I was dead set on a divorce, but Ryan Smith stubbornly refused to let go.
At his wit's end, he went to my parents' house to beg for their help. My parents had watched him grow up and practically raised him as their own son. On the day we registered our marriage, they had repeatedly told me to cherish him, be patient with him, and never let him down.
Ryan was certain that if my parents intervened, my sense of filial duty would make me soften, and I would drop the divorce proceedings.
But he couldn't even make it past our front door.
In the freezing late autumn wind, he stood outside our estate for a solid half-hour, wearing nothing but his thin filming costume. When our housekeeper, who had also watched him grow up, finally opened the door, her eyes were filled with blatant disgust.
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