Two days later, when I was discharged, I already had the divorce papers ready. My lawyer prepared everything.
When I walked back into the villa, Wilbert was just about to leave to fetch Nivianne from work. He stopped when he saw me. “You’re back? Why do you look so pale?” He sounded worried for a moment, as if my face mattered to him.
Pale. Of course I was pale.
My father was lying in a hospital bed like a vegetable, and my brother was locked away. Did he expect me to look fresh and glowing? I didn’t bother answering.
I just handed him the papers and said flatly, “Sign this.”
He froze for a second. “What is this?” he asked, but before I could reply, his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, frowning, clearly in a rush. Without even reading, he scrawled his signature and shoved the papers back at me.
“Nivianne is waiting for me. If it’s another work document, just put it in my study next time,” he said, already halfway out the door.
I stared at the signature, at how easily he let me go, and I almost laughed again. He signed away our marriage like it was nothing. Like I was nothing.
Pathetic.
I tucked the papers away and headed straight to the courthouse.
.....