d been for the past three years.

He got along well with his colleagues, and I quietly hoped he might stay there for the long haul. Then one day he came home earlier than usual. “I’m home. I quit my job,” he announced.

Surprised, I blurted out, “What, again?” This visibly irritated him. I saw his eyebrows twitch. “I’m sorry, I was just shocked. No, welcome back,” I tried to backtrack. Dropping everything, I rushed over to him.

As he retorted sharply, “You’ve become quite audacious”. Larry was clearly in a foul mood, and I feared any wrong word might escalate the tension. “I’m sorry,” I said carefully, trying to calm the storm.

He grumbled a bit but seemed somewhat placated as he sank into the sofa and turned on the TV. “Do you want dinner or a bath?” I asked. “Food and alcohol,” he replied. I quietly set a beer and a glass on the table.

To keep the peace, I slipped back into the role of the submissive wife, a role I had been playing for the ten years of our marriage. After he had eaten and drunk to his satisfaction, Larry fell asleep on the sofa, snoring loudly. I began cleaning up, picking up fallen beer bottles and scraps of food from the floor.

As I cleaned, I reflected on my life. This wasn’t the marriage I had envisioned. Memories of happier days as a young girl in love surfaced, revealing my buried feelings. I glanced at Larry, fast asleep with no sign of waking soon, and felt a mix of relief and dread.

Perhaps it was time to consider a divorce. Was continuing this life worth it? The next day, while Larry started job hunting, I signed divorce papers at the city office. I wasn’t ready to file them yet, but having them felt like a form of protection.

I discreetly placed the signed papers at the bottom of my frequently used bag, worrying about his reaction if he ever found them. “Where did you wander off to while I was job hunting?” Larry asked when I returned. “I went to the stationery store to buy some resumés. Look, I thought you might need them,” I replied.

That day, Larry was unusually thoughtful. He questioned me initially but soon lightened up after receiving the resumés. He mentioned going out for drinks with a friend and left. His new job was with a reputable company, offering a solid salary and better benefits than before.

I held a secret hope that maybe this time Larry would stick with his job until retirement. Especially since his new department seemed to be in sales. Larry started spending more evenings out, seeking entertainment.

This left me with brief periods of solitude that I treasured. I used these moments to recharge, always managing a smile for Larry upon his return. One afternoon, a call from my mother broke the routine.

She was bubbling with excitement over some unexpected news. It had been a while since we last spoke. “We had our mountains and lands appraised, and they’re worth $9 million,” she explained.

My mother had always been skeptical of Larry, particularly as he grew more controlling. He even prevented me from visiting my childhood home. “We only need $5 million to enjoy our retirement, so you should consider what this means for you”.

The news of the windfall was shocking enough. But what truly stunned me was that my mother had transferred the property titles from my grandmother to me to avoid inheritance taxes. I pondered whether to share this with Larry or keep it as my secret leverage toward newfound freedom.

A week later, life threw another curveball. I was involved in a traffic accident. Although not life-threatening, the injuries required a week-long hospital stay. I reluctantly called Larry to inform him, after securing my valuables in my hospital room drawer.

“I’m sorry, I got injured,” I said. His first reaction was self-centered: “Huh, what about my meals?” he asked. I held back my frustration and explained, “I’ll need to be hospitalized for a week. Could you manage your meals until then?”

His response lacked any semblance of understanding or empathy. That night, I had planned to discuss the inheritance with him. But his callousness made me realize my strong intuition about the upcoming events. Larry’s visit to the hospital confirmed my worst fears.