He released me and stalked out to the balcony. The metallic click of a lighter followed.
His voice was cold, but weighed down with exhaustion.
“Sophia, do you honestly think we’re still a family?”
“Are you absolutely sure this is what you want?”
His laugh was bitter, his eyes closing for a moment before he forced them open again.
“You’ve really made up your mind? You’re set on divorcing me?”
I nodded firmly. “Yes.”
“I admit I failed as a husband. So I don’t blame you for cheating. After the divorce, we’ll split everything fifty-fifty. You don’t have to walk away with nothing.”
Ethan turned back toward me, his face shadowed by the light behind him.
There was no more rage, no accusations—only a quiet sorrow.
“I just can’t figure it out,” he whispered. “We were so in love. How did it all come to this?”
“When I asked you to be a stay-at-home wife, you refused.”
“Was that the moment you had already planned your escape, throwing yourself into work so you could secure shares in the company?”
I stayed silent, and Ethan gave a bitter smile, as if resigning himself.
“If you love being a workaholic so much, then go live with your work.”
He slammed the door shut behind him.