Chapter 5
1/4
Chapter 5
After that, my life returned to peace.
I listed the home Eric and I had shared for a low price. I had everything
inside cleaned out. His personal belongings were boxed up and sent to
his parents.
Even the baby crib, stroller, and clothes he had bought for our daughter
-I threw them all away.
A father who didn’t love his child didn’t deserve to leave anything
behind.
Before the sale went through, Victoria asked me if I could sell the
apartment to her at a discount.
After all, they didn’t own a home in the city. They’d been living in mine
all this time.
I advised her, “I think you and William should rent for now. Keep your
savings in hand. If Eric comes back with permanent injuries and can’t
work, you’ll need that money to get by.”
My words made her face turn a blotchy purple.
William was so angry he raised a hand to hit me, but I just calmly
reminded him, “Didn’t you just spend a million to pull strings through
the diplomatic channels to get Eric repatriated? Don’t ruin it now by
getting arrested for domestic violence. Victoria and Eric still need you.”
Chapter 5
I had the recovery center staff escort them out.
Everything was proceeding on my terms.
2/4
The only thing that still pierced my heart was the bank statement my
lawyer sent me.
Turns out, Eric had been donating money to the “Q International
Children’s Charity Project” for the past seven years–every donation
processed by Aria.
Some were as small as 3,000, others as large as 50,000 or even 100,000.
Altogether, over a million.
All these years, our finances were basically split. Even during my
pregnancy and childbirth, I never touched his money. He supported
himself. I paid for myself and the baby.
I thought he was saving up.
But no–he had been pouring his savings into his ex–girlfriend’s charity.
He would rather spend extravagantly on her than care about whether
his own wife and daughter were squeezing into a cramped apartment.
At that moment, the last shred of affection I had for him died.
Just as my postnatal recovery was coming to an end, Eric was finally
repatriated.
I breathed a sigh of relief. At least that million hadn’t been wasted.
But what followed was that familiar, gut–wrenching pain.
Chapter 5
3/4
I composed myself, got up, showered, did my makeup, got dressed–and
headed for the airport.
Some things needed to be said face–to–face.
The arrival hall was packed–friends, family, well–wishers.
I walked straight toward the exit, ignoring all the glances thrown my
way.
a
Soon, Eric was wheeled out by the staff. Beside him stood a deeply
tanned woman.
The moment she stepped off the ramp, she twisted her ankle..
Eric immediately struggled to stand from the wheelchair, his voice
tense with concern: “Be careful! Don’t strain your leg again!”
I stood not far away, watching, my fingers unconsciously curling into
fists.
In seven years of marriage, not once had he shown that kind of concern
when I fell while pregnant, hit my stomach on the table corner, or
when my water broke.
So this was the “lively, passionate Eric” everyone always talked about.
Pain stabbed at me in waves.
While I was still dazed, he was already surrounded by the crowd.
He hugged his parents tightly, voice choked:
Chapter 5
“Dad, Mom… I’m sorry. I made you worry.”
The elderly couple was sobbing, others around them teary–eyed.
Then he saw me.
His eyes lit up, like he’d found a lifeline. He walked toward me, eyes
red.
He took my hand and whispered, “Freya, I made it. I’m home safe.”
His tears fell onto the back of my hand–warm, but they made my
stomach churn.
I gently patted his hand and subtly wiped away the warmth.
“You’re back. That’s all that matters.”
I calmly took a document out of my bag and handed it to him.
“I need to go home and take care of my daughter. Can you sign the
divorce papers now?”
