My fingers curled into fists, rage searing away the last remnants of restraint.
"Nathaniel, let’s get a divorce."
"I’ll step aside for you and Ophelia."
I rose to my feet and handed him the divorce papers. But instead of relief, he just stood there, staring at them in stunned silence.
Even now, a foolish part of me had clung to the hope that he might say something, anything, to change my mind.
But the first thing he did upon returning was announce that he was bringing Ophelia into our home, crushing any last ridiculous expectation I should’ve never held onto.
"What game are you playing now, you pathetic woman?"
"Divorce? You might as well be signing your own death sentence."
And with that, he tore the divorce papers to shreds.
I stared at him, disbelief washing over me. Hadn’t this been what he wanted all along?
For a fleeting moment, I thought, maybe, just maybe, he was doing this for our daughter.
But his next words shattered that illusion.
"In the past, I forced you to get a divorce, but you refused. Now, the moment you hear that Ophelia is moving in, you suddenly can’t wait to leave?"