Chapter 3

I slammed the divorce papers back onto the coffee table. "I'm done talking to you. I've spelled out the property split clearly.

"Our joint assets include the house, the three cars, and your shares. I'm only taking the house and the Beetle. You can have everything else. Honestly, I'm being generous."

I was exhausted, and I didn't want to waste any more energy on this crap.

I just wanted to end it all and cut him out of my life for good.

Drogo stared at the divorce papers like they were burning his hands. He didn't even look at the terms, just kept shaking his head. "I'm not signing. I won't agree to this. Gina, just give me one more chance. I swear, I'll cut her off for good!"

I shot back, "A chance? Drogo, ever since I found those flirty texts on your phone, and you kept coming home late smelling like someone else's perfume, I have given you enough chances.

"You always said you'd change, but what actually happened?

"You ended up having your mistress come straight to me."

My voice wasn't loud, but every word was a blade, slicing through his pretenses.

Drogo's face went ghostly pale. He staggered back and collapsed onto the couch, burying his hands in his hair, looking utterly devastated.

"Gina, after all these years we've been together, is it really this easy for us to fall apart?" he muttered.

I watched his little performance and wondered how much of his pain was actually for me, and how much was just him panicking about losing everything.

I didn't say a word. I just walked into the study and pulled out a book from the second shelf I always used.

When I opened the book, I found a photo tucked inside.

In the picture, Drogo and I were young, standing beneath a tree on campus, both smiling brightly.

I used to think we'd always be that happy.

I turned the photo over. On the back, I'd written: [May we spend a hundred years together, never mentioning heartbreak or goodbye.]

I found those words ironic at that moment.

I walked back to the living room and handed him the photo.

He looked up and felt lost. When he saw the picture, his eyes flickered.

I asked, "Do you remember? You said you'd always treat me right."

"I remember..." he said hoarsely.

"Too bad your 'forever' had such a short shelf life," I said, taking the photo back. Right in front of him, I slowly tore it in half.

With a sharp rip, the picture was torn apart.

Drogo's eyes went wide. He tried to stop me, but it was already too late.

I let go, and the two halves of the photo drifted to the floor, like broken-winged butterflies.

"Tomorrow morning at nine, I'll be waiting for you outside the City Hall," I said.

With that, I grabbed my already-packed suitcase and headed for the door.

Just as my hand touched the doorknob, Drogo's voice exploded behind me. "Gina, if you walk out that door, don't even think about coming back!"

I paused, but didn't bother to turn around.

I said, "Relax. I never want to see you for the rest of my life."

I checked into the hotel I'd already reserved, dragging my suitcase behind me.

After a hot shower, I collapsed onto the plush bed, but my head had never felt so clear.

Drogo and I started dating in college and eventually got married. We were the couple everyone in our friend group envied.

His family was nothing special, but he was smart and driven. I admired his ambition. Even though my parents were totally against our relationship, I backed him up and went all in with my savings to help him start his business.

Once the company took off, our lives got better and better, but the spark between us started to die out.

He started griping that I was too bossy, never knew how to be gentle, always buried in work, and totally lacking in femininity. He kept asking why I couldn't just be a stay-at-home wife like other women.

I thought it was just the infamous seven-year itch, so I tried to change and become the sweet, gentle wife he wanted me to be.

But I forgot that once a guy fell out of love, no matter what I did, it would always be wrong.

Even my existence would be wrong in his eyes.

My phone buzzed. It was a call from Drogo.

I hung up and blocked him in one smooth move.

Not long after, an unknown number called my phone.

I was sure it was him. I didn't want to pick up, but the call just wouldn't stop.

In the end, I answered. Before he could get a word out, I said coldly, "If you're calling to beg me to take you back, save it."

There was a pause on the other end, then Drogo's voice came through, tired and a little hurt. "Gina, are you in a rush to leave me?"

"Yes," I answered without a second thought.

He pressed, sounding like he just couldn't wrap his head around it, "Why? Is it all because of Trista? I told you, it was just a one-time thing. I swear that I'll never see her again!"