Chapter 3
The words "Divorce Agreement" were printed clearly on the paper.
Julian stared at the document, frozen.
For the first time, a crack appeared on his cold, stoic face.
It was shock.
It wasn't begging or sadness, just genuine shock.
He'd never imagined this could happen.
The woman who was always docile in front of him, always humble, always treating him like her whole world.
She was the one asking for a divorce.
He came over and took a seat on the sofa.
A coffee table separated us.
His long fingers picked up the agreement. He read it page by page, carefully, thoroughly.
The only sound in the living room was the rustle of turning pages.
It was the funeral song for our three years as husband and wife.
My gaze was fixed on his face, searching.
I searched for any sign he didn't want to let go.
Even the smallest sign. But he gave me nothing.
He just frowned slightly, as if reviewing the terms of a business contract—calm, rational, or perhaps just cold-blooded.
He placed the finished document on the coffee table.
His voice was as calm and indifferent as always. "You're asking too little in the property division."
It felt like we were closing a business deal, not ending our marriage.
"You can have the house and 30% of my shares."
I looked at him.
I looked at him and suddenly found it almost funny.
Did he think this is what I wanted?
My voice was calm. "I don't want anything.
"I just want a divorce."
He looked at me, his deep eyes full of unreadable emotion.
I couldn't make sense of his feelings.
I didn't care to understand anymore.
"Rosalind," he called my name.
"Don't be ridiculous."
Ridiculous?
I spent three youthful years trying to melt a stone heart.
I lost my two children.
I sacrificed my entire life for him.
To him, I was just being ridiculous.
Those words cut me to the bone and the last thread of feeling I had for him snapped.
I stood up.
"Julian, I'm not being ridiculous.
"I'm serious. Just sign it."
He was quiet, for a long time.
We just stared at each other.
One standing, one sitting. Like two strangers facing off.
He took a fountain pen out of his pocket.
It was a Montblanc, its body gleaming sharply.
I remembered giving him that pen for his first birthday.
He loved it; he always carried it with him.
He uncapped the pen and found the signature line at the agreement's end.
My breath almost stopped in that moment.
I watched his pen tip hover over the paper, about to drop.
How I wished he would hesitate, even for a moment.
He would look at me and say, "Let's stay together."
But he didn't.
The tip of his pen landed firmly on the paper.
It made a soft, clear scratching sound.
Julian Crest.
He signed his name smoothly, as if he'd done it a million times.
He finished signing and slid me the agreement and pen.
"My lawyer will contact you about the property."
He stood and smoothed the front of his jacket, and just like that, the aloof, untouchable Julian Crest was back.
"I have a meeting tonight."
With that, he turned to leave.
I stared at his back as he walked away.
And then, I called out to him. "Is it because of... her?"
He stopped in his tracks, but he didn't turn around.
But I knew he heard me.
I laughed, but it was more heartbreaking than crying.
"Did you sign without thinking just to make things right for her?
"Julian, if you love her, why marry me?
"What was I to you these three years?"
The questions spilled out of me, one after another. I was asking him, but I was asking myself too.
He still didn't turn around but just left me with one cold sentence.
"What we had was just a transaction. Now it is over."
A transaction?
So in the end, my marriage was nothing but a transaction.
I slumped onto the sofa, feeling completely drained.
Right then, his phone rang.
A soft, soothing piano tune played—unfamiliar to me.
He answered the phone.
His icy voice suddenly turned gentle enough to melt anyone.
He answered, "Hello?
"Don't stress, I'll head over right after my meeting.
"Yeah, I'm coming right away."
He hung up and walked out quickly, without another look in my direction.
The door closed with a loud bang. And with it, any last hope I had.
I sat alone in darkness, unsure how much time passed.
Suddenly, a fierce, twisting pain struck my lower abdomen.
That jolted me back to reality.
God, it hurt so much.
I curled up on the sofa, cold sweat soaking my clothes instantly.
I struggled, trying to reach my phone. But I had no strength left.
My vision went dark, fading in and out and my consciousness began to slip away.
I thought I saw his car streak past the window, heading in the opposite direction from the hospital.
In his heart, one phone call from her mattered more than the life of his wife—the wife who had just lost his child.
I closed my eyes.
Rosalind, just accept it. This was your fate.
*****
I had no idea how long I'd been out.
When I opened my eyes again, I was met with the sharp smell of disinfectant and a blindingly white ceiling.
"Rosalind! You're awake!"
A voice full of shock and relief rang out in my ear.
I struggled to turn my head, and there was my best friend, Sophie Shaw.
Her eyes were red and swollen, and she looked exhausted. When she saw me awake, she cried again.
"You scared me! I called, but you didn't answer. So I came over and found you passed out."
She held my hand tight, her grip icy cold.
"The doctor said you had a massive hemorrhage after surgery. If you'd arrived later, you wouldn't have survived!" she cried.