Divorce Papers

The first thing I felt was pain.

A sharp, tearing ache that lived in every muscle, every bone, every stitch that held me together after the birth. My eyelids were heavy bricks. Even breathing hurt.

Then came the shaking. It was rough and violent.

“What the fvck, Olivia?!” a deep voice roared above me. “Wake the hell up!”

That voice. I knew it instantly.

Liam Smith.

My husband. My tormentor. The man who hadn’t shown up for sixteen hours of labor, who only ever touched me to remind me my body belonged to him, not me.

Love never existed between us.

Our marriage was forged in sex, rage, and scars. War was our only language. And I was always the one bleeding.

“L… Liam?” My throat scraped raw when I whispered his name.

I tried to move, but fire seared through my abdomen. My stitches burned. My limbs felt like they were carved from stone.

“Don’t fvck with me, Olivia.” He shook me harder. “You gave birth, not got run over by a damn truck.”

Another voice, it was thin and trembling, broke in. “Um, Mr. Smith… your wife–labor is never easy. She had a severe tear, because the babies were large, so she was stitched, and–”

“Who the fvck gave you permission to speak before me?” Liam’s voice snapped like a whip. “You’re just a nurse. You dare open your mouth before I do? How fvcking dare you?”

I could almost hear the poor girl’s knees knocking together.

“F-Forgive me, Mr. Smith, I–”

“Director Simpsons?” Liam’s tone dropped into something colder.

“Yes, Mr. Smith,” another man stammered from the doorway.

“Fire her. Sweep this hospital from top to bottom. If anyone else oversteps again, you’re next.”

“Y-Yes, sir. I’ll take care of it immediately–”

“Get the fvck out.”

Footsteps scattered. Silence rushed in.

I forced my eyes open, dragging the world into focus. The sterile hospital room blurred, then sharpened. And there he was.

Liam Smith.

He was towering over me in a black slim-fit suit, the first two buttons of his shirt was undone, and his sleeves were rolled up to reveal strong, veined forearms. His messy black hair framed a face carved from stone. And his eyes, those icy gray, merciless eyes cut through me like glass.

I swallowed hard. “Liam… you’re here.” I tried to push myself up, and agony tore through me, fire ripping along my stitches. My nails dug into the bed rail.

Still, I forced myself to glance at the bassinets beside me. Two tiny chests rose and fell with soft breaths. My babies. A boy and a girl.

“We had twins,” I whispered, a trembling smile breaking through my pain. “The doctor said our princess was hiding behind her brother during the scans. They’re so beautiful, Liam. They look just like you.”

My heart swelled. For one fragile second, I believed this moment might soften him.

But his gaze never warmed. He didn’t even look at the babies. He just stared at me like I was something he wanted erased.

“Liam?” I bit my lip, searching his face. “Why are you angry? Did… did I do something wrong?”

At last, he exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his dark hair. Then, without answering, he finally stepped toward the bassinets.

My breath caught as he bent down. With surprising gentleness, he lifted both babies, one in each arm. The sight of him cradling them, his jaw tight but his hands careful, made my chest ache.

“Liam, I–”

“Vincent.” His voice cut like steel, slicing through my words.

I turned. Vincent Miller, his ever-present shadow, stood by the door. Salt-and-pepper hair, mid-forties, with an unreadable expression. He stepped forward with a folder in his hands.

“Congratulations on the twins, Mr. and Mrs. Smith,” Vincent said smoothly. But there was no warmth in it, just business.

I tried to smile weakly at him. “Thank you, Vincent.” Then I turned back to Liam, who was still holding the babies silently. “Sixteen hours of labor, Liam. I begged you to come. You didn’t. And now that you’re here… please, talk to me. Why do you look at me like this?”

“Give it to her,” Liam ordered.

Vincent hesitated, then handed me the folder. My fingers trembled as I took it, a pit was already opening in my stomach.

“What is this?” My voice was thin.

I was afraid I wasn't going to like this.

Liam bent down and placed the babies into two car seats carefully. Then he straightened to his full height, his eyes were cold.

“Divorce papers,” he said flatly.

My heart stopped.

“What?” My whisper cracked into the cold air.

“Sign them,” Liam said, slipping his hands into his pockets as though this were nothing. “You’re moving back to your parents. Straight from here. Don’t bother coming back to the estate.”

The room tilted. My chest squeezed until I couldn’t breathe.

I looked from the folder to him, my pulse was screaming in my ears. “Liam… no. Not now. Not here.”

But his face didn’t change. His eyes didn’t waver.

And for the first time, I realized he wasn’t here to meet our babies.

He was here to erase me.