I had just finished zipping my suitcase when the front door slammed open.
Isaac’s voice tore through the hallway.
“Do you have any fucking idea what you’ve done?!”
I didn’t flinch. “Yes. Finally, for once in my life, I know exactly what I’m doing.”
He strode in, his face red with fury. “You humiliated me in front of the entire board! In front of investors and in front of my friends! Do you know what that video did to my reputation?”
I met his glare. “It showed the truth. Something you never cared to look for.”
“The truth?” He laughed bitterly. “You edited that! You’re still as unstable as ever— just like before. You think destroying my name will bring your child back? You think you can put Naomi behind bars? I’ll bail her out before you can even blink! You think you have any power? Your child is gone and you're acting crazy!”
His words felt like a slap to my face, but I didn’t show it.
“You let our daughter’s killer live in our house. You let her wear my clothes, sleep in my bed, call you hers. And you watched me rot in a cell while she smiled beside you.”
“Enough!” he barked. “You were careless! You let the child die, and you’re trying to blame everyone else. You need help, Cassandra.”
I stared at him. My chest felt tight. “I begged you to believe me. You didn’t even come to the trial. You wanted revenge— because I embarrassed you with my depression, with my grief. You wanted a perfect wife, and when I broke, you decided I deserved punishment.”
“You killed our child. You deserved more than eight months in that hell!”
Before I knew what I was doing, I slapped him. The slap was so hard that his face turned to the side, and I could see an imprint of my fingers when they left his face. Isaac looked mortified, but I was angrier.
“You do not have the right to call her your child anymore! You’re a disgrace! You couldn’t protect her and then you took her killer’s side. She was just a baby! I was too weak back then, but I’m not that woman anymore. I’m different now, and I’m leaving you.”
He scoffed. “You’re delusional. You’re my wife, Cassandra. You’re not going anywhere.”
That was the last straw.
I reached into my bag and pulled out the signed papers. His signature stared back at him, bold and black.
“Actually, I can,” I said quietly. “You signed it yourself.”
He froze. “What is that?”