“I want a divorce.”
He froze. His hand, which had been hovering near Danica’s back, dropped to his side. For a second, the silence was absolute. Even Danica stopped her performative sobbing, her eyes widening as she looked between us.
“You’re… you’re kidding me, right?” Nathan stammered, a nervous laugh bubbling up from his throat. “Karylle, stop it. That’s not funny.”
“Does it look like I’m laughing?” I asked.
Fear flickered in his gaze. It wasn’t the fear of losing me—I knew that now. It was the fear of the scandal. The fear of the prenup. The fear of his grandfather.
“You can’t just divorce me,” he said, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. He took a step toward the bed, looming over me. “Do you have any idea what you’re saying? We’re the golden couple. The merger depends on us. My grandfather…” He raked a hand through his hair. “Grandpa would have a stroke. He wouldn’t accept it.”
“I don’t care about your grandfather,” I said, my voice steady despite the trembling in my hands. “And I don’t care about the merger. I care that my son is dead, and it was all because of you!”
He took a deep breath, visibly composing himself. He smoothed his tie, adjusted his cuffs, and put the mask back on. He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. His touch, once the only thing that could ground me, now made my skin crawl.
“Baby, look at me,” he cooed. “You’re just emotional. It’s the hormones. The grief. You’re not thinking clearly. You don’t want a divorce. Think about us. Think about everything we’ve built.”
“What have we built, Nathan?” I asked softly. “A cemetery?”
He winced. “I know I haven’t been perfect. I’ve been busy. Stressed. But I can change. We can go on a date? Just the two of us. Once you’re out of here, I’ll take you to that Italian place you like. We can start over. We can try for another baby.”
The audacity of it stole the air from my lungs. As if my son was a broken vase he could just replace at the store.
“You love me, Karylle,” he said, his voice dripping with confidence. “You’ve always loved me. You wouldn’t throw that away over a misunderstanding.”
“What about me?” I whispered. “Do you love me, Nathan?”
“Of course I do,” he said.
He leaned in and pressed his lips to mine.
It was a soft kiss. Gentle. The kind of kiss that used to make my toes curl and my heart race. But now? It tasted like ashes. It tasted like Danica’s cheap perfume. It tasted like a lie.
He pulled back, smiling that charming, boyish smile that had fooled everyone.
“See?” he said. “We’re fine.”
I felt a bubble of laughter rise in my chest. It wasn’t happy laughter. It was dark, jagged, and bordering on hysterical.
Of course I do.
The lie was so smooth, polished by years of practice.
My mind drifted back, pulled by the undertow of memory to where this all began.
Our marriage hadn’t started with love. It started with a contract. A handshake between two old men in a cigar-filled study. My grandfather and his grandfather, merging empires through blood. I was twenty. He was twenty-two.
I had been terrified. But I had also been secretly thrilled. I had watched Nathan from afar for years at society galas. He was the prince of our social circle—handsome, charismatic, untouchable.
But there was always Danica.
She wasn’t just his secretary then. When her father died, leaving nothing but debt, Nathan’s family took her in while her brother Martin, who is Nathan’s best friend, tried to build their company again. She lived in the guest house. She was always there.
In the early years of our marriage, Nathan was aloof. He was polite, but cold. He treated me like a roommate he was forced to live with. He spent all his time with Danica and her brother. I was the outsider in my own home.
But then, Danica left. She went to Paris for fashion school. And for two glorious years, she was gone.
That was when the ice melted. Without her constant presence whispering in his ear, Nathan finally looked at me. He saw me. We started talking. We started laughing. He started coming home early.
I remembered the first time he brought me flowers—white lilies. I remembered the trip to the Maldives where we made love under the stars, and he held me afterward, whispering that he was glad he married me.
I thought I had won. I thought patience and love had conquered his heart. I thought we were finally a real marriage.
Then, six months ago, Danica came back.
She returned with a failed degree and a sob story, and Nathan immediately hired her as his executive assistant.
And just like that, the light in our marriage flickered and went out.
The betrayal didn’t happen all at once. It was a slow, agonizing erosion.
Betrayal number one: He forgot my birthday because Danica had a flat tire and needed rescuing.
Betrayal number ten: He missed our anniversary dinner because Danica was "depressed" about her ex and needed a friend.
Betrayal number fifty: I found a receipt for a diamond bracelet in his pocket. I never received it. Two days later, I saw it on Danica’s wrist. She claimed she bought it herself.
Ninety-nine times.
I had swallowed my pride. I had smiled at galas while she clung to his arm. I had cooked dinners that went cold while he was "working late" at the office with her. I had convinced myself that it was just friendship, that I was being paranoid, that he loved me.
But lying here, with the ghost of his lips on mine, the fog cleared.
He never loved me. He loved the convenience of me. He loved the inheritance I secured. He loved that I kept his grandfather happy while he played house with the woman he really wanted.
I looked past Nathan’s shoulder. Danica was watching us. Her eyes were narrowed, calculating. She wasn’t looking at Nathan; she was looking at me, trying to gauge if I was still a threat.
If I pushed for a divorce now, while I was bedridden and weak, they would destroy me. Nathan would manipulate the narrative. He would paint me as the unstable, grieving wife. He would use his grandfather’s influence to block me.
I needed to be smart. I needed to be like the old Karylle—pliable, sweet, and stupid.
I needed to make them think they had won, so they wouldn’t see the knife coming until I buried it in their backs.
I let out a long, shaky breath and lowered my eyes.
“Yeah,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “Maybe… maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s just the grief talking.”
I felt Nathan’s body sag with relief. The tension evaporated from the room.
“I knew it,” he exhaled, patting my hand. “I knew you didn’t mean it.”
“I’m just… tired, Nathan,” I said, closing my eyes to hide the hatred burning in them. “I’m so tired. I just want to sleep.”
“Of course,” he said, standing up briskly. He was eager to leave. Eager to get away from the depressing hospital room and back to his life. “You rest. I’ll handle the doctors. I’ll handle everything.”
“Okay,” I murmured.
“And Karylle?” he said. “Don’t mention the D-word again. It upsets everyone. We’re going to get through this. Together.”
“Okay,” I repeated.
He nodded, satisfied. He opened the door and ushered Danica out.
I reached under my pillow and pulled out the phone. I dialed a number I hadn’t called in ten years. A number I swore I would never need.
It rang once. Twice.
“Hello?” A sharp, elegant voice answered.
“Mother,” I said. My voice was raspy, broken, but underneath it was steel. “You said…” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “You said once that if I ever came to my senses, you’d be there. You said you wanted to make up for leaving me and father behind.”
“I did,” my mother said, her voice softening. “I still do. What do you need?”
“Help me,” I whispered. “Process my immigration papers. Get me a visa. Get me a flight. I’m done, Mother. I want to leave. And I want to disappear.”
