"Julian."
"Hey, babe."
My voice was flat, my expression calm, as if I were bringing up something that barely mattered.
"Julian."
"Let's get a divorce."
I rose from the couch, took out the divorce papers I'd prepared, and set them on the coffee table.
"Julian."
"Sign them."
The papers sat on the table between us.
I watched the expression on Julian's face freeze. He stared at me in disbelief.
"Bridget!"
"Over an AI animation?"
"Something that doesn't even mean anything, and you want a divorce?"
Julian snatched the papers off the table and ripped them apart right in front of me. He flung the pieces aside, and the shredded fragments drifted down like confetti, scattering at my feet.
"I won't agree to this!"
His temper flared, and he was shouting at me now.
"I will never agree to this!"
"Bridget, seven years!"
"Seven. Years." His eyes were bloodshot. He grabbed my shoulders, his voice raw, almost a roar. "How have I treated you these seven years?"
"Do you even know? Do you?"
"Do you have a conscience? Do you even have a heart?"
His fingers dug into my shoulders hard enough to hurt. The pain forced me to meet his eyes, and suddenly, I found the whole thing almost laughable.
Right.
Seven years.
Seven whole years.
Anyone who knew Julian would say the same thing: that I'd hit the jackpot. The perfect man. A flawless husband.
He'd track my cycle down to the day. He'd have pads ready before I even needed them. He'd brew herbal tea and press a heating pad against my stomach.
And more.
For seven years, without ever seeming tired of it.
He'd draw me foot baths. Give me massages.
He even did my hair himself.
Seven years with Julian Delgado.
My life had regressed to infancy. I'd become incapable of taking care of myself, because Julian had taken over every chore, every small detail of my daily existence, and handled all of it so perfectly that no one could find a single fault.
It wasn't as if I'd never wondered.
About how practiced he was. How effortlessly attentive.
But every time doubt crept in, Julian would pull me into his arms with that easy smile and tell me:
"Babe, just because I've never dated before doesn't mean I can't learn."
"The internet's right there. If a guy actually cares, what can't he figure out?"
His voice was gentle, tinged with quiet pride.
"When it comes to taking care of you, I've given two hundred percent. I wanted to spoil you so completely that no other man out there could ever steal you away. So that I'd be the only one in your eyes, the only one in your heart."
He was so sincere. The tenderness in his eyes looked like it might spill over.
So I buried my doubts. I trusted Julian. I trusted my own eyes. I trusted that I really had gotten that lucky, that I'd won the lottery on my very first try and found a man without a single flaw.
Until.
I watched the animation, watched Althea crying, confronting Julian on that screen.
"Why do you always get my period dates wrong?"
"Why do you act like I'm being dramatic every time I have cramps?"
"Is it really that hard?"
"Remembering things about me feels harder to you than climbing a mountain?"
"Julian!"
"You don't have a heart!"
And then I understood.
Not a single word out of Julian's mouth had ever been true.
All that skill, all that thoughtful care he'd lavished on me, every last bit of it came from lessons learned through failing someone else. From the wreckage of his last relationship.
I looked at Julian now, nearly unraveling, demanding answers from me.
"Say something!"
I wrenched free of his grip and slapped him across the face. I watched the shock register in his eyes.
And I smiled.
