Meanwhile, Grace put on a somber expression, pretending she cared. But I could see the hidden satisfaction behind her act.
To ease the tension, Bobby offered, “I’ll come home early tonight and take you shopping. You can buy whatever you want.” Bobby always thought money could fix everything, but he was wrong. I didn’t need expensive gifts or shopping trips. What I needed was his attention and loyalty—two things he no longer seemed capable of giving.
He seemed to have forgotten how I had accepted him when he was just an ordinary employee, earning a modest salary and living simply. Back then, he gave me his whole heart. His time and effort were devoted entirely to me.
Now, with his high-ranking position at the company, he had started to neglect his loyalty and treat me like a pet—one that only needed to be fed and housed.
“But Bobby,” Grace chimed in, “don’t we have an appointment with Dr. Frans today? I need to get my liver checked.”
I saw Bobby flinch, clearly remembering the appointment. “You’re right. I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he said to me. “Grace needs support. Her condition is quite serious.”
I swallowed hard, forcing down the pain stabbing my heart. “I understand,” I replied softly.
He smiled, relieved, and pulled out his phone to transfer money to my account. “Use this to treat yourself. Invite your friends, okay?”
I nodded without a word. As he stood and prepared to leave with Grace, I noticed how he no longer kissed my forehead before going—a small gesture that used to make me feel loved. Now, even that was gone.
After Bobby left, I called Uncle Jack, asking for permission not to come to the restaurant. “I have something to take care of,” I said briefly.
I went to the civil registry office with determined steps. When I arrived, I filled out the divorce application form. Each letter I wrote was a small step toward freedom.
The clerk at the counter looked at me sympathetically as I handed her the document. “Are you sure, ma’am?” she asked softly.
I nodded. “There’s nothing left to save.”
But my journey didn’t stop there. I continued to the immigration office to change my passport. The name on the form was no longer the old Irish. I chose a new name, a symbol of the new life I would build without Bobby.
“Two weeks from now, you will no longer be a citizen of this country, ma’am,” the clerk said as she handed me my new identity papers.
Irish's POV