Negotiator's Lie, Wife's Goodbye

I typed on the phone with the only fingers I could still move, "I'm serious. Let's get a divorce."

Zack Larson, my husband, stood in front of the hospital bed, lowering his eyes to look at the screen.

The calm mask on his face—unique to a negotiation expert—showed a slight crack.

"Serenity," he said in the soothing tone he often used at the negotiation table. "You're emotionally unstable right now. This isn't the right time for us to discuss this."

The beeping of the monitor echoed especially clearly in the ward.

He reached out, wanting to touch my wrist, but stopped when he saw the layers of gauze. Finally, he only tucked the blanket gently around me.

"The doctor said your right leg may need long-term rehabilitation. I'll contact the best rehabilitation center."

I stared at Zack's neat collar, where a peach-shaped pin from Kimberly Harmon was still clipped on.

While struggling to hold up my gauze-wrapped body, I spoke, my smoke-damaged vocal cords producing broken syllables.

"Let's. Di. Vorce. Zack."

His body suddenly stiffened up. I saw his Adam's apple move as his jaw tightened.

"Serenity Jones."

He turned around to face me while speaking in an extremely low voice. Each word seemed to be squeezed out through clenched teeth.

"I was the one who put you through college, and I even sponsored you through graduate school. You said you wanted to repay me and to get married."

Zack sneered as his long fingers tapped lightly on the divorce papers. "You knew I didn't like you, but thanks to your tricks, you still forced me into marrying you. And now you're lying here, telling me you want a divorce?"

Suddenly, he snatched up the water cup by the bedside. However, he froze at the moment he was about to smash it, and his knuckles turned white.

"Serenity, what do you take me for? An ATM to be used and thrown away? Or just a stepping stone for you to climb higher?"

Before he had even finished speaking, he had already turned and walked out. The ward door was slammed so hard that the glass windows trembled.

I looked at his retreating figure and smiled bitterly. The burned corner of my lips split open, and the taste of blood spread in my mouth.

"This time, I mean it," I said to no one.

In college, I was the underprivileged student Zack had sponsored. At that time, he had just entered the negotiation industry. Even though he was busy, he always found time to visit me.

He would bring me hot tea in winter, saying, "I bought extra after the negotiation."

When he learned that I skipped breakfast to save money, he even picked me up every day and went to the cafeteria with me for meals.

I liked Zack, but he never liked me.

Back then, he went abroad for his first love and left me alone in the country.

Years later, when he returned, I invited him to dinner. We both drank, and he took me to bed.

At that moment, I thought Zack finally liked me. The next day, he said he would take responsibility, and I agreed without hesitation.