BookishBite ad: Removing My Corneas

I was seven months pregnant when my husband, Graham, handed me a divorce agreement. He needed to marry another woman. A poor widow, he’d said, left behind by his best friend. He held me, his touch gentle, and promised it was only a three-month “technical arrangement.” He said he loved me. He said he had to honor his friend’s dying wish. He said that once he legally adopted the woman’s child and secured the baby’s place in the family trust, we would remarry immediately. He played the part so well. If only I hadn’t gone to his law firm. If only I hadn’t overheard him telling his lawyer— “Once Vivian gives birth to the Whitmore heir, she’ll have a reason to stay. She won’t leave me.” So that was his love. A calculation. His responsibility was just an excuse. And our child was the final chain he planned to use to bind me to him. I looked into his devoted eyes, smiled as I signed the papers, and said, “You’re so good to me.” He didn’t know that piece of paper would cost him his only heir. And he certainly didn’t know that on a stormy Thanksgiving night, when he abandoned me in premature labor for a manipulative woman and her child, he was dooming himself to a lifetime of regret, clutching nothing but a cold urn of ashes. … I was seven months pregnant when my husband, Graham Whitmore, brought his late friend’s widow, Sloane Mercer, and her wailing infant into our Beacon Hill home. I endured Sloane’s presence everywhere, the air of a second mistress settling into every room. I endured the fragile, dependent way she looked at Graham. I told myself he was only acting out of guilt and responsibility. The woman he loved was me. Until I found a receipt from a high-end maternity boutique in the pocket of his bespoke suit. Not a single item on it was for our child. Clutching that thin slip of paper, I drove to his lawyer’s office. I just wanted an explanation. But now I stood outside the heavy oak door of ......

I printed out three documents. The first was a petition for divorce. The second revoked my husband, Graham Whitaker’s, medical power of attorney. The third prohibited him from using any of our remaining frozen embryos. An hour ago, at a charity gala being livestreamed across the internet, my husband of six years—the man I had married in secret—declared that his first love was “the woman who taught me what home means.” Then he placed the Whitaker family ring on her son’s hand. On TikTok, everyone was praising him as Stepdad of the Year, waiting for him to give his first love the grand wedding she deserved. And I had just lost our baby, alone on an operating table. Late that night, Graham finally came home. He saw me watching the video of him putting the ring on that child and snatched the iPad from my hands. His brow furrowed, his voice sharp with impatience. “It’s PR, Nora. Why are you getting so worked up?” I looked up at him and smiled. He had no idea I’d channeled all that agitation into three notarized documents. Soon enough, his lawyer would tell him just how “worked up” I was. ... The moment he finished speaking, I turned and walked toward the study. I could feel his gaze on my back, laced with the irritation of a man who’d been defied. I stopped in front of the safe and looked back at him. “Where’s the ring?” I meant the Whitaker family signet ring, the one that had been passed down for a century. He had inherited it from his father and given it to me to keep. Tonight, that same ring had been on another woman’s son’s hand. Graham’s gaze flickered away, instinctively avoiding mine. “The foundation needed footage for the annual report. Something about family legacy. I just… lent it to Elise for a while.” The explanation was so clumsy it was almost funny. If this had been the old me, I would have pressed him until I got the truth. I would have demanded to know why the legal wife was absent from......

I didn't know I was my sister's stand-in until I found the love letters my husband had written to her. Reborn, I handed him over to my sister. But he went crazy… "Miss Windsor, have you finished signing your form?" Clara Windsor stared blankly at the City Hall before her, then heard the staff member's urging voice again. Only then did she finally realize. She had been reborn? Reborn on the very day she was supposed to get her marriage license with Caspian Blackwood. In her previous life, she had been overjoyed that morning—waking early, eager to drag him to wait in line. Now she fingered the registration form in her hand, but there was not a trace of happiness on her face. The Blackwood Family was the most powerful noble house in Kingsbridge—strict, ritualistic, and unforgiving. As the heir, Caspian needed a wife who would be his steadfast support: gentle, utterly devoted to him and the family, and able to leave him with no worries at home. So in her past life, to be the perfect wife, she had abandoned her future, her sense of self. She resigned from her post, bore children, managed the household, and sacrificed everything. By the time she was barely past fifty, illness had worn her down. Lying on her deathbed, she discovered the love letters he had written to her younger sister. "You are a free bird, meant to soar across the blue sky. Because I love you, I cannot bear to trap you." "Your sister resembles you a little. Whenever I look at her face, I can fool myself into thinking the woman spending her life with me is you. In the future, let your sister handle the children, the elders, the housework—I only want you to live happily, freely, and brilliantly every single day." Only then did she understand: Caspian Blackwood, the man she had grown old with, had always loved her sister, Vanessa Windsor. He had married her only because she served another purpose. After discovering the truth, she was consumed by agony. Her son rushed back, but instead of comforting her, his face lit up. He kept urging her at her bedside. "Mom, since Dad really loves Aunt Ness, you should just divorce him already." "All these years, you've never measured up to Aunt Ness. She's a diplomat, while you've just stayed home doing chores. You don't suit Dad at all. You've kept the whole family running smoothly—now Aunt Ness can marry in without a care and live blissfully with Dad. Just let go and make way for them." That day, she died from sheer rage, slipping from the world. Opening her eyes again, she was back on the day she was supposed to get her marriage license with Caspian Blackwood. To love others, you must first love yourself. In this life, she would not repeat her mistakes. She was about to speak when the phone in Caspian's pocket rang. It was Vanessa. Seeing the caller ID, his cold expression instantly softened. He stepped aside to take the call. A minute later, he returned. "Clara, your sister sprained her ankle. As her brother-in-law, I should go see her. After you sign, just go home by yourself." Without waiting for her reply, he hurried out. His assistant, Danny, chased after him. "Mr. Blackwood, the board meeting is about to start—this contract is worth hundreds of billions. You—" "Cancel it." Caspian stepped on the accelerator, and the car vanished into traffic. Watching his receding figure, Clara felt nothing but sorrow and irony. In her past life, her eyes and heart had been full of Caspian Blackwood. She had never known that his eyes and heart were full of Vanessa. Such obvious affection—how had she missed it? She had wasted an entire lifetime. At the counter, the staff member tapped on the glass. "Miss Windsor, are you still signing the form?" Clara curved her lips, but the smile did not reach her eyes. "Yes." She picked up the pen and, stroke by stroke, wrote a name: Vanessa Windsor. Then she slid the corresponding page from the family register across the counter. Caspian Blackwood, since you love her so much, I will grant your wish. Stepping out of the City Hall, she looked at the marriage certificate in her hand and smiled bitterly. Groom: Caspian Blackwood. Bride: Vanessa Windsor. She wondered what face Caspian would make when he saw these two certificates. She had just tucked them into her bag when her phone rang. Minister Sterling's voice came through, tinged with regret. "Clara, have you really decided to resign from your diplomatic post?" "The Ministry of Foreign Affairs chooses only the best. You're someone I've always had high hopes for—limitless potential. I was planning to give you an overseas assignment, and then you suddenly said you wanted to quit." "I know family matters to you, but I have to say a few more words—" Before he could finish, Clara's resolute voice cut in. "Minister Sterling, I'm sorry. I was confused before. I'm not resigning. I'll take the overseas post." In her previous life, she had resigned from the Foreign Ministry, and right after that, the overseas post went to Vanessa. She had naively believed that sacrificing her dreams for love would earn her his love. Instead, she had spent the rest of her life trapped inside the Blackwood mansion, her spirit and talent wilting like an ephemeral flower. Meanwhile, Vanessa went abroad, made a name for herself, became a role model for students, and a national pride. In this life, she would never be hindered by love again. She would never sacrifice her future for Caspian Blackwood. From now on, she would live only for herself, shining brilliantly on her own terms.

My husband had an accident while on his way to celebrate his infatuation’s divorce. He was relatively unharmed, just a head injury. When he regained consciousness, it turned out he’d forgotten me, though he remembered everyone else. His infatuation was there, crying softly by his side as he comforted her tenderly. Meanwhile, I skimmed the fat from the chicken stew I'd brought him, hoping it wouldn't be too greasy when he tasted it. Two days later, after all the visitors had left, I saw him sitting there, rubbing his temples. I spoke gently, "The doctor said you'll experience dizziness and nausea for a few days. Maybe you should lie down and rest." Dean opened his eyes and looked at me, silent for a long moment. Just when I thought he wouldn't speak, he suddenly asked, "Did I marry you because I loved you? Why am I the only one who’s forgotten you?" I was taken aback, not expecting him to ask this. "No, we were college classmates. After graduation, your family was pushing for marriage. I happened to like you, so we got married." Now it was his turn to be surprised. "You liked me?" I walked over to him and straightened the collar of his loose pajamas. "Yeah, I really did back then. You were handsome, smart, and talented. Who wouldn’t?" I saw the confusion in his eyes and couldn’t help but smile slightly. "Go rest now, or you'll feel worse later." Watching him retreat to the bedroom, I made a firm resolution in my heart. This man, I’m done with him. No matter how much I once liked him, I don't want him anymore. I quietly shut the master bedroom door before making my way to the study. Dean’s bookshelf was always meticulously organized, every book in its place. Whenever he wanted to read something specific, he’d pull it out ahead of time and leave it in the center of the rightmost cabinet. My fingers brushed over the spines until I landed on a thick journal. I opened it, flipping through the pages with a bittersweet ache in my chest. **October 16, 2014** Wow. The senior playing the violin at the freshman welcome party was *so* handsome. His name is Dean. I think I might have a little crush on him. The pages were filled with my raw, unfiltered thoughts about him—every flutter of my heart, every stolen glance. And tucked between the pages was an ultrasound report. **January 19, 2023** Dean and I are going to have a baby. I can’t wait to tell him. He’s always wanted to be a father, and I know he’ll be over the moon. **January 20, 2023** Dean didn’t come home last night. I wanted to text him about the pregnancy, but it felt like something I should say in person. He’ll be so happy… right? **January 21, 2023** Dean said he was on a “business trip” and forgot to tell me. Fine. I’ll tell him when he gets back. **January 22, 2023** I saw Marina’s Instagram post. Not sure if it’s visible only to me, but Dean was with her. They went on a getaway together. So, it wasn’t a business trip after all. **January 23, 2023** Marina called me. She wants me to divorce Dean and “give him back” to her. But wasn’t *she* the one who left him to go abroad? How do I “give him back” when I didn’t take him away? Her call upset me so much I ended up with stomach pains and had to go to the hospital. The doctor told me to stay calm, but how am I supposed to do that? **February 24, 2023** Marina says she’s divorced now, and Dean is going to celebrate with her. My stomach hurts again, and I feel nauseous. I drank some herbal tea to protect the baby, but it tasted awful. **February 26, 2023** Dean told me the office had a gathering, so he wouldn’t be home tonight. But I know he’s with Marina. Oh, baby, I’m sorry. You might not have a dad because he can’t let go of his past. **February 27, 2023** Dean got into a car accident last night. He woke up today and remembers everyone… except me. It’s over. I placed the journal back in the center of the rightmost bookshelf, making sure it was positioned lower so he’d notice it within a couple of months. The third drawer of the desk was where I kept my personal belongings. I tucked the medical records inside and locked it up. It was time to end all this toxicity. I needed to cut ties with everything and everyone that brought me pain—Marina, Dean, even Dean’s pretentious parents. A jerk doesn’t change, and I’m not holding my breath for him to have a sudden epiphany. But once I’m gone, I won’t let them live their lives so comfortably either. March 1, 2023 I set the breakfast I had prepared on the dining table just as Dean emerged from the bedroom. I smiled at him, but he avoided eye contact and sat down. I tried not to let it bother me; ever since Marina mentioned wanting a divorce, this had been his usual demeanor with me. This is why I couldn't buy Dean's claims of amnesia. After two days of quietly observing him, I concluded he was faking it. He was using the silent treatment along with his supposed memory loss as a tactic to make me frustrated enough to initiate the divorce. The cherry on top was him asking yesterday if he married me because he loved me. Breakfast passed in silence. I was patiently peeling an apple when Dean's phone rang. His face lit up with a smile as he glanced at the caller ID. "Marina, yeah, I'm awake. Still a little dizzy, but I'll be okay. Make sure to wear something warm. Yep, I'm home, feel free to come by anytime." My hand paused mid-peel. Should I make myself scarce so they could have more room to parade their affection? If I had to witness their lovey-dovey behavior once more, I feared I might truly get sick. After finishing breakfast, I tidied up and told Dean I was heading out. "Alright, Marina said she's coming over to take care of me, so you don't need to worry," he replied. I nodded with a smile, "That's great; I won't worry then. I'll be back tonight, and we can talk after dinner." Dean seemed to be searching my eyes for a reaction, maybe hoping to see dismay or defeat. But he'd be let down, as my gaze remained steady. "Okay," he said. I headed straight to my childhood friend's law firm. "So, you're getting a divorce?" Arianna asked, incredulous. "You two have always been the picture-perfect couple. How did it come to this?" I took a sip of coffee. "He's been cheating. His ex got divorced, and now he wants to be with her." "Do his parents know?" I rolled my eyes. "His social-climbing parents have been comparing me to Marina for years. Marina's family is wealthy; she made money in Europe, and she's supposedly so kind-hearted. They've always thought she was better than me. They'll probably be thrilled this time." Arianna grabbed the coffee from my hand. "Aren't you pregnant? Is coffee even okay?" I tilted my head. "Who said I'm keeping it? Ever since they started going on romantic getaways, I decided not to have this child. Dean's tainted, and I don't want anything binding me to him, not even a child, even if it carries his blood." I took the coffee back and had another sip. "Just no time right now. Help me draft a divorce agreement, as soon as possible. I want to secure the best deal while I can, ideally getting him to walk away with nothing." "If you're sure about this, I won't try to talk you out of it. A jerk like him isn't worth the trouble. I'll get started now, come with me." I spent the entire day at the law firm, working with Arianna and two other lawyers to finalize the divorce agreement. At nine in the evening, I returned home with the divorce papers in hand. As soon as I opened the door, I was greeted by a table full of leftovers. Dean and Marina both looked up. "Why didn't you call if you weren't coming back for dinner?" Dean asked. Of course, I had been too busy and forgot. I checked my phone. "You didn't call me to ask either." Marina smiled, trying to lighten the mood. "Ah, married life, there's nothing that can't be talked out. You two chat, I'll get going. Dean, the pulled pork you made was delicious. See you!" "You can cook?" I walked over to the table and noted the mess—four dishes and a soup, all looking quite decent. Dean nodded. "I've always known how to cook. Did I never cook for you? That can't be right. I love cooking. I used to make meals for Marina all the time." I laughed. All these years of marriage, and he pretended not to know how to cook? "Okay, I get it. You don't love me anymore; you love your star." I settled onto the couch and pushed the divorce agreement towards him. "Look it over. If everything's fine, go ahead and sign it. I'll grant you your love story. I've been a stay-at-home wife these years, no chance to work, no savings. So let's see if you can leave with nothing. Marina's family is so wealthy; they won't mind this small amount of property, right?" Dean didn't hesitate much. After looking through it, he signed without any fuss. "I'm truly sorry. I just can't remember you, and we can't live together anymore, so I'll agree to all your terms." I laughed, collecting the agreement. "Tomorrow, we'll head to the civil office. The house is in your parents' name, so I won't stay here tonight. I have plans for the afternoon, so let's meet at the office first thing." I waved and left the home I'd lived in for years. "I don't need to take anything. Nothing important. Throw it all out if you want." It wasn't until I was in the taxi that I burst out laughing. This was way too easy.