It wasn't until the early morning hours that Francine finally arrived home.
The sound of her high heels tapping on the floor echoed through the quiet living room. I stayed seated on the sofa, not moving to greet her like I usually did, nor offering her any hangover tea or a warm towel.
Francine stumbled slightly, clearly not used to my cold indifference. Her brow furrowed, and there was a hint of frustration in her voice.
"What's wrong with you? You know I'm drunk, and you can't even help me?"
I didn't answer, just silently watched her. Her makeup was still flawless, but the smell of smoke and alcohol clung to her body and hair.
And then, there was the cologne, the unmistakable scent of Evan's cologne—the one he always wore.
I couldn't help but think back to the past. I loved my wife with all my heart and cared for her deeply. I chased her for five long years before finally winning her heart.
Back then, her smile was pure, and her eyes were filled only with me.
For her, I gave up so much.
I never once regretted it, as long as I was by her side.
Until tonight...
Suddenly, her phone lit up, the bright light cutting through the room's silence.
[Are you home? I had a great time today. Good night.]
What hit me even harder were the couple's profile pictures they had chosen together: a pink butterfly paired with a blue one, silently revealing what I had refused to acknowledge.
My heart sank completely.
Francine noticed my gaze and quickly turned the screen off, but it was already too late.
The air in the room felt thick, almost frozen for a few seconds.
Then, she tried to explain, her voice faltering.
"It's just work-related..."
I couldn't hold it in anymore as I cut her off.
"Francine, let's get a divorce."
I spoke the words calmly, as if I were standing outside of myself.
She froze, clearly unable to comprehend what I'd just said. "What did you say?"
I reiterated, "I said, let's get a divorce."
Then, I stood up, the weight of it all sinking in. "Francine, it's over."
Instantly, her face drained of color.
"Carson, listen to me. It's not what you think."
I looked at her, cold as ice. "So, what is it then? Did Evan's hand accidentally slip onto your waist? Did you both unintentionally pick matching couple profile pictures? Or was the Maldives ticket something you accidentally booked?"
Francine's gaze flickered briefly before turning to anger. "Why are you pushing me like this? I work so hard every day. Can't you be a little more understanding? You weren't like this before! Now, you want a divorce over two plane tickets?"
I rubbed my temples tiredly, a deep sigh escaping me. "Yes, divorce. I'll move out tomorrow and contact a lawyer to draft the divorce agreement."
With that, I turned and walked into the guest room, slamming the door behind me.
I didn't sleep a wink that night.
The first time I met Francine was at a university debate competition. She wore a simple white shirt, had her ponytail high, spoke sharply, and her gaze was bright.
I sat in the audience, my heart pounding in my chest.
Right there, I fell for Francine instantly.
After that, I chased her for five long years. For her, I chose to give up the family business and stay in the country, joining her father's company after graduation.
From campus to the workplace, from being unnoticed to becoming a part of her life.
On the day I proposed, I kneeled by the sea. The sound of the waves drowned out my trembling voice, but she smiled and nodded in response.
What a pity! The sweeter the memories, the sharper the reality.
Sighing deeply, I picked up my phone and saw a number I hadn't called in a while.
I sent a message:
[Dad, I've made up my mind. I'll be back next week.]
It was daytime on the other side of the world, and my father, Hector, replied almost instantly:
[Really? That's great!]
