He waved the papers like a leash, and then turned, sliding an arm around Marina’s shoulders. Together they walked away, and the world seemed to confirm it: she was the cherished wife, I was nothing beneath his feet.
The crowd’s eyes never left me—disgusted, condemning. My hands shook as I forced myself upright, legs weak, heart crushed.
I dragged myself down the hall until I reached my son’s room. The door closed behind me. My forehead pressed against the wood as sobs wracked me, chest aching from the force of it.
“Well then, Dominic,” I whispered through tears and trembling lips, a promise coated in blood and fire. “By this week, I will no longer be yours.”
---
Three days later, I finally brought Ethan home. He was still pale, fragile, weakened by trauma—but alive. If I could, I would have never set foot in that house again. But I had no choice. I needed my mother’s heirlooms, a few of Ethan’s things, and some personal belongings I couldn’t leave behind.
The door swung open, and my breath caught. Marina stood in the center of the living room, regal, untouchable. Asher sprawled across the couch, laughter spilling from him like he owned the world.