My Husband Chose Her Dogs Over Me

Chapter 3

The vibrant light of my life had faded into a cold, distant glow.

I lost track of how long I sat there sobbing—until there were simply no tears left. That's when my phone screen lit up with a notification.

It was a public post from Leanna.

The photo showed two people locked in a tender kiss, fingers intertwined.

The caption read: "Congratulations, Dr. D, for passing my final test! I’ve always been your first choice, time and time again. Even without a title, I’d spend my whole life with you."

My eyes landed on the wedding ring in the picture—one I knew intimately. It pierced my chest like a knife.

But none of it mattered now.

The children I loved most were gone forever.

"Franco… I’m done with you."

The next morning, I woke to find a bowl of warm porridge on my nightstand.

My phone buzzed with a string of messages from Franco:

"Mara, something urgent came up. Had to leave for a quick business trip. Made you breakfast and hired a top-tier maternity nurse and caregiver to look after you."

"Also, the maternity ward’s packed. Since you had a natural delivery, don’t hog the bed—it doesn’t reflect well on me as a doctor. Be a good wife and check yourself out."

"Behave. I’ll bring back gifts for you and the babies."

I glanced at the high-end nurse waiting in the doorway and let out a bitter laugh.

Sure enough, my phone lit up again—another boastful post from Leanna:

"Get well soon, my little fur babies! Daddy took two whole days off just to nurse you back to health~ Lucky pups to have a dad who loves you this much!"

The photo showed Franco crouched down, patiently bottle-feeding a puppy.

My nails dug into my palms. My chest tightened.

I sent the nurse away.

Despite the doctor’s insistence that I needed at least a month of hospitalization, I refused.

I had a funeral to plan—for three children.

Three days later, I dragged my aching body to the funeral home.

When I walked out, I cradled three warm urns—the last warmth they’d ever give me.

"Let’s go home, my babies."

Back at the house, I arranged the three white porcelain urns neatly on the coffee table. Beside them lay a divorce agreement.

The silence was suffocating. My gaze drifted to the photo wall, dazed.

A new addition from just a month ago—a family portrait from Alec’s seventh birthday. The three of us smiled, frozen in time.

Now, my tears splashed heavily onto the urns.

I texted Franco: "We’re getting a divorce."

His reply took forever:

"Stop being dramatic. I’m on a business trip. We’ll talk when I’m back."

Then, a photo—three tiny gold lock pendants.

"Mara, look how cute these are! Picked them out for the kids. Got one for you too—it’s a surprise!"

The kids?

Coming from him, the word was a sick joke.

All three of our children were dead—because of him.

And now he had the audacity to play doting father?

I zoomed in on the pendants, and fury crashed over me like a wave.

Those exact pendants had been around the necks of Leanna’s puppies yesterday.

Eight puppies. Eight gold locks.

Even this pathetic "gift" for our children was just leftovers—repurposed for her dogs.

Tears blurred my vision.

I took one last look around the home that had held a decade of my marriage. Then I gathered the urns, turned my back, and shut the door without a second thought.

Thirty minutes later, I pulled up outside Leanna’s apartment complex.

There they were—Franco and Leanna—pushing a stroller, walking their dogs, soaking up the sun like some picture-perfect couple.

A security guard chuckled as they passed.

"Damn, you two really pamper those pets. That bottle you’re using to feed the dogs? I couldn’t even afford one that fancy for my own kid—costs more than a month’s salary!"