Drowning Him In Regret novel Chapter 6

Chapter 6 Swallowing The Bitter Pill

Watching their shadows fade down the hall, it slammed into me like a gut punch.

No wonder Jude never hauled Vivian’s ass home—her prissy self couldn’t deal with dog hair.

The young nurse, all fidgety and fired up, looked ready to chase him down, but I caught her wrist.

“Ms. Watson, that’s your husband, isn’t it? What a goddamn asshole!” She was fresh-faced, probably just out of nursing school, her eyes blazing with that righteous fury.

I shook my head, a tired smirk tugging at my lips. “Don’t sweat it. We’re through. If he’d hung around, I’d probably be dead already.”

They said anger was a slow poison for women, eating us from the inside out.

Maybe that was why, after three years of biting my tongue and swallowing my rage, the cancer roared back, hungrier than ever.

Once the shitshow cleared, the doctor got back to work, penciling in my surgery.

Maybe he felt a pang of guilt, because even though my vitals were barely scraping by, they fast-tracked me.

I couldn’t help but wonder if that little talisman from the neighbor lady was actually pulling some weight.

The docs had all but written me off, saying a second relapse meant I was screwed, but this time? The surgery was a fucking breeze.

Guess life cutting me a break, even a tiny one, bought me a few more days.

Crazy as it sounds, I almost wanted to thank Jude for being such a dick today. If he’d played the doting husband, I’d probably have dropped dead from the sheer shock.

In the ICU, the pain was a monster—white-hot, like my skull was splitting open.

This wasn’t my first dance with a scalpel, but holy hell, it hurt worse than before. Maybe because this time, I knew nobody gave a damn if I made it.

Back in Kasenland for my first surgery, Mom was there, her hand in mine, whispering I’d be okay.

Thinking of her now, my throat closed up, and tears burned their way out.If I’d just listened to her—really listened—would she still be here? Would I be less of a wreck?

The nurse at my bedside, checking the monitors, leaned in and softly wiped my tears with a tissue. “Hey, you nailed it today—surgery was a slam dunk. It’s just the anesthesia fading; it’ll sting like a motherfucker for a bit. You’ve got this, though.”

Her eyes were swimming with pity, and I didn’t need a crystal ball to know why.

I’d probably become the hospital’s juicy gossip—not for the gash on my head, but because my husband sauntered off with his sidepiece, leaving his dying wife to fend for herself.

But fuck it—I didn’t care anymore. Breathing meant I still had a chance, and that was enough.

The days after the surgery slogged by, and my phone didn’t buzz once. No calls, no texts, just silence. I was too drained to give a shit anyway.

The sweet old lady in the next bed and I pooled our cash for a caregiver, which saved me a few grand. Small victories, right? At least I’d take those.

In the dead of night, when the world felt like it was holding its breath, I’d grab my phone and scroll, chasing ghosts.

Jude had gone radio silent. No calls, no texts, not even a lazy WhatsApp emoji to pretend he gave a shit.

But I couldn’t dodge the flood of him and Vivian. She was everywhere, her life splashed across my screen like a bad movie I couldn’t quit watching.

Vivian was the queen of oversharing, vomiting her perfect little moments onto Ins like it was her diary.

Even in the gossip group—where she didn’t even belong—she was the sun, and everyone else just orbited her drama.