Back home, at two in the afternoon, Cooper had just wrapped up a meeting and was waiting impatiently in the lobby.
The receptionist, puzzled by his behavior, asked, “Mr. Green, is there something you need?”
He thought of the “gift” I had mentioned and a proud, affectionate smile tugged at his lips.
“Nothing much,” he said, his voice thick with warmth. “My wife is sending me a gift.”
His words carried an unmistakable pride, the kind that only a man deeply in love could express.
The receptionist couldn’t help but sigh. “Mr. Green, you and your wife have such a beautiful relationship. It’s truly enviable.”
Hearing this, Cooper’s smile grew wider, almost smug, as if he had won some silent victory.
The courier soon arrived with the package and as soon as Cooper saw the envelope, his smile began to fade, replaced by a creeping unease.
He quickly took the envelope upstairs, his steps a little heavier than before.
When he tore open the bag, everything I had said began to sink in.
The “gift” I had promised wasn’t anything he could have anticipated; it was the divorce agreement.
The moment he saw it, his body went rigid and he sank onto the sofa, stunned, his mind scrambling to process the reality of it.
