Her Ex-Husband's Regret

(Heather's POV).

My heart raced as I stood in front of the vanity mirror, smoothing out my evening gown. The soft fabric hugged my curves, and the delicate straps accentuated my face. I took a deep breath, the scent of lavender and vanilla filling my nostrils. Mrs. Smith, the housekeeper, fussed over my hair, tucking a stray strand behind her ear.

"He'll love it, dear," Mrs. Smith whispered. "You look stunning."

My eyes met hers in the mirror, a look of uncertainty visible. "Do you think so, Mrs. Smith? I want tonight to be perfect."

“Of course, and I doubt that Mr. Winston will be able to take his eyes off you tonight.” She assured, offering me a wide grin.

Speaking of my husband, Roland Winston, as Mrs. Smith continued to primp and fuss, I absentmindedly let a smile appear at the corners of my lips as I recalled what that night was all about. It was our fifth-year wedding anniversary, and for the first time since we got married, Roland decided that we celebrate it.

A brief silence descended as I reminisced on how he had informed me about the anniversary dinner he had planned for us, the previous night. I was genuinely surprised because Roland never showed interest in celebrating our anniversary for the five years we have been together as man and wife.

“Maybe, he is finally falling for you.” A voice in my head whispered, and a grin enveloped my face.

“Snap out of it, Ma. You shouldn't keep him waiting.” Mrs. Smith chided, snapping me out of my mini reverie.

“That's right,” I concurred, blinking my hazy eyes.

“You should be on your way now,” Mrs. Smith walked to the window and parted the curtains. “I can see the driver waiting.” She announced.

“Do you think he would love me in red?” I blurted. I was suddenly worried, as I gazed at my reflection. I felt a sense of trepidation. What did Roland have planned for tonight? And why was he being so secretive about it?

After Roland announced our outing last night, I quickly logged into a famous female online fashion shop and ordered a red dinner gown. My color taste was influenced by Winston's undying love for red.

He told me he loved it on 'her’ and after we got married, I tried to fall in love with red even though I would rather be in a beige gown or any color that is not red.

To please him further, I decided to complement the dress with the ancient heirloom jewelry his mother gifted me on our wedding day. It was my first time putting them on, and like the red gown, I would rather be in my sapphire jewelry than those medieval stones his mother attached some sentimental traditional value to.

But I have no choice, I would do anything I perceive would help keep my marriage to Roland Winston intact. Even if it means stepping into ‘her’ shoes and keeping up with his narcissistic mother.

“You should get going, Ma. Don't worry, I will clean after you.” Mrs. Smith said instead, ignoring my question.

I nodded and grabbed my clutch purse on the table. With one last glance at the mirror, I head towards the door.

“And, Mrs. Smith?” I called out, stopping at the door. “You can retire to bed and, please, do not stay up.”

“Noted,” she replied, but it was not so hard to miss the underlying sarcasm her tone bore.

Who was I kidding? Mrs. Smith was certainly waiting up until Roland and I returned.

“Be safe, Heather. Try not to eat or drink anything that would put you in harm's way. Remember the state you are in now,” Mrs. Smith said, her tone dripping with motherly concern.

I abruptly turned to offer the older woman a grateful smile. She probably is the only one who cares about me in the family.

“I will,” I replied, and with that, I strode out of the room. Carefully, I ascended the stairs and made my way outside, to the waiting car.

I got in, and after strapping my seat belt into place, the driver drove off. The journey was not a lengthy one as the car soon pulled up in a restaurant parking lot.

As I stepped out, awed by the restaurant's exotic ambiance, the driver courteously offered me a smile and a hand to assist me onto the pavement.

I took in a deep breath, filling my lungs with the cool evening breeze while my eyes darted to the signboard at the top of the building.

“Vino e Cucina,” I mumbled the name of the restaurant, which translates to “Wine and Kitchen,” in Italy.

That instant, my heart welled up in joy at Roland's thoughtfulness. I had hinted a couple of times in the past about my love for Italian dishes, but Roland had never paid heed to it.

With this act of his, I am finally convinced that he had not taken me out on a date in an Italian restaurant because he didn't care, but because he was waiting for the right time. And the appropriate time is today–our fifth wedding anniversary, I reasoned, a wistful smile plastered on my face.

I pushed the thoughts aside and continued on my way to the entrance door. At the door, a cheerful waitress was there to welcome me.

“Welcome, Mrs. Winston. I will lead you to your table,” the waitress announced.

I returned her smile and let her lead me to the table Roland had reserved for us, even though I could not help but wonder why there was no single soul inside the restaurant.

Then I saw him, and abruptly, my breath hitched in my throat. It's been years, since my high school days, and he still had the same intoxicating effect on me.

At the extreme end of the restaurant, close to the window, sat a strikingly handsome man with curly Auburn hair, blue eyes and a well-built masculine body. That man was my husband–Roland Winston.

The soft clicking of my heels on the stone floor must have alerted him of my presence because he instantly looked up from his phone, and the look he gave me made me turn jelly on the inside.

“You look breathtaking,” he complimented when I got to him.

“Thank you,” I giggled like a smitten high school girl. “You look really handsome, too.”

“Come sit,” he said, snapping out of whatever trance my presence had put him in.

“Thank you,” I said, lowering myself in the chair he pulled out for me.

“Anything for you, my lady.” He replied.

My cheeks instantly turned a hue of color. OMG! This is not happening, and if it is a dream, I would rather not wake up.

When did Roland morph into this sweet gentleman seated across from me on the table? Whomever this new Roland is, I think I prefer him to the old, nonchalant husband of mine.

“What would you love to have?” His creamy baritone voice asked, interrupting my train of thought.

“Umm…anything you are having is okay by me,” I immediately replied, my desperation to please him getting the better part of me.

“Be safe, Heather. Try not to eat or drink anything that would put you in harm's way. Remember the state you are in now,” Mrs. Smith's words suddenly seeped back into my ears, but I shoved them behind me with the same velocity they arrived with.

Not bothering about one's health for just a few hours wouldn't kill one, right?

“Including alcohol?” Roland asked, observing me through those sexy long lashes of his. He knows my dislike for alcohol knows no bounds, but who cares? For him, I'm ready to throw caution to the wind for the few hours we are to spend together.

“As long as it is for you, I don't mind.” I replied, holding his gaze fiercely.

“Alright,” he said, a look of amusement in his eyes as he pressed the button engraved in the center of the table.

A waitress immediately arrived and Roland placed our orders.

“So, why did you choose today of all days to take me out on a dinner date since we got married?” I asked Roland the question I had been dying to ask the whole evening.

“I don't know,” he replied, shrugging his shoulders. “Maybe I was waiting for the right time.”

See? I was right! I was right about him stalling until the right time, and I was grateful I never left our marriage, despite how unloved I felt in it.

My next question was interrupted by the arrival of the waitress with our orders. She carefully laid out the varieties of dishes on the table, and I wondered how I and Roland alone would consume them all.

“I have been meaning to ask; is this how this restaurant operates? Why are we the only customers in it?” I asked after the waitress left.

“I booked the entire place for tonight. I want it to be just us,” Roland replied.

Again, I felt butterflies in my belly, and maybe, another insect too because the fluttering in my stomach was so intense that I doubted butterflies would have pulled it alone.

“You are so sweet,” I cooed.

“Yeah. With what is coming, I think privacy is expedient.” Roland said with a mirthless smile.

For a moment, I stopped to think about what he meant, but quickly, I shoved it aside with the thought that he probably had another surprise for me.

And he did have a surprise for me, and he presented it to me after we were done eating and having dessert.

Roland suddenly pulled out a brown file tucked under the table and shoved it across to me on the table.

“What is this?” I asked, making no attempt to touch the folder as I stared at it like some letter bomb.

“You won't know until you open it,” he replied, and that was when I noticed that his eyes had lost the warmth I saw in them earlier.

A sense of dread instantly enveloped me as I kept staring at the folder, my hands making no movement.

“Take it!” Roland snapped.

Sensing his provocation, and not wanting to ruin our dinner date by upsetting him, I reluctantly picked up the folder, raised the lapel, and took out its contents.

My eyes bulged out in horror when I saw the words written in uppercase letters. Instantly, I let go of the papers, and they fell to the table in a scattered order.

No!

(Heather's POV).

“W–what is the meaning of this?” I stuttered, my hands beginning to shake in trepidation.

Roland rolled his eyes at me like I was some dumb high school kid. “It's a divorce paper, obviously.”

I clenched my fists tightly. Of course, I know what a divorce paper is, but what I could not understand was why Roland was serving me one.

“I know it is a divorce paper, but I can't seem to figure out why you gave it to me!” I asked, raspier and louder than I intended.

Roland looked embarrassed as he quickly glanced at our surroundings to ensure no one was listening. Of course no one was listening, we were the only customers in the restaurant.

“Keep your voice low, will you?” He snarled at me, looking displeased.

“Fine, fine, I'm calm. But you have to tell me what's going on,” my voice was wavering now, as I fought so hard to block the thoughts of what might be happening.

“No!” I shook my head vehemently. Roland can't possibly be asking for a divorce. It probably was for someone else and he needed my opinion. As much as that thought sounded gullible, it was the only excuse I could think for what was happening.

All the while, while I battled with myself internally, Roland fixed me with a sorry look. He likely thought I was running mad with how I kept mumbling inaudible words of affirmations to myself.

“You know, I figured this would be your reaction which was why I booked the whole place. I can't stand you embarrassing me like this,” Roland said.

“You…you had this all figured out? Asking me out for an anniversary dinner date just to callously serve me with divorce papers? Why?” Tears were beginning to brim at the corners of my eyes.

Roland groaned and grabbed his temples. “Come on, Heather. This marriage is not working. It has hit the rock long ago than we cared to admit. I am tired of it, and I know you are too.” He responded.

“No, no, please, don't say that.” I begged frantically. “I love you, and I am not tired of you or our marriage.”

“That's the point, Heather!” Roland grumbled in frustration. “I DO NOT LOVE YOU! I never did. You know this marriage would never have taken place if you had not carelessly gotten pregnant for me.”

At the sound of those words, I felt my chest tighten in acute pain. That's right, three years together and he never for once, failed to subtly remind me that I had forced him into marrying me because I was pregnant.

The pain was too much, and I finally let the tears trickle down in torrents.

“Jeez! There you go again, Heather. Always tearing up like a toddler. I… I can't deal with this,” Roland said and rose to his feet. “I have somewhere to be. The driver will drive you back home, and by the time I return home tomorrow, I want your signature appended on those papers.”

My vision blurred with tears as I watched Roland's retreating figure. He was going to God knows where and leaving me all alone in this deserted restaurant.

I stayed glued to my seat, as I watched him walk out through the exit door and out of sight.

My expression turned bitter and Stoic, and suddenly, something in my head shifted.

The fact that Roland unceremoniously served me with divorce papers doesn't necessarily mean it's the end of our marriage, right?

Without careful thoughts, and propelled by the blind desire to save my marriage, I shot up on my feet and went after him. The sound of my heels on the restaurant's stone floor made clicking sounds that got the attention of the staff curiously fixated on me, but I didn't give two cents.

I got outside just in time to see Roland about pulling out from the parking lot. I hastened my steps and raced to the car's windscreen, desperately pummeling my fist on it.

Roland's scowling face greeted me as he reluctantly wound down the car's window. I was not deterred by his enraged face as I proceeded to plead my cause.

“Roland, can we please talk this out, baby? You can't just decide out of the blue to divorce me.”

“Our marriage is long gone, Heather. Talking things out is more or less like medicine administered after death. Accept the fact and let's get this divorce over with and get on with our individual lives.”

“I'm pregnant, Roland. What's going to become of our baby?” I reluctantly announced. This was not the way I had planned to break the news to him, but with the way things were turning out, it seemed like my last shot at saving my marriage.

Roland's eyes dilated in shock and for a fleeting moment, his eyes strayed to my stomach.

Seeing that as a ray of hope, I brought my hand to my flat stomach, gently caressing it to drive home my point. “That's right, sweetheart. I'm three weeks gone. You are finally going to be a father.”

At that point, I could swear that I saw his expression soften, as his eyes lingered a little on my stomach. A relieved smile appeared at the corner of my lips as I thought he was going to change his mind about the divorce when he learned about the baby, our baby.

Instead, his next words and actions threw me off balance. His face hardened and he sneered at me. “I don't care about the embryo, Heather. Get rid of it!” And without another word, he wound up the windscreen and zoomed off.

I was left dumbstruck, mouth wide open, as I stared at the car zoom out of sight.

Suddenly, my breath hitched. The surrounding air felt poisonous as there was a momentary restriction of air through my lungs.

My eyes burned with unshed tears as I involuntarily reached for my clutch purse and fished out the pregnancy test result from this morning. I planned to break the Good News to him at what I had envisaged to be the best dinner date of my life. I did not realize I was crying now until I tasted the saltiness of my tears.

Shoulders slacked in pain and defeat, I slowly lowered myself to the rough floor of the restaurant parking lot as I let the ocean of tears I had been hoarding for so long, flow freely.