His 99 Mistresses, My Final Goodbye

In the seven years I was married to Julian Vance, he kept ninety-nine mistresses on the side. Everyone was waiting for him to demand a divorce. Even me. Then, on our wedding anniversary, after standing me up once again, he sent me a draft of a divorce agreement. I didn't cry. I didn't make a scene. I just opened the file and texted back: *Received.* A week later, Julian walked into the house with his new little secretary on his arm. The girl burst into tears right away, sobbing out an apology: "I'm so sorry, Nora. I was just messing around. I took Mr. Vance's phone as a joke." "He doesn't have your contact pinned, and you don't have a contact name, so I honestly didn't know that was your chat." Julian comforted Chloe Bennett with soft, gentle murmurs for several minutes before finally glancing at me with cold indifference. "She's just a kid having fun. You're an adult woman, Nora. Don't be petty." "Don't worry. As long as you stay obedient, no one is going to take your place as Mrs. Vance." Seeing his face—arrogant, making an announcement rather than having a conversation—I couldn't help but laugh out loud. I already had my divorce lawyer lined up. I already booked a solo trip. All I needed was his signature to finalize the divorce and walk into my new, peaceful life. And now you're telling me you don't want to divorce? Chloe hid behind Julian's shoulder. Her tearful face was pinched with innocence, but her eyes flashed with sharp, mocking triumph. Julian held her hand with an easy, practiced intimacy. "Nora, Chloe is young and naive. You're way too old to be holding a grudge against her." "She only sent that divorce agreement from my phone because she thought it was a prank." "You know I've never actually thought about divorcing you." Watching him shield another woman, my mind suddenly flashed back to a rainy night seven years ago. Back then, he had knelt in the pouring, freezing rain. His entire body had been shaking violently, yet the hand holding the diamond ring was rock steady. "Nora, marry me. I swear I'll make you the happiest woman alive." He really did give me that unique, undivided love. For a little while. Until later, when he began handing out pieces of that same love to the endless string of women parading through his life. And me? Maybe I was just the very first bird he locked inside his cage. "Julian, I received the divorce papers," I said, my voice completely flat. "Since it was sent, let's just sign it." Julian's brows knit tightly together—the classic warning sign before he lost his temper. Seven years of marriage had taught me every single twitch of his face. "Nora Vance, since when did you become so unreasonable?" "Chloe already apologized to you! What more do you want?" What did I want? I wanted the man who had drained my entire youth to give me back my freedom. I wanted every single one of his little side pieces out of my life forever. At thirty years old, I wanted to be Nora again, not Mrs. Vance. But I knew none of those words would ever reach him. In his mind, I had long become the embodiment of bitterness, pettiness, and lack of understanding. Chloe chose that exact second to let out another trembling sob, her shoulders shaking like a fragile petal in the wind. "Julian, it's all my fault. I shouldn't have touched your phone." "Nora has every right to be angry with me." Julian's voice instantly softened as he stroked her back gently. "Don't cry. It has nothing to do with you." Then he turned back to me, his gaze freezing over once more. "Nora, apologize to Chloe, and we'll let this go." A laugh caught in my throat. How utterly ridiculous. His mistress sent me divorce papers using his phone, and in the end, *I* was the one expected to apologize. When I married Julian, I was twenty-three. He was an ambitious young entrepreneur, and I was the woman standing in his shadow. Everyone claimed Julian built his empire with his bare hands. Only I knew that his very first seed money came from me, staying awake night after night drafting architectural designs until my hands bled. Back then, we lived in a tiny studio apartment barely ten feet wide. Splitting a bowl of instant ramen felt like pure bliss. He used to pull me close and say, "Nora, once I make it, I promise you'll live the best life." Later, he did make it. He got filthy rich. But that "best life" became a solitary prison for me alone. He spent his nights drowning in luxury, clubs, and parties, while I spent mine guarding an empty house. From the first woman to the ninety-ninth, I tracked his mistresses like an exhausted accountant. It wasn't that I hadn't fought back. Three years ago, he brought an upcoming starlet home to spend the night. The girl was in her early twenties, glowing and glamorous. She pointed right at my face and asked, "Who's this old lady?" Julian had just laughed, wrapping an arm around her waist. "Just the housekeeper." That was the exact moment something inside me shattered completely. After that, I learned to keep my mouth shut and ask no questions. I learned to be the perfect, invisible Mrs. Vance. Until last month, during my routine checkup, the doctor looked at me with a grim, heavy expression. "Ms. Vance, your test results are very concerning." "It's stomach cancer. Stage four." What poetic irony. While he was out wining and dining his women, my stomach was rotting away inside an empty mansion. The day I received the diagnosis, I sat alone on the hospital bench for hours. Long enough to play back my short, miserable life from start to finish. I called Julian. The phone rang for ages before he finally picked up. In the background were the sounds of clinking wine glasses and women giggling softly. "What is it? I'm in the middle of a business meeting." His voice was laced with pure annoyance. I could easily picture the scowl on his face. "Never mind." I hung up, folded the medical report, and slipped it into my coat pocket. Just like I was packing away the very last shred of hope I had left for him.Julian left with Chloe. Before walking out the door, he tossed a black credit card onto the table like he was tipping a beggar. "Go buy yourself something nice. Wipe that miserable look off your face. It's depressing to look at." I stared down at the card. My mind dragged me back to years ago, when he earned his very first paycheck and shoved an envelope of cash into my hands just like this. Back then, his eyes were shining bright, and he swore to me with complete conviction, "Nora, I'm going to take care of you forever." Now, he was taking care of me. Just like an owner feeding a caged bird. The only difference was that the birds outside got his warmth and adoration. All I got was his charity. I hired a lawyer to draft a fresh divorce agreement. The attorney was young, sporting gold-rimmed glasses and a sharp, tailored suit. "Ms. Vance, according to state law, you are entitled to a substantial portion of Mr. Vance's marital assets." He slid a folder across the desk toward me. "This is the initial draft. If you wish, I will fight aggressively to secure far more for you." Without even glancing at the numbers, I flipped straight to the final page and signed my name. "No need. I only want what is rightfully mine. The basics are enough." The lawyer blinked, caught off guard. "Doing this puts you at a significant financial disadvantage." I offered a faint smile. "Better than staying in a marriage that's killing me." He studied me, his eyes softening with unspoken sympathy. "Ms. Vance, you and Mr. Vance..." "It's been seven years. It's time to wake up," I interrupted softly, sliding the signed document back to him. "Please process this as quickly as possible. I don't have much time." The last sentence was barely a whisper, meant more for myself than for him. Leaving the law firm, I took a cab straight to the cemetery. My mother was buried there. When she passed, the only thing she worried about was leaving me alone. *Nora, after I'm gone, all I want is for you to be safe and happy.* I traced the cold stone of her headstone. In the photograph, my mother was smiling warmly. "Mom... I think I let you down." "Ever since you left, I haven't been safe. And I haven't been happy." I stayed by her grave until the sun slipped completely beneath the horizon. My phone vibrated in my pocket. It was Julian. This was the first time this entire month he had actually reached out to call me first. "There's a charity gala tonight, and I need a date. Get yourself dressed up. I'll have the driver pick you up at seven." It was an order. Cold, practical, and businesslike, exactly as always. "No. I'm not feeling well," I replied, my voice completely devoid of energy. Silence stretched across the line for a few beats, followed by a harsh, mocking scoff. "Nora, you've really been acting out lately. Are you seriously still throwing a tantrum over what Chloe did?" "I told you, she's practically a kid. Why are you making such a big deal out of nothing?" See? That was Julian. Always pointing the finger at me. Always deciding that my pain was just me being hysterical. "Julian," I took a steady breath. "I told you. Let's get a divorce." "What did you just say?" His tone shot through the roof. "I already printed and signed the divorce papers. All you have to do is put your name on them." "Nora Vance! Are you out of your—" I hung up on him. For the first time in seven years, I ended the call before he could. Julian drove back to the house that very night. When he kicked the front door open, I was in the middle of packing my suitcase. "What kind of drama are you staging now?" He violently ripped the suitcase out of my hands. "A divorce? Over a stupid prank Chloe pulled?" I looked at his bloodshot eyes, smelling the heavy stench of alcohol on his breath, and a deep wave of exhaustion washed over me. "Julian, the problems between us have never been about any single girl." "Then what the hell is it about?" He leaned in, crowding me against the wall. "Tell me!" What was it about? It was about him taking everything for granted. It was about him looking straight through me, blind to my suffering. But what was the point of saying any of that now? You can't wake up a man who is pretending to be asleep. "Let's just say I'm sick of it," I said, too tired to argue. "It's been seven years, Julian. I'm done." That sentence completely set him off. He shoved me hard against the wooden wardrobe. "Done? Nora Vance, who the hell do you think you are to be done?" "Do you have any idea how many women out there are dying to take your place as Mrs. Vance?" "I gave you the best life money could buy! What else could you possibly want?" The best life? Guarding an empty house while watching him parade around with other women? Choking down agonizing stomach pain while listening to him tell me how difficult I was? I laughed. And as I laughed, tears finally spilled over my eyelashes. "Julian... do you even remember what day it was when your secretary played that little prank?"He froze. A momentary flicker of confusion crossed his features. Seven years ago, in that tiny, run-down studio apartment, we made our vows to each other. He had sworn that whether poor or rich, he would love me just the same. Standing here now, I knew without a doubt that he had completely forgotten. "That day was our seventh wedding anniversary," I said softly. A flicker of guilt flashed across his face, but it was quickly swallowed up by sheer irritation. "All this drama over some pointless ritual? Nora, since when did you become so shallow?" "I bust my ass every single day entertaining clients and running a company! Who do you think I'm doing all this for? For this home!" *Home?* Could this hollow, freezing mansion—a place devoid of even a trace of his presence—actually be called a home? A sudden, violent cramp tore through my stomach. I instinctively doubled over, cold sweat beading on my forehead in seconds. "What's wrong with you now?" he asked with a deep frown. There wasn't an ounce of concern in his voice—only the annoyance of being interrupted. "Nothing," I forced myself to straighten my spine. I refused to show him any weakness. "Julian, the paperwork is on the counter. Sign it, and we'll both be free." "Once it's done, you can hand the title of Mrs. Vance to whoever you want." He stared at me, as if he were seeing a complete stranger. "Nora, are you seeing someone else?" "I knew it! You've been acting completely out of your mind lately. You must be—" *Smack.* I slapped him hard across the face. The sharp crack echoed loudly through the cavernous bedroom. He clutched his cheek, staring at me in total disbelief. I looked down at my own hand. My palm was still stinging from the impact. "Julian Vance, don't project your disgusting habits onto me!" His temper erupted. He clamped a hand around my wrist, squeezing with bruising force. "Nora, let me make one thing crystal clear. A divorce? Don't even dream about it!" "You'll stay in this marriage whether you like it or not!" "Unless I decide to throw you away, you aren't going anywhere!" Staring into his manic, possessive eyes, the truth finally dawned on me. It wasn't that he loved me. It wasn't that he needed me. He simply couldn't accept that the woman he had neglected and controlled for seven years was daring to walk out on him. It bruised his fragile ego. It challenged his absolute authority. "Julian," I met his gaze, my voice deadly calm. "I wasn't asking for your permission. I was notifying you." He glared at me, his chest heaving up and down. Finally, he threw my hand away with disgust, as if he had just touched poison. "Fine! Great! You want to play tough, Nora?" "Let's see how long you last out there without me and my money!" He spun around and stormed out, slamming the heavy front door behind him. The deafening bang rattled the walls of the mansion, ringing painfully in my ears. Leaning heavily against the sofa, my legs gave out, and I sank onto the floor. Agony rolled through my gut like a tidal wave. My hands trembled as I dug a plastic bottle from my purse. Shaking out two white pills, I choked them down dry. The bitter chemical taste burned all the way down my throat and into my chest. My story with Julian hadn't started out this way. During our first year of marriage, we were truly happy. He broke away from his family's trust fund, determined to build his own startup from scratch. We rented a tiny place that froze in the winter and turned into an oven in the summer. He worked from dawn to dusk, meeting investors and drinking himself sick. I took on endless freelance design gigs, drawing through the night until my vision blurred. My meager income kept our heads above water and kept his business afloat during the hardest times. He used to pull me into his arms, tears in his eyes. "Nora, you're suffering so much for me." "Once I make it big, I'll make it all up to you a thousand times over." Pressed against his chest, I truly believed that as long as we were together, even the bitterest struggle was sweet. Eventually, his company took off. It grew massive, successful beyond our wildest dreams. We moved into this sprawling estate. We had more money than we could ever spend. And yet, his arrival times at home grew later and later. It started with unfamiliar perfume lingering on his coats. Then came the smudge of lipstick on his collars. Then came the flirty texts and late-night calls popping up on his phone screen. I screamed. I cried. I demanded answers. In the beginning, he made half-hearted excuses. Later, he couldn't even be bothered to lie, snapping at me to stop being paranoid. "It's just business networking! You're always going to be Mrs. Vance. Isn't that enough for you?" No. It wasn't enough. I wanted loyalty. I wanted to be his one and only. I wanted the pure, untainted love we had back in our twenties. I didn't want an empty, hollow title. With every broken promise, my heart grew colder and colder, until it finally withered away. It took a terminal diagnosis from a doctor for me to suddenly wake up and realize what a complete joke my last seven years had been.Julian never came back home. He was probably holed up at Chloe's place, or spending the night in the bed of another one of his mistresses. As I was packing the last of my things, Julian's mother—a woman who had treated me with nothing but contempt from day one—called out of the blue. Her voice barked through the speaker before I could even say hello. "Nora! What kind of wife are you?" "Julian is under a mountain of stress with the company right now. Instead of staying home to take care of him, you're picking fights?" "I hear you're demanding a divorce? Who the hell do you think you are without my son?" I listened quietly. Once she finally ran out of breath, I replied flatly. "Evelyn." Saying her name felt strangely liberating. "You're right. Without Julian, I'm nobody." "So please, do me a favor and tell your son to sign the divorce papers immediately. Let this nobody walk away." There was a stunned silence on the other end. She clearly hadn't expected me to agree so submissively. After sputtering for a few seconds, she spat out an insult about me being ungrateful and slammed the phone down. I moved out of that cold, dead mansion and into a small rented apartment near the city hospital. The oncologist strongly recommended starting chemotherapy immediately. I refused. I knew exactly what chemo looked like. Hair loss, relentless vomiting, wasting away hooked up to IV drips, spending my final days stripped of all dignity. I didn't want to go out like that. In whatever time I had left, I wanted to live for myself. Just once, I wanted to experience genuine peace. I booked a flight to Kauai, Hawaii. For years, I had dreamed of standing on the edge of the Pacific, watching the endless blue water. I had always waited for Julian to have free time so we could go together. But I eventually learned that he would never have time for me. Before leaving, I stopped by the clinic for one final checkup and prescription refill. I never expected that while passing the obstetrics and gynecology wing, I would run right into Chloe. When she spotted me, surprise crossed her features, quickly replaced by a smug, self-satisfied grin. She deliberately draped a hand over her flat stomach. "Nora? What are you doing at the hospital? Are you sick?" I ignored her completely and kept walking toward the elevators. She hurried to keep up, her voice dripping with triumphant sweetness. "Julian drove me here for my ultrasound. He's just downstairs finding parking." A sharp twinge hit my chest, but my face remained completely impassive. Clearly dissatisfied that she couldn't get a rise out of me, Chloe pressed on: "Julian actually worries about you a lot, you know. He told me last night that he really hopes you'll stop being childish and come back home." Losing all patience, I stopped and looked at her coldly. "That's his problem. It has nothing to do with me." I turned on my heel to walk away, only to slam directly into Julian as he stepped out of the elevator doors. The medical folder slipped from my hands, sending my papers scattering across the linoleum floor. I bent down instinctively to grab them, but Julian was faster. He snatched up my discharge summary, and his brow furrowed hard. "Why does this medical report say you need chemotherapy?"