You Thought Cilantro Was Just a Flavor? It’s Actually My FU, Cheater! by Mark Twain 7
Chapter 7
Chapter 7
Edward’s face went stone cold-I’d never seen him this angry.
I pulled up the next slide. A hospital discharge summary.
Spontaneous abortion at 5 weeks gestation secondary to anaphylactic shock and hypoxia.
Patient: Whitney Robinson.
Edward’s eyes went wide.
“Seven years married, and Mr. Smith has always known about my severe cilantro allergy.”
I brought up Ruby’s photo-that pasta drowning in cilantro.
“But someone else loves it. And somehow, he got us mixed up. Made me breakfast with cilantro in it. I went into shock and barely made it to the hospital alive.
I survived-but our baby didn’t. Five weeks along.”
I locked eyes with him.
“You killed your own child, Edward.”
The room erupted.
Women started shouting.
“BITCH! She knew he was married and still went after him! Does she think we’re blind? We all see what she’s been doing!”
“Exactly! Bringing him lunch every damn day, acting like his girlfriend-desperate much? Who throws themselves at a married man like that?”
“Disgusting! But he’s just as bad. Plays the perfect husband in public, but when some girl starts flirting, he doesn’t shut it down? That’s basically giving her permission!”
“Can’t even remember his wife’s ALLERGY-and he almost killed her! God, men love playing the victim!”
I walked up to Edward-still standing there in shock-and shoved the divorce papers and my resignation letter into his hands.
“Sign them. Or I’ll see you in court.”
When I first asked Edward for a divorce, I didn’t tell him about the baby.
Because I knew exactly how he’d react.
He was always so perfect-thoughtful, considerate, the model husband.
In front of me, my parents, everyone. Gentle, patient, understanding.
Friends, coworkers, my own family-they all said the same thing.
09:58
You Thought Cilantro Was Just a Flavor? It’s Actually My FU, Cheater!
4.8%
Chapter 7
How lucky I was. How Edward was one of the good ones.
His reputation was spotless.
So every time we fought, people would take me aside and tell me to stop being so difficult.
If I’d told him about the miscarriage right away, he would’ve dropped to his knees instantly.
Made this huge show of apologizing-publicly, tearfully-so everyone could see how sorry he was, how humble, how broken.
And I would’ve been the heartless bitch who couldn’t forgive one honest mistake.
So I waited.
I had to rip off his mask in front of everyone first.
Outside the window, the city kept moving.
I stared at the equity transfer agreement and signed without hesitation.
This company was mine as much as his.
I’d built it right alongside him-worked just as hard, sacrificed just as much.
I wasn’t walking away empty-handed.
I sold my shares in stages and officially resigned.
If I was divorcing him, I wanted zero ties left.
I had savings, investments, a solid portfolio.
I could start my own firm. I didn’t need to be anyone’s wife to succeed.
When the final transfer cleared, I let out a long breath.
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