Chapter 9
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Chapter 9
I froze for a moment.
He looked so much older than I remembered–his face was etched with
lines, and the sharpness in his eyes was gone. But what stood out most
was the empty left leg of his pants and the cane he leaned on.
He looked like a man who had lost half his world, just standing there,
hollow.
I hadn’t planned to let him in. But in the end, I couldn’t bring myself to
be that cold. I stepped aside to let him through.
The moment he saw me step back, his eyes turned red. He moved
slowly as he sat down, the cane clattering loudly against the side of the
coffee table–it felt like it shattered more than just the silence.
I poured him a cup of tea and passed him a small plate of fruit.
The faint scent of tea drifted through the air, curling between us.
It reminded me of our seven years of marriage–those quiet evenings
on the balcony, sipping tea and reading, slow and serene.
He was the first to speak.
“Freya, I’ve missed you so much… I know I made a lot of mistakes, but
I’m begging you–please don’t divorce me. Without you… I really can’t
go on.”
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His whole body was trembling as he spoke. The loose fabric of his pant
leg swayed with the shaking, as if to remind me of the heavy price he’d
already paid for his choices.
I didn’t respond right away.
I simply picked up my teacup and took a calm sip.
“Raising a baby is already hard enough. I don’t have the capacity to care
for a disabled man as well.”
It might’ve sounded cold, but it was the truth.
His face went pale instantly. The light in his eyes dimmed all at once.
But I didn’t soften.
“I understand your situation is difficult right now, but I’m not a social
services agency. No one’s obligated to save you.”
“That said, when it comes to the division of assets, I’m willing to compromise a little. In the original agreement, I got sixty percent and
you got forty. Given your current… circumstances, I’m willing to flip
that. You can take sixty.”
His lips began to tremble.
“Can’t you… show a little mercy? When I was in the ICU, fighting for my life, you disappeared with the baby without saying a word. I almost
died.”
I gave a small, indifferent smile.
Chapter 9
“Oh? How would I have known? I warned you before you left the
country–you’d have to deal with the consequences. You agreed.”
His fists clenched tightly, knuckles turning white. But he still tried to
argue:
“You never told me… you were going to divorce me.”
I laughed bitterly.
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What did he mean, *“You never told me you were going to divorce me”
*?
When I was bleeding and in labor on the floor, he turned his back and
got on a plane to save another woman.
cked up my phone from the coffee table, opened the video I had
cked up in advance, and handed it to him.
In the video, I didn’t cry or scream, but blood steadily soaked through
my clothes below the abdomen. At the end, the footage captured him
walking out the door–his footsteps leaving dark stains of my blood
across the floor.
Even with blood that obvious, Eric had still walked away. And now he
had the nerve to blame me.
After watching the video, he seemed utterly drained, collapsing into the
couch like all the strength had left him.
I remained unmoved, sipping my tea.
“I’m willing to compromise,” I said.
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“You can see your daughter–once a month. When she’s older, if she
wants to see you more, I’ll support that.”
“As for custody–you’re disabled now, and it’s unlikely you’ll return to
your old job in finance. Maybe focus on figuring out how to make a
living first. And stop fantasizing about a custody battle.”
“You gave her up once. So don’t try to play the ‘fatherly love‘ card now.”
“And since you’re basically broke, I won’t ask for child support either.”
Eric’s hands were shaking so badly, his lips quivered. He seemed like he
wanted to say something, but I didn’t want to hear it.
I added calmly, “All I ever wanted was a dignified divorce. No
screaming, no drama.”
“I really did love you once. And even though this marriage ended
poorly, I hope we can at least be mature in front of our daughter.”
He went completely silent.
After a long pause, he spoke, voice scraping out like it came from the
wreckage of something ruined:
“Tomorrow morning, 9 a.m. Civil Affairs Bureau.”
Then he got up, leaned on his cane, and left.
The moment the door closed, my phone rang.
