“Just take the money and stop being difficult,” Victor said, his tone sharp and dismissive, as if I were some street beggar. “Tomorrow, buy her something nice. Apologize at the office. I don’t want to hear another word about this.”
He shoved the crumpled bills across the desk and left without even glancing back.
I stayed frozen, staring at the cash. That was all it took to sink in. The man I once admired, the one who had once fought tooth and nail for justice and truth… was gone. Whatever remained of Victor Ramirez was hollow, decayed, beyond repair.
And our marriage? It had died long before that morning.
---
I woke early the next day, printed the divorce papers, and headed straight to his office. My hands were steady. My mind, resolute.
But as soon as I pushed open the glass door, the air was sucked out of my lungs.
Victor sat across from Ivy at his desk—the very desk I used to bring him coffee to in the mornings. A breakfast tray lay between them: croissants, fruit, steaming mugs of coffee. It looked almost cozy, domestic.
And then I saw it.
He was feeding her.
Victor, crisp white shirt sleeves rolled up, forked a piece of fruit and held it to her lips. Ivy leaned forward, giggling, her hand resting casually on his thigh, fingers curling possessively, as if she already belonged there.
“Careful,” he murmured, brushing a drop of juice from her lips with his thumb.
I froze in the doorway.
Ivy spotted me first.
“Oh—Marielle! I didn’t hear you come in,” she said, fluttering her lashes, hand still on his leg. “Victor was just making sure I ate something… I’ve been skipping breakfast lately.” She turned to him, gripping his arm lightly, eyes brimming with well-rehearsed fear. “Victor, please explain… I don’t want her to think something’s wrong between us.”
Victor smiled down at her, that soft, reassuring smile I once lived for. “Hey, don’t cry,” he said, patting her back gently. Then his gaze snapped to me, hard and cold.
“I told you to bring something as an apology,” he said, voice clipped. “Where is it? You show up empty-handed and expect her to forgive you? Marielle… act like an adult. Do you even know how to apologize?”
I stared, dumbfounded. He truly believed I owed her anything. Pathetic.
Ivy sniffled, lowering her gaze, voice soft and trembling. “It’s okay, Victor… maybe she didn’t have time. I don’t want to make things worse between you two.”
Her act was flawless—I almost wanted to clap.
I didn’t speak. I pulled the divorce papers from my bag, laid them neatly on his desk, and said, “Sign this. I’m done.”
Victor blinked, stunned. “What?”
“Sign the divorce papers,” I repeated, calm and unwavering. “This marriage is over.”
He scowled. “You’re joking, right? My family… they loved you. My grandmother adored you, my sister treated you like her own. You really think I’d divorce you now? You’re just looking for attention.”
I smiled bitterly. “Your family loved you, yes. But go home and see for yourself. You’ll understand soon enough.”
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Go home,” I said quietly. “It’ll become clear.”
He slammed his hand on the desk. “Marielle, stop talking nonsense! Your relatives died, not mine! How long are you going to keep blaming Ivy for that accident? It’s pathetic.”
Ivy let out a small, practiced gasp, voice soft and tremulous. “Please, stop arguing because of me. I’ll leave if I have to. I don’t want to be the reason this marriage falls apart…”
Victor immediately moved to comfort her. “Hey, none of this is your fault,” he said, brushing her tears away like she was fragile porcelain.
I watched them for a long moment. He, blind to the truth, and she, smiling like a saint while hiding a serpent’s teeth.
“You’re right, Ivy,” I said quietly. “You are the reason this marriage ended. But don’t worry… I’m done fighting for a man who can’t even tell whose blood he’s covered in.”
“Marielle, you’ve got it all wrong!” Ivy’s voice shook, pleading. “Yes, okay, I bought my driver’s license, I’m not perfect, but that accident… it wasn’t my fault! You’re trying to divorce Victor just to pressure me, right? Make him send me to jail?”
Her hands trembled, voice cracking in all the right places, perfectly practiced. If I didn’t know better, I might have believed her too.
Victor, of course, did. Before I could speak, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close like she was fragile glass.
“Don’t cry,” he murmured. “You’re just a new driver, Ivy. You didn’t mean for any of this. Stop blaming yourself. As long as I’m here, nothing’s going to happen to you.”
I just stood there. My husband—the man who once swore he’d defend the innocent—was now shielding a murderer.
Then his expression snapped from gentle to furious, eyes blazing.
“Marielle, enough!” he barked. “You think I don’t see what you’re doing? This divorce is your attempt to blackmail me. Revenge against Ivy! She’s twenty-five, she made a mistake. Your family’s death? An accident. Their own fault! And if you think I’ll pay you… dream on!”
He stepped closer. “Try to hurt her, and you’ll regret it. Don’t push me.”
His words cut sharper than a slap.
I wanted to scream. To make him see. But he wouldn’t. He never did.
I swallowed hard, forcing my voice to stay level. “Victor… I’m done explaining, done pleading. This marriage—” I met his gaze, steady, unwavering, cold—“is over.”
He stared like I’d struck him. Something dark flickered in his eyes.
“You think you can just walk away?” he hissed. “You think I’ll let you?”
He grabbed the papers from my hands, ripped them apart, and tossed the pieces into the air.
The shredded paper drifted down like snow, a silent testament to all the years I’d wasted on him.
“Over?” he sneered. “You’ll never leave me, Marielle. Not until I say so.”
I looked at the fragments on the floor—my freedom, my voice, my choice—and whispered, more to myself than to him:
“Watch me.”
