His Three Minutes Cost Him His Wife Chapter 05

His Three Minutes Cost Him His Wife Chapter 05

I swapped out my cell number for a brand new 

one. 

I stopped by a carrier store around the corner to 

purchase the SIM card, waiting twenty minutes for 

the clerk to process paperwork. 

Once I held the new chip, I took scissors and 

sliced my old card clean in half, tossing the broken 

plastic straight into a waste bin. 

I rented a small one–bedroom apartment on Oak 

District, windows facing a quiet side street lined 

with autumn sycamore trees. 

When moving day arrived, I hired a moving 

company to ship all leftover possessions. 

Everything fit inside three cardboard boxes plus 

one travel suitcase. 

The movers hauled out a portable scale to weigh each crate, printing shipping labels and taping. 

them to every box’s exterior. 

Six years of marriage condensed down to that tiny 

pile of luggage. 

I refused the driver’s offer of help hauling boxes 

upstairs, carrying each crate one trip at a time by myself. 

By the time I hauled the final box up the staircase, 

a jagged cut sliced open my palm, thin red blood seeping out slow. I wrapped the wound tight with disposable paper napkins. 

In the days after I left, Nico sent thirty–seven 

separate text messages to my old number, plus fourteen unanswered calls. 

I never opened a single notification, dumping all incoming calls straight into my block list. Eventually his messages stopped entirely. 

Grace called me one afternoon. 

“He stood outside our old town gates for three whole hours. The building security approached him three separate times to ask what he was waiting for, and he never gave a clear answer.” 

I acknowledged her words without extra 

comment. 

Two more days passed before Grace’s second call came through. 

“He ran into me downstairs at Valenti Holdings headquarters. He asked if I knew where you’d 

gone. I told him I had no clue. He lingered a minute before walking off, then spun back around halfway 

down the sidewalk. He said to remind you to eat 

regular meals–he remembers you’ve always had 

sensitive stomach issues.” 

I gripped my phone tight, no reply leaving my lips. 

Grace told me Nico’s appearance had deteriorated drastically since I left. He’d lost a significant 

amount of weight, his tailored suits no longer pressed crisp like they used to be. 

Back when we still lived together, I’d always fixed 

his collars before he headed out each morning, 

straightening crooked lapel pins and refastening 

loose cufflinks for him. No one tended to those 

small details for him now. 

A week later, Arthur Hale delivered a sealed legal 

folder to Nico’s office on my behalf. 

The packet contained only a single handwritten 

letter. 

[Nico, 

There’s no use searching for me anymore. I’ve finally come to terms with the truth. You’ve never placed me above anyone else in your life. I always sat second place, and you’d constantly ask why I 

couldn’t be satisfied with that spot. But there’s 

another person permanently locked into that 

number one position beside you, and I’ll never 

push my way into it. I don’t even want to try 

anymore. 

You haven’t wronged me in any cruel, deliberate 

way. You only broke every single promise you 

swore to uphold on our wedding day. 

The biggest lesson I took away from our marriage 

is never to wait around for someone who’ll never 

prioritize you.] 

The letter never mentioned divorce filings or 

marital asset separation stipulations. It only 

stated plainly that I’d walked away for good. 

Grace filled me in afterward. Nico sat alone 

reading that letter through until sunrise, the night. security spotting him leaving the building as dawn broke over the city skyline, his eyes bloodshot red. Still, he never came hunting for me. 

One week later, Grace called once more. 

“He’s signed the initial marital asset separation 

stipulation.” 

“What?” 

“He put his signature on every page of the 

agreement paperwork.” 

I stood at my new apartment window staring at 

bare sycamore branches swaying in wind, a child’s 

scooter laughter drifting up from the street below. 

“Did he say anything else?” 

Grace fell quiet for a beat. 

“He told me to pass along a message for you- take good care of yourself.” 

I ended the call, unlocking my phone to scroll 

through Nico’s blocked contact page. I didn’t 

unblock his number, nor did I delete it entirely. 

A new text popped up from Grace seconds later. 

[Clara, Serena moved back into the townhouse 

yesterday. She posted an Instagram story selfie 

standing on our old terrace with the caption 

Finally.] 

I set my phone down on the windowsill, resting a 

gentle hand over my stomach once again. 

“I’m so sorry, little one. I can’t bring you into this 

world right now.” 

The following morning, I booked an appointment 

at a private women’s clinic. 

When I filled out intake paperwork, the emergency contact line stayed blank instead of listing Nico’s 

name. 

I remained bedridden in my tiny apartment for three days after the procedure. No one checked in on me, no one knocked at my door. No one even knew I’d gone through anything painful at all.