"I’ll review the divorce agreement when I get back tomorrow," I told my attorney.
Wynona had not returned all night.
At four in the morning, my phone buzzed. Out of habit, I opened WhatsApp Status—and froze.
There, in a freshly posted photo, Glen Watson lounged on a terrace chair, a bandage wrapped neatly around his knee, a glass of champagne in hand.
Standing behind him, leaning toward his shoulder, was Wynona, smiling radiantly.
The caption read, [Thank you for your company in this foreign land.]
I stared at it for a moment. Then, without a word, I closed the app and booked the earliest flight home.
As I boarded the plane, a message from an unknown number appeared—an attached video file. I opened it and the screen lit up with the grainy image of a man and a woman tumbling onto a bed, kissing hungrily, their limbs tangled in frenzied passion.
The woman’s face was not clear, but I did not need it to be. I knew that silhouette.
I quietly exhaled, pressed my lips into a tight line and turned off my phone.
When the plane landed, I turned it back on—and was instantly hit with a flood of notifications. Over a dozen missed calls and messages. All from Wynona.
Just as I reached to power it down again, her call came through.
"Noah!" she snapped, her voice sharp with fury. "Where are you? Why did you leave without saying a word?"
"Without a word?" I repeated calmly. "I thought I made myself very clear last night."
"You left just because I went to help Glen?" Her tone rose, now laced with accusation. "Do you have any idea how worried I was? I spent the entire night alone in that hotel!"
A dry, humorless laugh escaped my lips. "The two of you looked like you were having the time of your lives—posting your lovely moments on WhatsApp. And somehow, you still had time to worry about me?"
There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line. Then I heard her voice—soft, slightly guilty.
"He… posted it on WhatsApp?"
"It was very lovely," I said coldly.
"Do you have to be so sarcastic, Noah? Glen fell last night. I was just helping him clean the wound. As both his boss and his friend, I had a responsibility to look after him."
My patience snapped. "Wynona, stop treating me like I'm a fool."
"You’re being ridiculous," she fired back. "Glen and I are completely innocent. You’re the one twisting everything, making it look dirty when it’s not."
"Innocent? You know damn well whether it is or not. Just wait for the divorce papers."
"Noah Saunders!" Her voice finally cracked, tinged with panic. "You’re really going to divorce me… over something this trivial?"
"Trivial to you," I said coldly. "But to me, this is about a man’s bottom line."
On the other end, I could hear her breathing quicken like she was about to say more, but I did not give her the chance and ended the call.
***
The next day, she seemed to go out of her way to provoke me, flooding her WhatsApp Status with posts. Photos of her and Glen dining at upscale restaurants. Pictures of carefully wrapped gifts with vague, suggestive captions.
[Thanks to someone for the surprise. No matter how hard the day is, it’s always worth it because of you.]
I scrolled through the updates without expression. No reaction, no comment.
I simply sent her the finalized divorce agreement, complete with property division. Not long after, she called.
"Noah Saunders, what’s the meaning of this? You really think I can’t live without you?"
I did not bother replying. I hung up.
Then I blocked her.
Seven days passed.
It was a rainy night and I was at a friend’s house when another message came in from an unknown number.
It was another video.
Glen lounged on my bed, wearing my silk pajamas, a wine glass in hand. He looked up at the huge wedding photo of me and Wynona hanging above the headboard, a mocking smile tugging at his lips.
Beside him on the bed lay the black lingerie I had bought for Wynona—now wrinkled.
A surge of fury rose in my chest.
They had not even waited until the divorce was finalized. Glen had moved into my home like he belonged there.
