Chapter 3
So, Julian didn’t just feel for his unattainable ideal with words; his actions had already been this “thoughtful” and “far-sighted.”
Enough. Just enough.
The last shred of illusion I held for this marriage shattered, completely and utterly, under Scarlett’s meticulously orchestrated “performance.”
I placed my water glass down. It hit the polished tabletop with a sharp, clear clink, successfully cutting off whatever more “dramatic” lines Scarlett had planned.
I tugged at the corners of my mouth, forcing out a cold, hollow smile, staring directly into her eyes, which were brimming with hypocrisy: “Miss Davies, you’ve gone to great lengths. But my affairs are none of your concern. As for your ‘fertility charm,’ keep it and enjoy it all to yourself.”
“You can finish that coffee on your own.”
With that, I grabbed my bag from beside me and walked out of the café without a backward glance.
Outside, the sunlight was intense, almost blinding.
I returned to the place I called “home,” which felt more like a cage now. The sprawling house was empty.
I didn’t turn on any lights, walking directly to the living room sofa and sinking down. Darkness gently enveloped me, amplifying the emptiness and resolve within my heart.
My husband’s slip of the tongue, my son’s accusation, the “white moonlight’s” sickening display… The scenes of the past few days replayed in my mind, slow-motion, painfully clear.
Every image, every word, felt like a thousand cuts to my soul.
I sat in the dark for a long, long time, until the sky outside the window began to show the first hint of dawn.
I stood up, still no lights on, and walked straight into the master bedroom.
I only took a few casual outfits from college, comfortable though rarely worn now, along with essential undergarments and basic toiletries. My movements were frighteningly calm, as if I were merely packing for a short trip.
But now, I was saying goodbye to that identity, forever.
From the dusty depths of a drawer in his study, I pulled out a long-forgotten document – the divorce agreement.
I’d actually printed it out a long time ago, in a fit of impulse after a furious argument with Julian about Scarlett.
Back then, I just wanted to force Julian to make a choice, or perhaps, to childishly scare him into realizing I had boundaries.
Laughably, when he saw the agreement, he merely scoffed, dismissively asking what “drama” I was causing now, then casually tossed it into the bottom of the drawer and never mentioned it again.
Looking back, he must have been utterly convinced from the start that I couldn’t leave him, couldn’t abandon this privileged life, or the prestigious title of “Mrs. Julian Harrison.”
I picked up the pen. Without a single hesitation, I signed my name, Clara Bennett, clearly and firmly, on the “Wife” line at the bottom of the dusty agreement.
Next to it, I took off my wedding ring and gently placed it on the document.
Finally, I took one last look around the house I had called home for five years.
Pulling a simple suitcase, I silently walked out of that house, out of that suffocating marriage.
I blocked and deleted Julian and everyone in his circle.