Chapter 4
Everyone could see how much he cared about me?
I curled my lips into a half-smile, remembering all those times at parties when Andrew would call me clumsy and joke, "What would you do without me?"
Everyone would laugh, and he'd wear that smug little grin, like he was so proud of himself.
I remembered how he'd criticize my new dress right in front of Emily, saying, "That color's way too loud for you," then turn around and gush to Emily, "You look good in anything." The contrast stung every time.
I thought about the dinners I'd spent hours preparing, only for him to take a few careless bites, drop his fork, and say, "The takeout Emily brought last time was way better." Like my effort meant nothing.
All those tiny insults, disguised as jokes or blunt honesty, were like needles stabbing into my heart. My chest was already full of them. I used to pretend it didn't hurt, or maybe, after so long, I just went numb.
For the first time, I finally replied seriously to all those messages telling me to make up.
To my mom: [Mom, I'm not being dramatic. I'm thinking straight. There's nothing left to discuss. You don't need to keep persuading me, and please stop answering his calls.
[If my divorce makes you feel ashamed, I'm sorry, but I want to be responsible for my own life.]
To Sophie: [I've thought it through. I'm not afraid of the hassle; I'm afraid of making myself miserable by staying. I know he won't sign the papers easily, but I'll make sure he does.]
To our mutual friend: [Thanks for caring. But what you see is probably just what you want to see. Some jokes are funny once, but after a thousand times, they cut deep.
[Three years together wasn't easy, which is why I put up with it for so long. But I'm done now. This isn't impulsive; it's just me ending the pain.]
After sending those messages, I put my phone on silent and tossed it aside.
The next day at work, I "ran into" Andrew downstairs.
He was clearly dressed to impress, in a perfectly pressed light gray suit, his hair slicked back, and holding a small, elegantly wrapped bouquet of champagne roses.
Standing in the early autumn sunlight, he was still the charming, eye-catching Professor Landon.
When he saw me, he immediately walked over, his eyes showing just the right amount of weariness and affection. "Claire."
I didn't stop. I walked straight into the building.
"Claire!" He raised his voice, drawing a few glances from the rushing office workers.
He caught up to me in a few steps, blocking my way and offering the flowers. "Let's talk. Just ten minutes, okay?"
"There's nothing to talk about," I said, sidestepping that flashy bouquet. "Did you sign the papers?"
His face froze for a second, then he tried to sound gentle. "Claire, please don't do this. I know I screwed up, really badly. Yesterday I just wasn't thinking straight. Just give me a chance, let's talk. I swear I'll change."
"Andrew," I cut him off, looking up at his still-handsome face, now wearing that look of fake sincerity. "How much are your promises actually worth?
"In the past three years, how many times have you promised to stop making those jokes? How many times did you say you'd be more careful? Did anything ever change?"
He was speechless, his eyes darting nervously. "This time is different, I swear. I really get it now. Look, I even blocked Emily's number. I won't ever talk to her in private again! Just trust me this once, please?"
Blocked Emily? I almost laughed out loud. Who are you trying to fool, Andrew?
"Move. I'm going to be late," I said, not interested in wasting another second on him.
"Claire!" He was getting desperate, reaching out to grab my arm. "What do you want from me? Just say it, and I'll change.
"Divorce isn't something you just throw around. We've been together for years—doesn't that mean anything to you?"
"Feelings?" I finally snapped, my voice rising. "Andrew, did you ever care about our relationship when you couldn't get over Emily?
"When you called me a boring old wife in front of everyone, did you think about our feelings then? And now you want to talk to me about love?"
More people were staring at us now.
Andrew's face twisted with irritation and impatience. "Claire, do you really have to make such a scene in front of everyone? I'm practically begging you here; what more do you want from me?"
See? This was who he really was.
He always thought that as long as he lowered himself a little, I should be grateful and forgive him and move on.
My feelings, my dignity, none of that mattered to him. All he cared about was not being embarrassed in public.
"I don't want anything else from you," I said.
I looked him straight in the eye. "I want a divorce. Don't wait for me outside my office, don't call or text me, and stop interfering with my life. This is the last time I'm saying it."
With that, I walked around him and quickly stepped into the building's revolving door. The glass reflected him standing there, holding the bouquet, his face shifting between red and pale, looking utterly miserable.
Once I was inside the elevator, I realized my fingers were cold and trembling.
It wasn't fear; it was anger, the kind that had been building up for so long and was finally erupting.
This was just the beginning. I knew he wouldn't give up that easily.
That afternoon, my department head called me into his office.
He was a middle-aged man in his forties, usually pretty friendly with me.
He rubbed his hands together, looking a bit awkward. "Claire, have a seat. There's something I need to talk to you about.
"Honestly, I'm doing someone a favor here. Your husband, Professor Landon, called me and asked me to talk to you."
My heart sank.
He said, "He told me you two had a little spat and you moved out because you were upset. Young people, tempers flare, I get it. But Claire, we've all heard about him, he's got a bright future ahead.
"Couples fight, but you always patch things up, right? Just don't let it mess with your work.
"And honestly, he sounded really worried about you on the phone and said he hopes you'll cool off and come home soon. Maybe you could think about it, huh?"
My hand curled into a fist on my lap.