Adelina scribbled her name across the divorce papers with frantic finality, not daring to spare another glance at the man on the sofa. She rose clumsily and fled upstairs to the master bedroom, her every movement a testament to her raw humiliation.
Only once she was completely out of Andrew's sight did she allow herself to slump against the back of the door, her strength draining away. More than her body, it was her heart that felt utterly exhausted.
Three years of marriage. It all felt like a desperate, beautiful fantasy. Now that it had shattered, she no longer knew who to blame, or if blame even mattered.
Perhaps neither of them was at fault. Maybe love simply couldn't be forced. The realization settled over her with a quiet, tired acceptance.
She dragged in a deep breath and began the silent work of emptying her side of the closet. Without ceremony, she pulled out her clothes, one piece after another, and shoved them into a suitcase.
It had been a shotgun wedding, a marriage born from an unexpected pregnancy. After Lucas was born, she'd poured every ounce of herself into their family, her own identity slowly dissolving. Her wardrobe reflected that sacrifice—simple, practical pieces chosen for housework and looking after her husband and son, not for herself.
One large suitcase was all it took to hold everything she owned in the Harrison household.
Adelina dragged the suitcase out of the bedroom, pausing at the door to cast one last look at the space where she'd lived for three years. A pang of bittersweet longing for what could have been pricked at her, but she forced herself to turn away, her posture resolute. She found Andrew still in the living room and walked right up to him.
Without a word, she met his gaze and pulled her wedding ring off right in front of him.
"Take it," she said, her voice flat.
Andrew's eyes dropped to the ring in her outstretched hand, but his attention was caught by something else: the faint, pale band of skin on her finger, a mark left from how long she'd worn it. His eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of something unreadable in their depths.
The ring had been too small when he'd bought it. She'd worked so hard to lose weight just to squeeze into it, a silent pledge of her commitment. For three years, she'd never once taken it off.
Now, watching her surrender it so decisively, Andrew felt an unfamiliar knot tighten in his chest.
He looked up, feigning nonchalance as his gaze drifted to the suitcase standing behind her. His brow furrowed almost imperceptibly.
"There's no rush for you to move out," he said, his tone deceptively casual.
"What?"
The word escaped her before she could stop it, her heart giving a sudden, traitorous lurch. Adelina frowned at him. For one foolish, desperate second, a flicker of hope ignited within her—the thought that he might actually be asking her to stay.
But his next words made her silently mock her own wishful thinking.
"The legal process will take about a month to finalize," he explained, his tone cold and pragmatic. "You can use that time to find a place. Get your affairs in order before you leave."
A bitter, fractured smile touched Adelina's lips at his detached, business-like manner.
She shook her head slowly, her eyes clear and unwavering. "Since we're getting divorced, a clean break is better," she said, her refusal absolute. It was the only way.
The sooner she was gone, the less chance she'd have to nurse any more false hopes.
Andrew's lips pressed into a thin line. A brief silence hung between them. "Suit yourself," he said finally, his voice carrying a distinct chill.
"I'm going to say goodbye to Lucas."
Just as she turned to leave, Andrew's cold voice stopped her.
"Grandma has had a few health scares recently," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "The doctors said she can't handle any major shocks. For now, don't mention the divorce to anyone."
His words brought Joan Harrison's kind, gentle face to mind.
The old woman was one of the few people in the family who had ever treated her well, and had even scolded Andrew on her behalf more than once.
Even if Andrew hadn't said anything, Adelina would have kept the news from Joan.
"I understand," she replied, her voice regaining a measure of calm.
Her quiet, almost detached compliance seemed to surprise Andrew. He had half-expected her to throw a fit, to run crying to his grandmother and use the old woman's affection to cling to her place in the family.
He watched her, his eyes dark and pensive, his gaze lingering on her face a moment too long.
"We'll still need to act like a married couple in front of her," he added.
It wasn't a request, but a logistical requirement. "Fine," she murmured, her thoughts already elsewhere.
Nodding, she changed the subject. "I'm going to check on Lucas. See if he's asleep."
She knew Andrew would never willingly give her custody of their son, but she had to try. There was always a small, desperate hope: if Lucas wanted to come with her, Andrew usually respected his son's wishes. He might even let him go. It was a fragile lifeline, and she clung to it.
Adelina walked to the children's room just down the hall. She paused, lifted her hand, and knocked gently.
"Lucas? Are you still awake? Can Mommy come in for a minute?"
Her voice was soft, hesitant, almost pleading. A long silence answered her. Her expression fell, a feeling of defeat washing over her. Assuming he was already asleep, she was about to leave when a voice from inside the room stopped her—overly cheerful and drifting right through the door.
"Emmalyn, can you come see me early tomorrow? Pleeeease? I'm going to have your favorite blueberry cupcakes ready for you!"
Her son's sweet, pleading tone pierced Adelina's heart.
There was a time when Lucas had used that same voice with her. She couldn't even pinpoint when it had changed, but lately, he'd grown so cold and dismissive. Every conversation felt like a chore for him.
Adelina clenched her fingers into a fist, then deliberately loosened them. Taking a steadying breath, she pushed the door open.
"Sweetheart, Mommy needs to talk to you about something—"
The instant the door opened, Lucas ended the call with a frantic jab of his thumb.
He was sitting on his small bed, and he turned to glare at her.
"Mom! Don't you know how to knock?" he snapped.
The words hit her like a physical blow. The childish cruelty in his voice twisted in her chest. Her steps faltered, and she reflexively managed a small, pleading smile.
"Sorry, baby. Mommy was in a hurry. I just wanted to ask you... would you like to..."
"No!"
Lucas cut her off before she could even finish, his impatience a shield. "Why can't you be more like Emmalyn? She's so amazing."
Adelina froze, the words so unexpected she felt the air leave her lungs.
"You don't do anything," Lucas continued, his voice a torrent of pent-up resentment. "You just spend Dad's money, and you're always nagging me. I'm too embarrassed to tell my friends about you! I wish Emmalyn was my mom!"
The confession was so impatient, so final, that Adelina felt the floor vanish beneath her feet. She opened her mouth, a desperate denial on her lips, but Lucas had already lost interest. He lowered his head and began scrolling idly through his phone.
The bright screen showed his chat with Emmalyn, the notification icon still active. Adelina's heart plummeted.
She took one last look at her son, then stepped back out of the room and pulled the door shut behind her without another word.
She grabbed her suitcase and called a cab, her movements swift and efficient, a woman determined to leave. As she walked out the front door, she didn't spare a single glance for Andrew, who was still sitting on the living room sofa.
Andrew stared at the door long after she'd gone, the image of her clean, quiet exit replaying in his mind. A strange, unfamiliar irritation pricked at him, a feeling he couldn't quite name.
Away from the house, Adelina went straight to a small apartment she'd had the foresight to buy years ago. It had been her sanctuary after the occasional fight with Andrew, a place to cool down. She'd never imagined it would become her only refuge.
Exhausted, she didn't have the energy to dwell on it. She barely managed to wash up before collapsing into bed and falling into a dreamless sleep.
The next morning, she took an early cab to Harrison Group and submitted her formal letter of resignation.
She had only joined the company to be closer to Andrew. Now that the marriage was over, there was no reason to stay.
"Can the paperwork be finalized today?" she asked, her voice direct and professional, laced with a quiet urgency.
She fixed her stare on Alan Marshall, Andrew's personal secretary.
Alan, one of the few people who knew about her relationship with Andrew, wiped a bead of sweat from his temple, not daring to meet her eyes. "Just a moment. I'll have to get Mr. Harrison's approval."
Adelina paused, a sense of reluctance settling in her stomach.
"Does he really have to be told?" she asked, the words slipping out.
Alan gave her an apologetic look. "I'm afraid so. Your employment was personally approved by Mr. Harrison. I can't process the resignation without his sign-off."
"I see. Thank you," she said quietly, her politeness masking her exhaustion.
She was still trapped in his orbit. Back at her desk, she was debating whether to get coffee when her eyes locked onto two figures stepping out of the executive elevator.
The man, sharp in a bespoke suit, commanded the space. But it was the transformation in him that stole her breath. His expression, usually a mask of cold stoicism, softened into a rare, gentle warmth the moment he turned to the woman beside him.
It was a look she had never once received. Adelina felt her breath catch painfully in her throat. The last person she had ever expected to see here was standing right in front of her.
