The moment I asked, a flash of panic crossed Ginny's eyes, quickly masked by her usual composure.
"I already told you," she said firmly. "I have too much milk. After feeding our daughter, I still have extra, so I helped Hannah by nursing her son. If you don't like it, I won't do it anymore."
My father shot me a look of disgust, his eyes burning with judgment. "Listen to her, Easton. Ginny is thoughtful and kind. Where are you going to find another wife like this?"
I shook my head, frustration bubbling up. "Dad, it doesn't matter. I'm getting a divorce."
"You fool!" My father's hand slapped across my cheek, sharp and unexpected.
Heat flared immediately, half my face swelling with pain.
The crowd erupted, voices piling on top of each other.
"Beat him down!" someone shouted.
"Yeah! That's what a beast like him deserves!" another hollered, and the rest clapped and cheered.
Just then, Ginny rushed to my side.
"Easton, are you hurt?" Her voice trembled as she pulled out a bottle of ointment and reached up, dabbing lightly at my cheek.
"What a good wife," someone muttered, "and he doesn't even appreciate her."
I slapped her hand away, my patience gone. "Quit pretending you care."
Her face crumpled, her voice breaking. "Honey, please. I don't want a divorce. Our daughter needs her father."
"Begging won't work," I said, my words cold and final as I turned toward the door.
Behind me, my father's voice bellowed, heavy and full of finality. "If you go through with this divorce, I'll pretend I don't have a son like you!"
A sharp pain pierced my chest. It twisted inside me, gnawing at my heart.
'I'm already an adult, for Christ's sake,' I thought bitterly, 'yet here I am making him worry. But this is my marriage, not his. I have to handle it myself.'
"Ginny," I said, my voice hard, not turning back, "I'll have the divorce papers delivered to you."
I didn't look back as I walked out. My steps were quick, unyielding. Ginny's sobs echoed behind me, raw and heart-wrenching, each one twisting the knife deeper in my chest.
Back at the office, I gathered my files and immediately rang a lawyer mate to start the divorce proceedings.
Before I even had a chance to settle in, Ginny's messages started flooding my phone.
[Honey, what did I do wrong? Why are you divorcing me? Have you calmed down?]
[Our daughter and I need you. We're waiting for you at home.]
I checked into a hotel that night, hoping for some peace.
But Ginny's messages kept coming, each one more desperate than the last.
With a sneer, I blocked her and severed all communication channels.
...
The next morning, Ginny received the divorce papers I sent.
I didn't expect her to take it well. She tore the agreement to shreds.
Furious, Hannah took the matter online.
Within hours, my private life became public property. The backlash was immediate.
Netizens exploded in outrage, dragging me through the mud.
[Damn it, she's such a good wife. She didn't even take a dowry, helped him with his business, paid for his mother's surgery, and he still doesn't appreciate her?]
[His wife has plenty of milk, and he wants a divorce just because she didn't feed him?]
[He's definitely cheating. This is just an excuse to dump his wife!]
[I'm a mother of two. I know how painful engorgement is. My best friend couldn't nurse, so I fed her baby, too. My husband was supportive. This man? Trash.]
[Marrying a guy like him? What a disaster!]
Before I knew it, I was being torn apart online.
The attacks continued to escalate. My personal details were leaked. My parents' house was defaced with red paint, forcing them to escape to the countryside.
Even my company wasn't spared. People organized boycotts, demanding we go under.
My assistant hurried into my office, pale with worry. "Mr. Beckett, because of the divorce scandal, consumers are refusing to buy our products. The stock price is crashing. Clients are cancelling contracts, and our warehouses are backed up. The factory has had to halt production. If we don't act soon, I'm afraid the company—"
I dragged my hands through my hair in frustration. "I'll figure something out."
I immediately called Coraline Wayne, a lawyer I trusted, and asked her to meet me.
She arrived with a stack of documents. "Easton, the divorce lawsuit is scheduled for next Monday." She handed me the paperwork, then pulled out her phone and forwarded several videos to me.
Relief washed over me. "Thank you. Really, thank you."
She shook her head. "What are you thanking me for? If you hadn't jumped in that river to save me, I wouldn't even be here."
