It wasn’t until now that I finally understood that back then, I was truly, foolishly naive.
My throat felt dry and raw, as if lined with blades.
Every word scraped painfully as I forced them out. In a hoarse voice, I answered her, “After the divorce is done, I’ll go with you.”
I spent the night at the hotel where my mother was staying.
The next day, I changed into the new clothes she had bought for me and went back to the house I had lived in for six years.
When I came home, my son, Merrick, who was playing with his toys in the living room, looked up at me. Surprise and impatience were flickering in his eyes.
He muttered under his breath, “Didn’t they say you’d be inside the jail for five days? How come you’re back after only three?”
Just then, Selene came down the stairs.
When she saw me, a flash of surprise crossed her face as if she hadn’t expected me to be released so soon.
But she quickly composed herself and said calmly, “You’re back. Go wash up and get some rest. Don’t make any more trouble.”
I shook my head. “No need. Let’s go to the City Hall now and file for divorce.”
At those words, Merrick’s expression changed instantly. He rushed to hide behind Selene and shouted at me, “If you’re getting divorced and leaving, don’t even think about taking me with you! I’m not going anywhere with you!”
Looking at the anger and rejection on his face, I silently tugged at the corner of my lips — a smile that never quite formed.
Yesterday, when Selene left, she forgot to take our son’s essay with her.
I read that essay over and over again.
I still remembered clearly what he wrote.
“My dad really is like a crazy person. My mom works so hard, but he’s always fighting with her. At home, he smashes things and yells at her. If I could, I really wish that crazy man wasn’t my dad.”
The first time Selene mentioned divorce was when I discovered she was cheating.
I calmly took photos of the chat logs and hotel records I found on her phone.
When she came home, I showed her the evidence right in front of her, one photo after another.
My fists were clenched so tightly they trembled and I forced all my anger deep inside, waiting for her to repent, to fall to her knees and apologize.
In that waiting, I had imagined every possible way she might cry and beg for forgiveness.
But she didn’t.
She only looked at me, calm and indifferent, with not even the faintest trace of guilt in her eyes.
Instead, she looked at me with the kind of calm arrogance that comes after being exposed and said, “Warren, either delete those photos and pretend nothing happened, or we get a divorce.”
Before that moment, I had foolishly believed that as long as she apologized, I could try to forgive her just this once.
Because when a family broke apart, it was the child who suffered the most.
I didn’t want my son to walk the same painful path I did, to face the cruelty of choosing between his father or his mother at only five years old.
But… she never apologized.
Her brazen attitude made me furious. In my rage, I grabbed everything nearby and threw it at her again and again.
But when I heard the housekeeper and the child talking, I forced myself to hold back from breaking down.
I didn’t want the child to see his parents in that humiliating scene. Still, my self-control failed.
Merrick saw me throwing things like a madman at his mother, but he hadn’t heard what Selene had said earlier.
Now I looked at the child who treated me like a poisonous scorpion. Once again, he drove a dagger into me—a weapon I had raised myself.
“Don’t worry, I don’t want you. After the divorce, I’ll leave,” I said, very calm and expressionless.
Merrick half-believed me and looked up at Selene.
