My Latin Dancer Wife - Chapter 11: Chapter 11

Kyle's mother was well past her prime—her figure sagging in all the wrong places, her face etched with bitterness.
Honestly, even a drunk on the street wouldn't give her a second glance.
The officer handling the case shot her a sharp look. "Watch your mouth and show some respect. My body cam's rolling. Keep this up, and I'll haul you in for disorderly conduct."
"Where the hell did this lunatic come from?"
"She's off her rocker!"
"Someone film this—let's put her online. Her family should see what a train wreck she is."
The crowd buzzed with whispers.
Finally, Kyle's mother slunk away, dragging her husband behind her like a deflated balloon.
The officer gave my shoulder a reassuring pat. "If she bothers you again, just call us."
"Appreciate it."
All I wanted was for Kyle to rot in prison—and for his family to foot my medical bills.
In the end, he got three years.
When the verdict came down, they said he nearly collapsed in his cell.
Meanwhile, Fiona, his new bride, was reeling.
She wanted a divorce—until she found out she was pregnant. Her parents convinced her to stay.
Kyle's folks were desperate to keep her. Without her, their son might end up a lonely ex-con with no prospects.
Though, between you and me, I had my doubts about who the real father was.
As for my ex-wife, Bianca? She lost her job and couldn't land another.
Her parents were too ashamed to take her in, terrified she'd ruin her brother's chances at marriage.
Meanwhile, I was gearing up for another legal battle.
I wanted my house and car back.
With Kyle and Lola's chat logs and transaction records as ironclad evidence, Bianca didn't stand a chance.
The court enforced the ruling, and she had to hand everything over.
Homeless, jobless, and broke, she hit rock bottom fast.
Then, like clockwork, Bianca came crawling back—this time dragging both sets of parents into her mess.
"Baby, I messed up. I was wrong, but that's behind us now. And you weren't perfect either, right? Let's try again. I'll quit Latin dance, stay home, be the wife you deserve. We can start a family, build a life together. Please?"
"Kevin, everyone makes mistakes," her parents jumped in. "Bianca was young, too passionate about her career."
"Couples fight—it doesn't last. The first marriage is always the purest."
Even my own parents wavered.
I just laughed—cold, humorless.
"I tried. I supported her dancing. I backed her choice not to have kids, even when my parents pressured us. She barely made anything while I paid for everything—the house, the car, our life. Did she ever care about our future?"
"Kevin..." Her father had the decency to look guilty.
"Let me finish," I cut in.
"If she'd left me for her career, for something better, fine. But what did she do? Cheated. Conspired with another man to screw me over. Tried to leave me with nothing. Kicked me out of my own damn home."
"Put yourselves in my shoes. If this happened to your son, would you just forgive her?"
"Worse—I could maybe forgive, but I'll never forget how filthy she is."
That shut them up. They never brought up reconciliation again.
They stopped caring about Bianca altogether.
As for me? Marriage lost its shine.
I wasn't stepping back into that cage—but that didn't mean I'd be alone.
Until the right person came along? I might never marry at all.