Each image twisted something inside me. Photos of him attending her events, celebrating milestones in her circle, laughing and leaning close—the sting of jealousy flared hotter with each snapshot.
“Why don’t they just move in together already?” I muttered, anger and frustration coiling in my stomach.
I could no longer hold back. My pulse racing, I threw the phone aside, gathered my papers, and ordered the driver to take me to the courthouse.
This time, hesitation had no place. I signed the divorce papers with precision, my signature firm and unwavering. No more doubt. No more waiting. I reclaimed my life.
---
A few days later, Zaldy returned from Paris.
That evening, I set a quiet dinner, the first time in weeks we would sit across from each other. Calm and deliberate, the divorce documents were laid neatly beside my plate.
As he took his seat, I slid the folder across the table.
Zaldy glanced at it, expression unreadable, then pushed it back toward me.
“Put it in my office. I’ll review it later,” he said casually.
I froze. “You’re not even going to read them?” My voice trembled with disbelief.
He sighed, picking up his communicator. “Sami, can we not do this now? I just got back. I’m exhausted.”
“Do you even care?” I pressed, voice shaking. “Have you noticed? I stopped managing your schedules, stopped tending to your needs—and you barely reacted.”
“Look,” he said, waving a hand dismissively, “throwing a fit doesn’t make me drop everything. Now, if you’re done, let me eat in peace.”
I stared at him, every ounce of indifference in his eyes answering all the questions I hadn’t dared to ask aloud.
Finally, I rose, clutching the papers to my chest, feeling a surge of strength bloom.
“Very well, Zaldy,” I whispered, not meeting his gaze. “I’ll leave them in your office. But this time, I am done waiting for you.”
I walked away, placing the divorce papers on his desk. My eyes fell on a chaotic pile of receipts, statements, and purchase orders.
My heart sank. Since Maria’s return, his expenses had soared—a penthouse in Paris, lavish gifts—evidently all for her.
On impulse, I grabbed a sticky note and scrawled: “Make sure you sign it!”
I began packing at dawn, sorting through years of memories and belongings with a clarity I had never felt before.