I Dropped His Dying Mom At His Wedding novel Chapter 1

My husband, Tristian Kent, was a military officer. I’d been receiving his military allowance, only to be told during a medical checkup that we’d been “divorced” for six months.

I laughed out of absurdity, then withdrew my mother–in–law, Emilie Kent, from her nursing home

in no time.

That night, I brought the bedridden Emilie straight to the gate of Tristian’s military camp.

The next day, Tristian and his bride had just registered their marriage when they saw me sitting in the reception room of the military camp with Emilie.

“Why did you bring my mom here?” His face turned livid as he questioned me.

I coldly tossed the copy of his marriage certificate at him. “Now that you’re remarried, you’d better fulfill your obligation to support your mother.”

His bride flushed crimson, squeezing her own marriage certificate so hard that her knuckles turned white.

As I looked at them, I felt nothing but the joy of revenge. Next, the military’s disciplinary action and Emilie’s medical bills would be more than enough to trouble them.

***

The town health center reeked of Lysol and dust all year round.

I sat on a hard wooden bench outside a gynecologist’s consulting room, unconsciously twisting the hem of my clothes with my fingers. Nervous sweat filled my palms.

The corridor bustled with people. Footsteps, coughs, and children’s cries blended into a noisy

hum.

But I heard none of it, save for the loud thud of my own heartbeat.

I was waiting to consult a gynecologist.

The doctor once mentioned that I was slightly weak and required adequate rest as well as proper

nutrition.

I wondered if Tristian would be happier if I could get pregnant with another baby this time.

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He always said he was tied up with the military, that his career came first, and that there was no rush to have more kids.

But we’d been married nearly seven years, and I was twenty–eight now. If we kept putting it off, the risks associated with pregnancy would only increase for me.

Perhaps having another child would turn this house into more of a home and make him come back more often.

“Christina Steele?”

A young female doctor in a white coat and gold–rimmed glasses pushed open the door, holding my medical report in her hand.

I jumped to my feet, an ingratiating smile plastered on my face. “Doctor, that’s me.”

She adjusted her glasses, glancing back and forth between my face and the papers in her hand, then knitted her brows.

“Aren’t you married?”

My heart lurched at that question. Was there something seriously wrong

with my

results?

I rubbed my hands together nervously. “Yes, I am. My husband’s a soldier. He’s in the military now.”

The doctor’s look of doubt deepened. She flipped over the form in her hand, then pointed to her computer screen.

“That’s strange. Why does your status in the medical records system say ‘divorced“?”

Divorced?

That word hit me like a thunderclap.

My mind went blank, my blood running cold.

There must be something wrong.

“Doctor, did you … did you make a mistake? My husband’s name is Tristian Kent. he’s a military officer. We’re in love. How could we be divorced?”

My voice trembled uncontrollably, each word wavering.

The female doctor, probably startled by my reaction, turned her computer screen toward me. She pointed at the record on it, her tone softening a little.

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“See for yourself. The system says you and a man named Tristian completed divorce proceedings six months ago.”

She checked the info again. “Name and ID number both match. Look, the date was June 12th.”

June 12th?

I felt like an invisible hand clamped around my heart and dragged it into an endless abyss.

I remembered that day.

Six months ago, Tristian had come home on a rare leave. He said the military needed to update his family files, and there were a lot of documents to sign.

He’d held out a stack of papers, pointing to a few places that needed my signature.

“Tina, just sign it. It’s all routine stuff. I have to report back to the unit early tomorrow morning,” he urged, his tone gentle yet tinged with impatience.

Back then, I’d been busy turning Emilie over in bed to wipe her back. The scent of the ointment I’d put on her still lingered on my hands.

I didn’t even glance at the papers, just taking the pen and signing where he pointed.

My trust in him had long been carved into my bones.

He was a soldier who swore to protect our family and country. How could I ever doubt him?

Looking back now, the documents I’d chosen not to read felt like sharp knives piercing my heart.

And I had handed them to him myself.

My hands and feet turned cold, my body swaying like I might collapse.

The thin medical report felt as heavy as a boulder in my grip. Every word on it was a red–hot blade, stabbing into my eyes.

The word “married” was crossed out with a red line, replaced by the cold, bold “divorced,” updated in the system.

A wave of absurdity and betrayal crashed over me, drowning out all else.

I fled the consulting room, my head buzzing. The world seemed to be spinning like it was falling apart around me.

I staggered to the cold corridor wall for support, fumbling out the old phone I’d used for

years.

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I wanted to call Tristian right then, to scream at him and demand answers.

But my fingers froze over the dial button, unable to press it.

I was terrified of hearing a lie he’d already rehearsed, or worse, an indifferent admission.

Then something hit me. I pulled a bank card from my pocket, my hands shaking.

I received my separation allowance from the army on this card.

I opened mobile banking, and the numbers glared back: this month’s allowance had arrived just three days ago. That was the full amount, no missing penny.

He’d cut me off legally, yet he’d kept taking advantage of my identity to collect the subsidy for a soldier’s wife without a shred of guilt.

How ridiculous!

I leaned against the wall and slowly slid to the floor. A dry, wheezing laugh bubbled up from my

throat.

Tears streamed down as I laughed.

I’d taken care of every household task, cared for his paralyzed mom, and scrimped and saved just to get by, all to lift the burden of home from his shoulders and make our small family better off.

In the end, my whole life had turned into a cruel joke.

He’d gotten rid of me silently, like I was some trash.

And me? I’d been a fool, happily planning to bear him a second child to win him back, having no idea he had already fallen for someone else.

My stomach lurched. I clapped a hand over my mouth and stumbled to the restroom sink, retching until my

vision blurred.

What I threw up wasn’t just sour bile, but also all the grievances I’d endured over the past seven years of our marriage.

I splashed cold water on my face. The bitter chill cut through the fog in my head, if only a little.

I wouldn’t let that jerk get away so easily.

Never!

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