30 Days to leave my CEO husband

Five minutes. I had to wait for five minutes.

I set my phone alarm and  purposely averted my gaze as I dropped the stick on the toilet sink and walked into the adjoining bedroom.

I always hated this part, the waiting. It usually is the longest time of my life. Time would begin to crawl and move sluggishly instead of it's usual fast pace.

Picking a towel from the sets neatly arranged by my bedside drawer, I started to clean and wipe off imaginary dust.

After then I moved to my dresser and began to rearrange the items sitting on it.

No, the drawer wasn't dusty neither did my room need any more arranging. But it was the only way I could take my mind off the strip in my wash room.

What if it reads negative?

Sweat beaded on my forehead at the thought of it.

I pulled out my husband's shoes from the rack and started to arrange the pairs-

My alarm dinged.

    I snapped upright at once.

Shit, five minutes gone. My hands turned clammy as I rushed into the washroom.

Eyes firmly shut, I reached for the test strip with trembling hands, brought it to eye level and slowly opened my eyes.

The undeniable single line etched on the strip stared back at me.

I blinked, my lashes lowered and flicked to the strip. Still, a single line.

Negative.

Negative again.

My body reacted before I did. My legs gave out and i slid to the cold floor of the washroom.

My fourth IVF treatment failed. All the tests, medications, injections, the trust in the process... Failed.

A tear slid down my face.

I should be used to these by now. The failures, the disappointment. But it hits the same everytime.

I wasn't sure how long I stayed, sitting and staring into space while the tears rolled freely down my eyes.

Three years of hoping, waiting. How long before Nathan gets tired of the hospital visits?

Heck, he was tired already. I see it in his eyes; the reluctance each time I talked about visiting the hospital.

The doctors have termed us healthy and fit and have even promised that in due time I'll get pregnant, but I was tired.

Three years and not a single miscarriage.

Why can't I just get pregnant and have my happy marriage back?

How long do I have to wait? How long before Nathan's patience grow thin and he heeds the advice of his mother to have a mistress.

My phone dinged and I reached to irritatedly switch it off when the alarm blared again.

I unlocked my phone and-

Shit, shit, shit. It was exactly 7pm.

It was our third wedding anniversary today and my husband and I planned celebrating over dinner at the newly opened Thai restaurant in town.

If there was anything Nathan hated with passion, it's lateness and I was already running late.

I quickly scrambled up, disposed the test strip and had a quick bath.

I selected a short white dress from my walk in closet and hurried through dressing. I slipped on the first red stiletto I laid my eyes on and picked a matching clutch purse.

After applying light makeup, I rushed downstairs to the soft hum of Nathan's Bentley pulling into the driveway.

A quick glance at my watch showed it was 7:40pm. He was also late but to my advantage. I sighed in relief as I got the door.

"Nathan," I greeted softly. "How was work?"

I got a grunt in response but I wasn't bothered, at least we had a date, and he couldn't ignore me through the night.

I furrowed my brows when he handed me his briefcase, kicking off his shoes as he started  to shrug off his coat.

"Nathan?"

"What?" he asked flatly not glancing at me.

"Nathan."

"What?" he barked irritatedly, turning to me. The first real look at me since he returned.

Nathan took in my full appearance and raised a brow, "you heading somewhere?"

I arched a brow, "you're seriously asking that?"

When he just stared blankly at me, I groaned. "No way, Nathan. We have a date."

"Oh that," he waved his hand, unbuttoning his shirt, "we can reschedule. It's late and I am tired from work."

"You can't just reschedule something like this, it's our anniversary for crying out loud."

Nathan threw a long look at me and shook his head. "Not tonight, Ariella. The last board meeting I attended drained every last of my energy," he said, turning away. "By the way, what's for dinner?"

"I didn't make dinner."

He stopped, turning back to me. "Why?" he shot the one clipped question to me.

"Because we both planned to go out for dinner," I chirped, "I sent you a reminder at noon, did you even check your text?"

Nathan rubbed his temples the way he did when he was tired. "I was too busy, with the new product launch at the corner, I have too much on my plate."

New product launch. It was the exact excuse he gave last anniversary, same one he gave on my birthday last week.

Not willing to give up so easily, I decide to coax him gently.

I had patiently planned and counted the days to our anniversary date because I believe it will bridge the gap between us and bring back our bond.

"Nathan," I started softly, "we can go to any restaurant you feel like. We eat, spend a few moments together and come back home."

"No-"

"Please..."

"I said no! Why don't you get it," he yelled." Fucking get me dinner and stop your tantrums." He yanked his case from me, spilling it's content in the process, "I really shouldn't expect more from someone that sits and lazy around the house all day. Just go get dinner, I'm famished."

I blinked rapidly, refusing to let tears fall, refusing him the satisfaction of seeing how much his words got to me.

Stooping low, I gathered the documents scattered across the floor.

"Okay, I'll whip up something fast for you," I said softly, proud my voice didn't waver like I feared it would.

I straightened to hand him his files just to be met with an echoing silence at the doorway.

He had gone upstairs without even waiting for my response.

I let out a sigh and arranged his documents on the table. Removing my shoes, I quietly padded into the kitchen to prepare his meal.

By the time I was done, Nathan was already seated at the dining. I served him and flopped on the cushion behind him, waiting in case he needed something.

"What the hell?" Nathan blared.

I got up, moving over to him. "What is it?"

"What is this?" he asked, waving at his food.

"Fresh orange juice.."

"What is in the fucking meal?" he asked impatiently.

My brows pulled together. "It's your favorite, Nathan. Homemade chicken pasta stirred with vegetables."

Nathan pointed at a small piece on his plate, "why does this then look like fish?"

"It's not..." I trailed, my eye widening in realization.

I must have mistakenly switched up with the sauce I prepared for myself.

Nathan dislikes fish. He had no allergy but he doesn't eat it.

"I..I.."

"Ariella!"

I swallowed, my day couldn't get any more worse.

"I'm so sorry, Nathan. I had a pretty long day and..."

The sound of a chair scraping across the hard floor cut me off just as a bowl was flung

in my direction.

I didn't have time to react and the bowl hit me on the jaw, scalding hot pasta tipping down my neck to my body.

"Ahh!"