My Husband Said His Student Was More Important Than His Pregnant Wife Until I Asked for Divorce novel Chapter 19

Chapter 9

His words left me momentarily speechless.

The truth was, I had wanted to divorce Jacob for years. But they had always been so good to me, and they genuinely hoped Jacob and I could make our marriage work for a lifetime.

So, for all these years, no matter how much I suffered, I had never sought a divorce.

But now…

Of course, I was more than willing. Given Jacob’s attitude toward me over the years, I assumed he would

agree too. So, I was surprised when he blurted out, “I don’t agree to a divorce!”

He seemed just as startled by his own words as I was. He fell silent, as if confused by his own reaction.

Mr. Pearson scoffed coldly. “You don’t have a choice. The divorce will happen.”

True to his efficient nature, Mr. Pearson issued a formal statement that very afternoon. He severed all ties

with Jacob, disowned him from the Pearson family, and reclaimed all property and resources previously

given to him, including the hospital.

Simultaneously, my ten-year marriage to Jacob Pearson officially came to an end.

What I didn’t expect was that Mr. Pearson would transfer ownership of Jacob’s hospital to me and also grant

me a substantial sum of money as compensation.

I initially refused, but he took my hand and spoke earnestly, “If you hadn’t acted that night, I’d be gone, too.

Please, let me do this. It’s the only peace I’ll get.”

“Jacob is no son of mine anymore. But you… you’ve been more of a daughter than he ever was a son. Let me

make it right.”

His sincerity was evident. I couldn’t bring myself to refuse and finally accepted his gifts.

I had studied medicine once, but after marriage, Jacob found It embarrassing for the lady of the Pearson

family to work and made me quit my job,

Now, returning to the medical field felt familiar, not strange at all.

After taking over the hospital, I implemented sweeping reforms. I especially targeted the unreasonable rule

of “no payment, no treatment” and established a rellef fund using the money Mr. Pearson gave me,

specifically to cover medical fees for those who couldn’t afford them.

As for Jacob, I later heard bits and pieces. The news of him causing his own mother’s death had spread

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nationwide. Despite his excellent medical skills, no reputable hospital would hire him. Left with no choice, he

ended up working at a small rural clinic.

But Jacob, the once-pampered young master, couldn’t adapt to ordinary life without his family’s protection. It wasn’t long before he squandered what little savings he had left, living in a state of perpetual misery and

discontent.

He tried seeking help from his old friends, but they all avoided him.

“That’s Jacob Pearson, the doctor who let his own mother die. Let’s keep moving. I don’t want to be

anywhere near him.”

Mr. Pearson was a man of his word. True to his declaration, he wanted nothing more to do with the son who

had been complicit in his wife’s death.

One day, as I was working, the emergency center received a new patient.

A nurse briefed me on the case. “We’ve got a physician from an out-of-town clinic, multiple stab wounds from a patient altercation. It’s surprising he made it here alive.”

My peripheral vision caught a glimpse of the person on the stretcher. I froze.

It was Jacob.

Covered in blood, gaunt and thin.

He saw me at the same moment and stared, equally stunned.

I averted my gaze first, calmly instructing the doctor beside me, “If he can’t cover the deposit, start with the charity fund.”

“Here, we treat first. Payment comes after the patient is stable.”

With that, I turned and walked away without a second glance, no longer concerned about the man who had once been my husband, I didn’t see the single tear that escaped the corner of his eye.

Two years later, I received a message from the prison.

Victoria had committed suicide in her cell.

Her mental state had deteriorated to near breakdown before her death. She spent her days muttering that she was Mrs. Pearson, the lady of the house. One morning, the guards found she had used a piece of

smuggled cutlery to slit her own throat.

When I received the news, I went to Mrs. Pearson’s gravesite. I brought a bouquet of daisies, her favorite.

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“Mom… I hope you don’t mind me still calling you that. She’s gone now. I hope you can rest.”

“I’ll take good care of the hospital. I’ll make sure no one who needs help is ever turned away again.”

Having said my piece, I left.

A gentle breeze brushed against the tombstone, stirring the air around the photograph of Mrs. Pearson’s warm, kind smile.

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