Elaine's face went rigid, fury burning behind her eyes. She flung her hand as she turned to leave, and a bracelet slipped from her wrist, clattering to the floor.
I recognized that bracelet.
It was from Henry Gray. A reward, supposedly, for helping him close a deal.
Over the years, Henry had given her plenty of these "bonus" gifts—luxury brands I'd never even heard of before she started working under him.
Elaine loved every piece. But every time I laid eyes on one, something in my gut twisted.
Every argument we had about it ended the same way: nowhere.
Elaine looked at me with cold indifference, bent down to pick up the bracelet, and said, "Don't come crying to me later, Charles."
The door slammed so hard the windows rattled.
I stared at that door, and it felt like someone had stretched a plastic bag over my face. I couldn't breathe.
I inhaled slowly, walked out to the balcony, and made a call.
"I need you to draft a divorce agreement."
"Yeah. It's happening."
"How's your brother's house hunt going? I could sell him mine at a discount."
"I accepted the offer overseas. Leaving next week."
Silence on the other end. Then, after a long pause, a sigh.
"You and Elaine... how did it come to this?"
The words carried genuine regret. A few more concerned questions, and then the call ended.
Good question.
Ten years together, and even I couldn't pinpoint when we'd gone so wrong.
If Henry Gray was an invisible thorn—a dull, persistent ache I could never quite locate—then Elaine secretly aborting our baby was a blade that split me open.
The next day, I went to the office and completed my resignation paperwork.
My supervisor watched me with a look of pride. There was reluctance in his eyes, but more than that, there was genuine well-wishing.
Over the following days, Elaine didn't show up once.
Which suited me fine. I hired movers to pack up the apartment.
"These are all designer pieces, sir. We're not comfortable handling them. Maybe you'd rather pack these yourself?"
The mover wiped the sweat from his forehead and gestured toward Elaine's walk-in closet—the rows of limited-edition handbags, the jewelry cases lined up like a showroom display.
Starting around last year, Henry had begun buying Elaine things under the guise of work. Most of it was high-end luxury goods.
That was what had fueled the rumors at the company.
I'd brought it up with Elaine. More than once.