Marilyn didn’t cry when she decided to leave.
That was the strangest part.
She sat alone in the quiet apartment, morning light spilling across the marble floor, the city humming outside like nothing in her world was about to collapse. Her hands were steady as she placed the papers on the table. Her signature flowed smoothly across the page—no hesitation, no smudged ink.
It felt unreal.
' So this is how it ends ' , she thought.
Not with screaming.
Not with betrayal exposed dramatically.
But with exhaustion.
She folded the divorce papers carefully, sliding them into an envelope she had prepared the night before. Everything she needed fit into two suitcases. She didn’t take much—just clothes, her manuscripts, a few books, and the necklace Lucas had once given her, which she left behin
