Finally, I rose, clutching the papers to my chest, feeling a surge of strength bloom.
“Very well, Zaldy,” I whispered, not meeting his gaze. “I’ll leave them in your office. But this time, I am done waiting for you.”
I walked away, placing the divorce papers on his desk. My eyes fell on a chaotic pile of receipts, statements, and purchase orders.
My heart sank. Since Maria’s return, his expenses had soared—a penthouse in Paris, lavish gifts—evidently all for her.
On impulse, I grabbed a sticky note and scrawled: “Make sure you sign it!”
I began packing at dawn, sorting through years of memories and belongings with a clarity I had never felt before.
Though Zaldy and I technically had separate quarters in the manor, we shared a dressing wing—a space I had once meticulously maintained, folding his suits, polishing his shoes, arranging his belts, and ensuring everything he owned was in perfect order. It had been my daily ritual, a small attempt to keep peace in a marriage that had always been more obligation than love. But now, it was time to let it all go.