My Husband Left Me And Our Newborn In The Rain Because He Didn’t Want To Dirty His Car Seats. He Threw $20 At Me And Told Me To Take The Bus. He Doesn’t Realize I Actually Own His Company. What Should I Do?

A taxi, not an Uber Black. I smiled grimly.

A yellow cab. The bumpy ride must have been its own form of torture for Jessica’s delicate sensibilities and Sharon’s inflated ego.

“Keep them at the gate. Let them wait outside for a bit. Let them enjoy the cold New York night just as I did this afternoon.”

Meanwhile, outside my family’s colossal gates, Ethan, Sharon, and Jessica stood shivering. Their clothes were soaked.

Jessica clutched her drenched designer handbag as if it were a life raft, while Sharon complained ceaselessly about her back aching from the taxi ride. The pile of cardboard boxes containing their worldly possessions had been left on the sidewalk, as the cab driver refused to bring them inside.

“Are you sure this is the right address?”

Ethan’s mother, Sharon, asked, craning her neck to look up at the towering gates.

“This is a palace! This must be a senator’s house or something. There’s no way Olivia knows anyone who lives here. She was probably just making it up.”

“I’m sure, Mom,”

Ethan replied, his teeth chattering.

“Right after we got married, she let it slip once that her aunt worked as a maid at number 88 on this street. She said if we ever got into trouble, we could come here for help.”

“Her aunt is a maid. Figures,”

Jessica sneered.

“No way her poor family owns this place. They’ll probably make us use the back entrance and give us leftover scraps.”

“I don’t care, Jessica. I’d eat scraps right now. I’m starving!”

Sharon whimpered.

Ethan pressed the buzzer next to the gate. A security camera swiveled to focus on their faces.

“Yes?”

A gruff voice crackled from the speaker.

“Uh, good evening, sir,”

Ethan said nervously.

“We’re… we’re relatives of Olivia. Is she here?”

There was a long pause.

“Olivia? I don’t know anyone by that name.”

“I… uh… maybe she works here or lives here?”

Ethan was unsure what to even call me.

One moment, they waited for 10 minutes that felt like an eternity. The night wind cut through their wet clothes.

They stood like beggars before a king’s castle, a perfect mirror of how they had treated me at the bus stop. Only this time, they had no dignity left.

Suddenly, the massive iron gates began to slide open with a quiet hydraulic hum.

“They’re opening!”

Jessica cried hopefully.

“They’re letting us in! Thank God, I can’t feel my feet.”

They started to step forward, expecting a butler with warm towels, but their hopes were dashed as the brilliant headlights of a car blinded them from within the estate. A magnificent, pearl-white luxury car was gliding out toward the gate.

Not just any car—it was a Rolls-Royce Phantom, the ultimate symbol of wealth, something Ethan couldn’t even dream of owning. Ethan, Sharon, and Jessica stepped back instinctively.

They assumed the owner of the house was leaving.

“Ethan! Ethan, that must be the owner!”

Sharon whispered excitedly, trying to fix her matted hair.

“Let’s flag them down! Ask for help! Maybe they’ll take pity on us.”

“Don’t embarrass us, Mom!”

Ethan hissed.

But it was too late. The car stopped directly in front of them.

The tinted rear window slid down silently. All three of them held their breath, preparing to put on their most pitiful expressions.

Sharon was even ready to kneel. The window opened completely.

Seated inside was a young woman in an elegant gown, her face illuminated by the car’s soft interior lighting, her gaze cold and piercing. In her lap, a tiny baby slept peacefully, wrapped in a silk blanket.

Ethan’s mouth fell open, but no sound came out. His eyes bulged as if they were about to pop from their sockets.

Jessica covered her mouth with both hands, stifling a scream. Sharon staggered backward, bumping into a gatepost, her face as white as a ghost.

The woman in the luxury car turned her head slowly toward them. The corners of her lips curled into a terrifying, cynical smile.

“Olivia,”

Ethan hissed, his voice barely a whisper, lost in the sound of the rain.

I looked down at my husband—my ex-husband—from my elevated position, scanning his wet, dirty shirt, his mud-splattered pants, and his face etched with utter despair.

“Good evening, Ethan,”

I greeted him, my voice soft but as sharp as a razor.

“What are you doing in front of my house so late at night? Weren’t you busy enjoying a steak dinner?”

“Your… your house?”

Sharon stammered.

Her legs gave out, and the next moment, the perpetually arrogant woman collapsed onto the wet asphalt. She didn’t faint; she was simply too shocked to stand.

“Yes, Sharon. My parents’ house. The house I grew up in before I made the biggest mistake of my life marrying your son,”

I replied calmly.

“Olivia, honey…”

Ethan tried to approach the car, his hand trembling as he reached for the door.

“This is all a misunderstanding. I can explain! I didn’t know! Please forgive me, Liv!”

Daniel, my driver, gave a short, sharp honk of the horn, making Ethan jump back.

“Don’t touch my car with your filthy hands, Ethan,”

I said coldly.

“You might damage the expensive paint job, or the leather seats might start to smell musty. Remember what you said this afternoon?”

Those words hit Ethan harder than any physical blow. He remembered his exact words as he cast me out of his Escalade.

His face flushed with a shame that was far too late.

“Olivia, please!”

Jessica started to cry, this time with genuine fear.

“We have nowhere to go, Liv! We were evicted! The car’s been repossessed! We’re starving! Please just let us in! We’re family, right?”

“Family?”

I laughed softly.

“What kind of family leaves their newborn nephew out in the rain at a bus stop? What kind of family mocks their sister-in-law on social media?”

I looked at Daniel.

“Drive, Daniel. The air out here is starting to smell like garbage.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The window began to rise.

“Wait! Olivia! Don’t leave us! Olivia!”

Ethan screamed hysterically, trying to chase the car as it started to move.

He ran a few steps, then slipped on the slick pavement and fell face-first onto the asphalt. I didn’t look back.

Through the now closed window, I saw three diminishing figures in the side-view mirror—three wet, cold, broken people in front of a palace whose gates were now closed to them forever. Tonight I would sleep in my warm, comfortable bed.

As for them, let them learn that karma never misses an address. I didn’t make them wait outside like beggars for long, not out of pity, but because there was one final act to be played out before my father on my command via the intercom.

Security opened a small side gate, not the grand main entrance, and ushered Ethan, Sharon, and Jessica into the estate grounds. I was waiting in the main drawing room.

This room was the heart of the Davenport mansion’s opulence. The 20-foot-high ceiling was adorned with a classical European fresco.

A half-ton Swarovski crystal chandelier hung in the center, casting a golden glow across the room. The Carrera marble floor was cool and majestic beneath our feet.

I sat on a velvet maroon armchair, my legs crossed elegantly, holding a steaming cup of chamomile tea. Beside me stood my father, Mr. Davenport, the man Ethan had only known as a distant business associate and a mysterious guarantor.

My father wore silk pajamas and a dressing gown, yet he radiated more power than when he was in a full business suit. The drawing room doors opened.

Three soaked, shivering, and filthy figures entered hesitantly. They looked minuscule in the magnificent room.

Rainwater dripped from their clothes, staining the white marble floor that was likely worth more than Ethan’s lifetime earnings.

“Don’t sit.”

My father’s voice boomed low and sharp as he saw Sharon about to lower her wet body onto a cream-colored Italian leather sofa.

“That sofa costs $200,000. I won’t have your filth ruining it.”

Sharon froze, half-crouched, then straightened up, trembling. Her face was ashen, her lips blue with cold.

Jessica stood behind her mother, hugging herself, her eyes darting around the room in a mixture of awe and terror. Ethan took a step forward, his eyes red, his limp hair plastered to his forehead.

He looked at me, then at my father.

“Mr. Davenport…”

Ethan’s voice was broken.

“So it’s true… you’re Olivia’s… her father?”

“My father,”

I cut in sharply.

“And the owner of the company that has been feeding you, your mother, and your sister for the past two years.”

Ethan’s legs buckled. He dropped to his knees on the hard floor.

The reality hit him with the force of a physical blow. The man he had taken for granted, who he thought was just some connection his wife had, was in fact the king behind his entire comfortable existence.

“I… I’m so sorry, sir,”

Ethan stammered, his tears mixing with the rainwater on his face.

“I honestly didn’t know! I swear, sir! If I had known Olivia was your daughter, I would never have…”

“Would never have what?”

I cut in coldly, setting my teacup down with a soft clink that echoed in the silent room.

“Never have treated me like trash? Never have cheated on me? Or never have told me to take the bus right after having my stomach cut open?”

Ethan looked at me with a disgusting, pleading gaze.

“Liv, honey, I made a mistake. I was just emotional, stressed about the business, you know? I love you. We’ve been together for two years, Liv. Remember our good times?”

“Which good times, Ethan?”

I asked flatly.

“The time you cursed at my cooking? The time your mother threw away my clothes because she thought they were too provincial? Or the time your sister stole my grocery money to buy skincare products?”

Jessica flinched as her name was mentioned.

“Liv, I didn’t mean to…”

“You will be silent!”

My father barked, his voice so commanding that Jessica immediately fell silent and looked at the floor.

My father strode forward to stand over the kneeling Ethan. He tossed a thick folder in front of him; its contents spilled out—bank transfer records, copies of property deeds, credit card statements.

“Two years,”

My father hissed.

“For two years, I stood by and watched you enslave my only daughter. I gave you startup capital, I gave you an apartment, a car, connections. I hoped that with all those advantages, you would cherish my daughter. But what did you do in return? You became an arrogant parasite!”

Sharon, who had been in a state of shock, suddenly burst into loud, wailing sobs, realizing her world had ended. Her survival instincts kicked in, and she did the most humiliating thing possible: she crawled toward my feet.

“Olivia dear… Olivia…”