It was almost laughable. After sixteen years together, the first time she showed me tenderness was to save the life of the man who ran over her own mother.
I picked up the divorce agreement, flipped through it page by page, then handed it back to her.
She thought I’d agreed—her face lit up with relief. Quickly, she dug a pen out of her bag and pressed it into my hand.
I signed, then pushed the two copies back across the table.
“I agree with divorce. But as for a private settlement—I don’t have the right to sign that.”
It was the truth.
But in Abigail’s ears, it sounded like I was deliberately making things difficult.
Her face darkened. She leaned back in her chair, chest rising and falling sharply, then suddenly hurled the pen at me.
“Julian, I only brought up our past out of consideration. Don’t think I’m begging you. That’s your mother we’re talking about. If you don’t have the right, then who does? In the end, you just don’t want to let Dylan go. You’re malicious—and so is your entire family.”
“What did you just say?”
My fists clenched, anger rushing through me like fire.
She could insult me all she wanted, but why should I let her trample my family again and again?