Chapter 2

Only then did Tiffany look up, her brows knitting together.

"What the hell is your problem?"

I held her gaze until she finally grew irritated.

"I'm exhausted today," she said, tossing her phone aside. "I don't want to argue with you. If you're still going to make a fuss about going back to Birchford, then sleep in the study tonight."

With that, she lay down and pulled the blanket up over herself. She turned her back to me, as though even looking at me was too much trouble.

I stood in the doorway and suddenly laughed. I couldn't believe how pathetic I was.

I turned and headed to the study. As I closed the door behind me, the resolve hardened.

I was done with this marriage.

I left the study light on all night, but by dawn, I still hadn't slept a wink.

Tiffany got up as usual, washed up, put on her makeup, warmed some milk, and got dressed. She didn't even slow down when she passed the study, as if last night's silent treatment had been nothing worth worrying about.

It seemed like I wasn't even worth her effort.

Just before leaving, she finally glanced into the study.

"I won't be home for dinner tonight," she said. "We're out of groceries, so remember to pick some up."

With that, she grabbed her bag and left.

The door slammed shut, and silence descended over the apartment.

I sat in the chair, unmoving.

The night before, she'd humiliated me at the dinner table, admitted in the stairwell that she'd never loved me, then came home and ordered me to wash the dishes. And now, the next morning, she could still order me to buy groceries as if nothing had happened.

After seven years of marriage, I was nothing more than someone for her to order around and take advantage of.

I got up and returned to the bedroom. From the very bottom of a drawer, I took out a document.

It was a divorce agreement I'd printed six months ago.

Mom had been hospitalized back then, and I'd asked Tiffany to come home with me to visit her. But she'd said her father had more important matters to deal with, and she couldn't get away.

I spent three days alone at the hospital. On my way back, I stopped to print the divorce agreement.

Later, Tiffany sent me a message.

"That must've been hard on you."

It was rare to hear that from her, so I put the document back in the drawer.

Looking back, I couldn't help laughing at myself.

Later that day, I laid the agreement on the coffee table and started packing my clothes.

Her clothes took up most of the wardrobe, while my shirts and jackets were crammed into the farthest corner, as if I were just a temporary guest in my own home.

I dragged out a suitcase and began folding my clothes into it, one piece at a time.

Halfway through, the front door suddenly opened.

Tiffany was back earlier than usual. When she strode in wearing heels and spotted the suitcase in the living room, she froze.

"What are you doing?" she asked, her expression hardening.

I folded the last shirt and placed it in the suitcase.

"Let's get a divorce."

She stared at me, as if she hadn't heard me clearly. Two seconds later, she scoffed.

"Is this because of what happened last night?"

I stared at her, taken aback by how casually she dismissed it.

Tiffany tossed her bag onto the couch, visibly annoyed.

"People say things they don't mean when they argue," she said. "What's so unusual about that? You're a grown man, for God's sake. Do you really have to make such a big deal out of it?"

The last shred of warmth I had toward her vanished as I looked at her. She had no idea what I'd overheard the night before.

I pushed the divorce agreement across the coffee table toward her.

"Sign it."

She glanced at the papers, her smile waning.

"Are you serious about this?"

"Yeah."

Tiffany stared at me for a moment, then she chuckled.

"You really think you can leave me?" she asked. "You chased me for years. For seven years after we got married, you built your entire life around me. And now you're asking for a divorce over one stupid game? Do you honestly expect me to believe that?"

I said nothing. She swept the agreement off the table, sending the papers fluttering to the floor.

"Stop this nonsense. What kind of life do you think you'll have without me? Your career, your daily life, your social obligations—I've been there to help you through all of it. And it's not like we haven't broken up before. You always came crawling back to me like a dog, begging me to take you back."

I bent down and picked up the papers one by one, a dull ache spreading through my chest.

"Remember to sign it," I said, straightening the pages before placing the agreement back on the coffee table. "We'll start the divorce process tomorrow."