“No need,”
Ethan was the first to reject her offer.
“If she comes, none of us will enjoy the meal.”
I nodded, my gaze landing on the four of them—who looked more like a true family than I ever felt.
“You’re right. So…”
“Ethan, let’s get a divorce.”
As soon as the words left my mouth, the room fell into stunned silence.
Ethan’s brows furrowed even deeper.
“Lily, have you lost your mind today?”
“Is it because I took the kids out for ice cream? Or because I’m taking them to dinner?” He let out a humorless laugh, visibly holding back his temper.
Ella tilted her head thoughtfully. Then her eyes lit up with excitement.
“If Dad and Mom get divorced, can we marry Aunt Sophie?”
Both children clapped and cheered.
“Divorce! Divorce! I want Aunt Sophie to be our new mom!”
For eight long years, I had grown used to Ethan’s coldness.
But the children’s words cut deeper than anything he ever said.
Perhaps noticing something off in my expression, Sophie gently reached for my hand.
“Sister, please don’t be upset. I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“I just returned to America and wanted to catch up with Ethan. We’re only friends. I never intended to take your place...”
I quietly pulled my hand away.
There was no emotion on my face.
“You don’t need to take it,” I said softly.
“Because the title of Mrs. Howard was always yours to begin with.”
Seven years ago,
A drunken Ethan collapsed in my arms, calling out Sophie’s name.
It was then that I realized:
The reason Ethan, heir to a powerful and wealthy family, agreed to marry me
was that I resembled his cousin.
At the peak of their love, Sophie left everything behind and went abroad.
She defied the family and disappeared from their world,
only to become Ethan’s eternal white moonlight.
He couldn’t blame his parents for choosing power over love.
He couldn’t blame Sophie for chasing freedom.
So, all his frustration and bitterness turned on me.
A man raised in luxury, he found arguments beneath him.
Instead, he responded to our marriage with relentless coldness and constant criticism.
I cried through countless nights, questioning my worth, drowning in despair.
But just when I finally resolved to leave him, I discovered I was pregnant.
With twins.
The doctor warned that due to their development, abortion could risk permanent infertility.
My parents and relatives all took turns persuading me.
They said that a man like Ethan—who didn’t gamble, visit prostitutes, or cheat—was already a rare husband.
They reminded me of how difficult it was to marry into the Summers family, and urged me to be practical.
My in-laws promised that once I gave birth, generations of my family would live in security and comfort.
Everyone told me to endure it.
For the children.
For the Summers family.
For my parents’ pride.
And so I endured.
For seven long years.
My children became my only source of strength.
But now, even though they have chosen someone else.
Suddenly, all my efforts, all my sacrifices, felt hollow.
Maybe it was time to let go.
I retrieved the divorce papers I had hidden under the cabinet for seven years and handed them to Ethan.
“Sign it. Everything can go to you.
You’re free to decide who gets to be their mother.”
Ethan stared at me for a long time.
His lips twitched—his version of anger.
And just as I expected,
He tore the divorce papers in half.
A mocking sneer played on his face.
“Lily, you’ve truly gone mad.”
“What right do you have to ask me for a divorce?”
