After The Divorce, He Regretted Everything

"We need to talk."

Adrian's voice was calm as he placed a brown envelope on the table.

I stood still for a second, the warm bowl of soup in my hands slowly losing heat.

"What is that?" I asked.

He loosened his tie and leaned back slightly on the sofa, his expression distant, as if this conversation meant nothing to him.

"Divorce papers."

The words came out simply.

Too simply.

For a moment, I didn't react. The room felt quiet, almost unreal, as if everything had slowed down around me.

Then I walked forward and set the bowl on the table before my hands could start shaking.

"Why?" I asked, lifting my eyes to meet his.

"This marriage has no meaning anymore."

I let out a soft breath that almost sounded like a laugh.

"Did it ever have meaning to you?"

Adrian frowned slightly, as if the question itself annoyed him.

"Don't make this difficult."

His tone was still calm, but it carried a trace of impatience.

I held his gaze for a moment longer, then asked the question I already knew the answer to.

"Is it because of her?"

There was a pause.

Not long. Just enough.

But it told me everything.

Sophia.

His first love. The woman he never forgot. The one everyone in the city knew about, even if no one said it out loud.

"She's sick," Adrian said. "She needs rest. I can't let her be disturbed by rumors."

I stared at him, the meaning behind his words settling slowly but heavily.

"So you're divorcing me... to protect her."

"This is the best solution." He pushed the envelope closer to me. "You'll get compensation. A house and money. It's enough for you to live well."

I looked down at the documents.

Everything was prepared. Clean. Organized.

Final.

He had already planned this.

Not recently. Not suddenly.

For a long time.

"When do you want it done?" I asked.

"Tomorrow."

The answer came without hesitation.

"So soon," I said quietly, more to myself than to him.

Then I nodded.

"Alright."

Adrian looked at me, something flickering in his eyes.

"You agree?"

"Yes."

There was no point arguing. No point asking for something that was never there.

"I'll sign," I said calmly. "But I have one condition."

His gaze sharpened slightly.

"What condition?"

"After the divorce, we have nothing to do with each other," I said. "If we meet again, we act like strangers."

He studied me for a moment, as if trying to understand something, then gave a short nod.

"Fine."

I picked up the pen.

For a brief second, my hand paused above the paper.

Not because I was hesitating.

But because I realized how simple it was.

Three years of marriage.

Ending in a single signature.

I lowered the pen and signed my name.

The ink dried quickly.

Just like that, it was over.

I pushed the papers back toward him.

"Done."

Adrian stood and picked them up, flipping through briefly as if to confirm.

"My assistant will contact you tomorrow," he said.

He turned and walked toward the door, his steps steady and unhurried.

Before leaving, he paused slightly.

"You can stay here tonight."

Then he left.

The door closed behind him with a quiet click.

The sound echoed more than it should have.

I stood there for a moment before slowly sitting down.

The soup was still on the table.

Untouched.

Cold.

I stared at it without really seeing it, then let out a small laugh that didn't sound like mine.

So this was how it ended.

No argument.

No tears.

Just a decision that had already been made without me.

That night, I packed my things.

I didn't take much.

Just the essentials.

Clothes. Documents. A few personal items.

At the bottom of the drawer, I found a small box I hadn't opened in years.

I held it for a moment before opening it.

Inside was my medical license.

I looked at it quietly, running my fingers over the edges.

Before this marriage, I had a career.

A future.

Something that belonged to me.

Then I closed the box and placed it into my bag.

⸻

The next day, the divorce was finalized.

Everything went smoothly.

Too smoothly.

By the time the paperwork was complete, there was nothing left connecting us.

By the afternoon, I was already gone.

No goodbye.

No last conversation.

Just an ending.

⸻

Outside the civil office, the sunlight felt brighter than usual.

I stood there for a moment, holding the divorce certificate in my hand.

It felt light.

Lighter than I expected.

I took a slow breath.

Then I smiled.

It wasn't forced.

It wasn't bitter.

It was quiet. Calm.

Behind me, a black car pulled to a stop.

The door opened.

Adrian stepped out.

He looked up and saw me.

Saw the way I was standing.

Saw the expression on my face.

For the first time, something in his gaze changed.

It was small.

But it was there.

I didn't stop.

I turned and walked away, blending into the crowd without looking back.

Adrian remained where he stood, his eyes following me until I disappeared from view.

A strange feeling settled in his chest.

Unfamiliar.

Uncomfortable.

He frowned slightly, as if trying to understand it.

But he couldn't.

Not yet.

Because he didn't realize that the woman who just walked away had already let go of everything.

And one day, when he finally understood what he had lost,

it would already be too late.