He didn’t even hesitate. He answered. His tone softened instantly. I couldn’t hear what she said, but his face shifted… his brows eased, his mouth tilted the way it used to when he looked at me.
By the time he hung up, he didn’t even look at the papers again. He just grabbed a pen, scribbled his name on the last page, and picked up his keys.
“Something came up,” he said, already walking toward the door. “Go to bed early, alright?”
He paused before leaving, turning to give me that same gentle smile that used to melt me. “Next time you want to buy something, just get it. You don’t need my permission. What’s mine is yours. We’re husband and wife.”
My hand tightened around the signed papers. “Not for long,” I murmured.
He didn’t even hear me. The door closed softly behind him.
That night, I dreamed of the first time I met him.
I was eighteen. It was a party my father dragged me to. I remember spotting Dominic standing by the piano in that black suit, a glass of champagne in his hand. Everyone seemed smaller when he was around. I couldn’t take my eyes off him.
Later that night, I did something stupid and brave. I kissed him.
He laughed, low and warm. “That’s not how you kiss, sweetheart.” Then he leaned down and showed me how.
It was deep and slow, and I remember thinking that no man would ever touch me like that again. I didn’t know that kiss would ruin me years later.
When I woke up, my pillow was wet. I didn’t even realize I’d been crying.
The sky outside was turning pale. I sat for a long time before calling my father.
“Dad,” I said, my voice rough. “I’m divorced.”
He went quiet for a moment. Then, sharp and worried, “Did he hurt you?”
I stared out the window. “No. We just stopped loving each other.”
But that wasn’t true. He stopped loving me.
And I stopped surviving it. I didn’t tell my father that part. Some things hurt more when spoken aloud.
After I hung up, I just sat there, staring at my phone. Then it buzzed… a new friend request.
Without thinking, I tapped accept.
A second later, a video popped up.
Dominic was asleep on a couch, shirt half unbuttoned, hair messy, face soft in the dim light. His lips moved faintly. I turned the volume up and almost dropped my phone when I heard it—
“Lory…”
Then came the messages.