He had said that since Ophelia liked it, I should return it to its rightful owner.
And after that, he vanished more often than not, leaving nothing but a lingering emptiness behind.
Looking back on everything, I drew in a deep breath, slipped off my wedding ring and placed it on the table.
This suffocating, shattered marriage had to end.
Just then, Nathaniel walked in. The moment his eyes landed on me sitting on the sofa, they turned to ice.
He strode over, looming over me with an air of cold detachment.
"You saw everything at the hot spring, didn’t you?"
"It’s a good thing you didn’t lose control this time. If you’d laid a hand on Ophelia again, I wouldn’t have let you off so easily."
"Oh and I almost forgot, she’s moving in tomorrow. Her place is under renovation."
My fingers curled into fists, rage searing away the last remnants of restraint.
"Nathaniel, let’s get a divorce."
"I’ll step aside for you and Ophelia."
I rose to my feet and handed him the divorce papers. But instead of relief, he just stood there, staring at them in stunned silence.
Even now, a foolish part of me had clung to the hope that he might say something, anything, to change my mind.
But the first thing he did upon returning was announce that he was bringing Ophelia into our home, crushing any last ridiculous expectation I should’ve never held onto.
"What game are you playing now, you pathetic woman?"
"Divorce? You might as well be signing your own death sentence."
And with that, he tore the divorce papers to shreds.
I stared at him, disbelief washing over me. Hadn’t this been what he wanted all along?
For a fleeting moment, I thought, maybe, just maybe, he was doing this for our daughter.
But his next words shattered that illusion.
"In the past, I forced you to get a divorce, but you refused. Now, the moment you hear that Ophelia is moving in, you suddenly can’t wait to leave?"
"We’ll talk about the divorce later. Ophelia is coming tomorrow and there won’t be anyone around to take care of her. She’s always been pampered, not like you. You’ll stay and look after her. After all, that’s about the only thing you’re good for."
A furious heat surged through me. My hands slammed down on the glass coffee table and with a deafening crash, it shattered beneath my palms.
How could anyone be as shameless as Nathaniel?
He hadn’t even divorced me, yet he was already bringing his mistress into our home.
Our daughter was still here, yet he paraded his affair without the slightest shame.
He had crushed my love beneath his feet so completely that there was nothing left, not even sorrow. Only hate.
At that moment, all I wanted was to wrap my hands around his throat and squeeze until every last trace of arrogance drained from his face.
"You crazy wench, what the hell are you doing?!"
His palm struck my face with a sharp crack, the impact snapping my head to the side.
His nails scraped my skin, leaving behind a searing sting.
"Besides throwing tantrums, what else can you do?" His voice dripped with contempt.
"I let you manage my company and gave you status and respect; what more do you want?"
A blistering fury ignited inside me, burning away the last shred of restraint.
He had tossed everything aside to chase after Ophelia. She dumped the company on me, then drained its funds just to build her business from the ground up.
Because of him, the company had teetered on the edge of collapse.
And in the end, it wasn’t him who saved it. It was me, through my own connections and my own efforts.
Status? Respect?
Who would ever want the so-called privileges he spoke of when they were nothing more than shackles meant to keep me bound?
If I hadn’t spent years propping him up, pouring my talent into his company, I would have built my own empire long ago.
Why would I have ever willingly stayed trapped in something so small?
The shattering glass and our heated argument pierced the silence, stirring our sleeping daughter.
She peeked out of her room, her small hands gripping the doorframe. The moment her eyes landed on her father, the longing she had buried for so long overwhelmed her.
Summoning every ounce of courage, she rushed toward him.
"Daddy, you're back!"
"Hug me!"
"Get lost! You and your mother both make me sick."
She stumbled to the floor, her tiny hands scraping against the cold, hard ground.
She didn’t cry. She didn’t even make a sound. But her wide, tear-brimmed eyes spoke of the silent wounds only a child could bear.
She was only six. Just a little girl longing for her father’s love.
Yet the man who should have cherished her had never once let her call him "Daddy."
