“Mrs. Smith… are you absolutely sure about this? Divorce isn’t something you can take back once you begin. Think of it—twenty-five years of marriage. You’ll be throwing it all away. And… forgive me, but… you will get nothing. No money. No shares. No property. Where will you go?”
Where will I go? The question lingered in the air like a knife pressed against my chest.
For a moment, my heart drifted back—years and years ago—when Oliver wasn’t this monster I now knew.
We had been college sweethearts, inseparable. I was that girl who believed in fairy tales, who thought love would conquer anything. And Oliver? He was charming, ambitious, brimming with dreams bigger than life. He didn’t have much then—just ideas, notebooks filled with sketches of businesses that never quite took off.
But I believed in him. I believed so much that when Father left me my inheritance, I gave it all to Oliver. Every last cent of my estate went into his hands. I told myself it was an investment in our future, in the family we were going to build.
And he did build something. A company. A name. A life.
I could still remember the night I gave him the inheritance money.
We were in his cramped apartment, nothing but second-hand furniture and cheap instant noodles on the table. Oliver looked at me as though I’d just handed him the world when I slid the envelope across.
“Candice…” his voice trembled. “What is this?”
“It’s mine,” I said softly. “Father left it for me. But I want you to have it. For your company. For your dreams.”
His eyes widened, glassy with unshed tears. He reached across the table, grabbed my hands, and kissed my knuckles. “Are you serious? Candice, this is everything! With this, I can finally register the company, get the equipment, hire people—”
“And make it real,” I whispered, smiling through the nerves. “I believe in you, Oliver.”
He pulled me into his arms, burying his face in my hair. “You won’t regret this, I swear. I’ll make you proud. One day, when this business takes off, we won’t live like this anymore. We’ll have a real home, travel the world, see Paris, the Caribbean, everywhere you’ve always dreamed of.”
I laughed softly, pressing my cheek against his chest. “Just promise me one thing.”
“Anything.”
“When we’re rich, when everything is finally stable… you’ll take care of me. You won’t forget me, right?”
He leaned back, cupped my face, and kissed me gently. “Forget you? Candice, you’ll be the queen of my world. I’ll give you the life you deserve. No matter how high I go, it’ll always be because of you.”
I believed him. I believed every word.
And years later, he had built everything he promised. But not for me.
Never for me.
I swallowed hard, gripping the phone tighter. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll handle it on my own. Just prepare the papers and send them to Oliver in three days.”
The lawyer hesitated, then finally sighed. “If that’s your decision… I’ll have it ready.”
“Thank you.” My voice trembled but didn’t break. I hung up.
And when I turned around—Oliver was standing there.
His tall frame blocked the light from the hallway, his sharp eyes narrowing as though I had just confessed a crime. “What do you mean… send it? Send what?”
My heart nearly leapt out of my chest. For a split second, I thought it was over—that he had heard everything, that he would rip the phone from my hands and strangle the truth out of me.
But instead, I forced a smile. A brittle, fragile smile that barely held.
“Just… a gift,” I said softly. “In three days, it’s our wedding anniversary. Don’t you think we should celebrate?”
And in that silence, a memory crept in—unwelcome, but sharp enough to pierce through my chest.
Years ago, on my birthday, he had surprised me with a small velvet box. I could still recall the way my hands trembled as I opened it, a smile already forming on my lips. Inside was a necklace—a delicate gold chain with a shining pendant.
“Do you like it?” he’d asked, watching me closely.
“Yes,” I had whispered, tears prickling my eyes. It wasn’t about the jewelry, it was about the thought—the promise that he remembered me, that he cared.
But that evening, when Beatrice arrived for dinner, I noticed something. Around her neck hung the exact same design—only hers gleamed brighter, heavier, real. Mine… mine was a replica. A cheap imitation.
I wanted to ask him why. I wanted to demand an explanation, to scream, to cry. But instead, I pressed my lips together and forced a smile, pretending it didn’t matter.
Because I told myself then, as I had always told myself: Don’t make trouble. Don’t pick a fight. Just endure it, Candice. It’s not worth losing everything.
But now, standing there with my husband looking at me like I was nothing, I realized—enduring had stolen everything from me anyway.
He stared at me strangely. “What’s wrong? Are you mad? Why aren’t you saying a word?”
I met his eyes, steady and hollow. “Nothing. I’m just… disappointed in you.”
Then, without another thought, I pulled my wedding ring from my finger. The same ring I once thought symbolized love, partnership, eternity.
I looked at it one last time—then threw it straight at his face. The small band clinked against his cheekbone before falling to the floor.
