Too Late To Beg: My Cold Ex-Husband

On our ninth anniversary, my husband Dominick didn't toast to us. Instead, he rested his hand on his mistress's pregnant belly in front of the entire crime family.

I was just a debt payment to him, a ghost in a forty-thousand-dollar gown.

But the humiliation didn't end in the ballroom. When his mistress, Chastity, started hemorrhaging later that night, he didn't call an ambulance. He dragged me to the family clinic.

He knew I had a serious heart condition. He knew a transfusion of that magnitude could trigger a fatal cardiac event.