Chapter 2
623 Words
In the living room, Amanda and the other servants stood there with bowed heads, too afraid to utter a word.
Across from them, Andrew gently patted Ryan's back. The boy had been coughing endlessly, his face flushed from the strain.
Andrew's flawlessly handsome face was frosty, his brows knit, his dark eyes simmering with stormy intensity.
Gripping the divorce papers, I descended the stairs slowly. "What's going on?"
Ryan, having recovered somewhat, sat on the couch and threw me a look brimming with resentment and anger.
Andrew took a seat beside him, rubbing his temples, and wasted no time berating me. "Do you realize Ryan choked on milk that was too hot? Is warming milk rocket science? You can't even handle something this simple and just palm it off on others. If I were as careless at the company as you are at home, we'd have gone bankrupt countless times by now."
I studied Andrew. His clothes were immaculately pressed, not a single wrinkle, his outfit, inner layers, tie, and even sock colors all carefully coordinated.
I smiled.
He seldom said this much to me, except, of course, when he was tearing into me as he was now.
Truth be told, when we first got married, there was a time of sweetness between us.
Though introverted and inexpressive, Andrew was rigidly principled, as if romance were foreign to his nature.
But materially, he'd always been good to me. He provided respect and consideration in daily life. At various social events, he always made sure I was presentable.
It might have been a marriage without love, but at least we treated each other with courtesy.
After Ryan's birth, we grew closer. His smiles became frequent. During my postpartum recovery, he even set aside company matters to take care of me.
I'd be lying if I said I wasn't touched.
So in the years that followed, I devoted myself entirely to building this family, spending more and more time revolving around the two of them and growing increasingly exhausted.
But now I saw. He never loved me. He was only ever doing what a husband should do for his wife.
Before, it was care. Now, it's control.
His love remained reserved for the one he couldn't have in his youth.
Now that I understood, every rebuke I'd once brushed off cut like a knife. Even their mirror-image scowls on the couch grated on me.
I sat on a smaller adjacent couch, meeting their gaze at eye level.
My quiet only stoked his fury. His knuckles struck the coffee table, his voice a growl of bottled-up rage.
"It's just our anniversary. Is this how you act when you're unhappy? Jules, you're being overly dramatic."
I felt a slight pang in my heart, though my expression remained unchanged as I pushed the divorce papers across the coffee table.
"Take a look. If there are no issues, just sign."
Andrew froze, his dark eyes fixed on the divorce papers—first shocked, then furious, and finally, understanding.
With a cold laugh, he crumpled the papers into a ball and tossed them into the nearby trash bin.
"You're upset today, acting out. I can understand that. But I'll only give you tonight to think it over. If you still can't see a reason and insist on divorce, I'd be more than happy to."
'More than happy to.' My eyelids fluttered.
Truthfully, he'd been planning this divorce for a long time. He was only angry that I'd brought it up first, making him look bad.
Andrew turned and marched off in a rage.
Ryan hurried after him, calling out as he went. "Dad, I'm coming with you. I think Mom went too far, too. She needs to learn her lesson."
- Writer
