THE WIFE HE LOST TOO LATE: I DON'T NEED YOUR REGRET MR. CEO

"I want a divorce," I said.

I placed the printed documents directly in the center of the large mahogany desk.

Brian Wilson did not immediately look up from his laptop monitor. He continued typing for several seconds while the silence stretched between us. Eventually, he finished his email and shifted his gaze to the papers. He looked at the bold heading on the first page, but he did not look surprised. He only looked irritated.

"What is this supposed to achieve?" Brian asked, leaning back in his expensive leather chair and crossing his arms over his chest. "Are you trying to get my attention because I canceled our public appearance last weekend?"

"No," I replied, standing perfectly still on the opposite side of the desk. "I am not looking for your attention. I am leaving you. I have already signed the last page, so I just need your signature."

Brian picked up the thick stack of papers. He flipped through the pages quickly until he stopped at the financial settlement section. He read the paragraphs in silence, and then he looked up at me with a deep frown.

"You are asking for absolutely nothing," Brian said. He tossed the documents back onto the desk. "You want no alimony. You want no properties. You want no shares in Wilson Enterprises. After three years of living in my house and spending my money, you expect me to believe you suddenly want to walk away empty-handed?"

"I never wanted your money," I said.

"Then what did you want?"

"I wanted a husband," I answered quietly. "But I realized a long time ago that I do not have one. I am simply a prisoner in this house."

Brian scoffed. He uncrossed his arms and placed his hands flat on the desk.

"You are very dramatic today. You are not a prisoner. You live in a mansion. You have staff who cook for you and clean for you, so you have a very comfortable life."

"You know that is not true," I said. "You control exactly where I go, and you limit who I can speak to. You tell the media that I am chronically ill so I cannot attend public events. You even choose the clothes I wear to ensure I look weak and sick when people do see me. You restricted my entire life."

"I did what was necessary to protect the reputation of my company," Brian stated loudly. "I could not let the public know the truth about my wife. I could not let my investors find out that I married a cruel, vicious bully."

A familiar ache formed in my chest, although I had heard these exact words countless times over the past three years.

"I did not bully Helen," I said, keeping my voice even. "I have told you this since our wedding night. I never locked her in a restroom. I never took those inappropriate photographs of her, and I never hired anyone to assault her. Helen lied to you."

Brian stood up abruptly. He pushed his chair back with a loud scrape against the hardwood floor.

"Do not stand in my office and lie to me," Brian demanded, pointing a finger at me. "I saw the evidence. Helen showed me the messages. She showed me the photographs you arranged. She came to me crying and begging for help because her own stepsister was tormenting her. You are a terrible person, Cheryl. You always pretend to be innocent, but I know exactly who you are."

I looked at his angry face and remembered our actual wedding day. It was a beautiful afternoon. We smiled at each other during the ceremony, and we danced together at the reception. I truly believed I was marrying a man who cared for me because I thought my father had made a good choice for our arranged marriage.

However, everything changed that same evening. When we returned to the bridal suite, Brian did not hold me. Instead, he threw a folder of printed photographs and fake text messages onto the bed. He accused me of being a terrible woman. He called me vile names. He told me he was only marrying me because his family demanded it, but he would make sure I suffered for what I supposedly did to Helen.

Since that night, he never touched me with affection. He treated me with complete indifference in public and harsh cruelty in private. Over time, the love I initially felt for him slowly disappeared completely.

"If you truly believe I am such a terrible person," I said, "then you should be happy to sign those papers and let me go."

Brian stared at me. He seemed confused by my calm behavior. Usually, I cried when he accused me, or I desperately tried to explain the truth about my stepsister. Today, I did not fight back because I only felt tired.

"Why are you doing this now?" Brian asked. He walked around the desk and stood a few feet away from me. "You endured this arrangement for three years. You accepted the rules. Why are you suddenly handing me divorce papers on a random Tuesday morning?"

"Because I finally understand that you will never change," I answered.

"I have no reason to change," he said.

"I thought you did," I said, looking directly into his eyes. "I thought you were finally seeing the truth about me three weeks ago."

Brian stiffened. He looked away from me and stared at the wall.

"You came home very drunk from your corporate dinner," I continued, forcing myself to speak clearly. "You walked past your guest room and came directly into my bedroom. You pulled me into your arms. You initiated intimacy, and for the first time in three years, you actually touched me."

"I was highly intoxicated," Brian interrupted quickly. "I drank too much whiskey with my investors. I was not thinking clearly, so it meant absolutely nothing."

"I know it meant nothing to you," I said. "But it meant something to me in that moment. I thought you were letting go of your anger. I thought you were finally giving our marriage a real chance. But then, right in the middle of it, you spoke."

The room was totally quiet for several seconds. Brian shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He looked uncomfortable, but he did not apologize. Instead, his discomfort quickly turned into defensive anger.

"You whispered Helen’s name," I said softly.

"You know exactly why I care about Helen," Brian said loudly. He walked back to his chair and sat down heavily. "Helen is a good person. She saved my life when we were children. She is kind and gentle, and you tried to destroy her out of pure jealousy because she is your father's favorite child."

"She is the child of his second wife," I corrected him flatly. "And she is incredibly jealous of me because I am the eldest daughter. But I am done trying to explain my family dynamics to you. I am done trying to prove my innocence because you have made your choice."

Brian grabbed a silver pen from his desk organizer. He pulled the divorce documents toward him.

"You are right," Brian said, gripping the pen very tightly. "I made my choice. And I am tired of looking at your miserable face every day. If you want to leave my protection and go out into the world with nothing, I will gladly let you."

He signed his name forcefully on the bottom line of the last page. Then he pushed the papers across the desk toward me.

"Take your copy," Brian instructed me. He did not look at my face while he opened his laptop again. "Pack your things and leave my property before I return from my afternoon meetings. Leave your house keys and your car keys on the kitchen counter."

"I will," I said.

I picked up the documents and did not say goodbye. I turned around and walked out of his study. I walked down the long hallway and climbed the main staircase to my bedroom.

Once inside, I opened my closet. I ignored the expensive designer gowns Brian purchased for public events, and I ignored the pale, oversized dresses he forced me to wear to maintain my sick image. Instead, I pulled out a small black suitcase. I packed only the simple clothes I brought with me three years ago before we were married.

Next, I walked into the bathroom. I looked at the expensive cosmetic products lining the shelves. I left all of them behind because I did not need them anymore.

I closed my suitcase and carried it downstairs. The housekeeping staff watched me walk through the main foyer, but no one offered to help me. No one spoke a single word to me. Brian had instructed the staff to minimize their interactions with me, and they always followed his rules perfectly.

I placed my metal keys on the marble kitchen island. Then I walked out the heavy front doors and stepped into the warm afternoon sunlight.

A yellow taxi was already waiting at the end of the long driveway since I had called it an hour before I walked into Brian’s study. The driver stepped out and placed my small suitcase in the trunk. I opened the back door and slid onto the worn leather seat.

"Where are we going, miss?" the driver asked, looking at me through the rearview mirror.

"Take me to the international airport, please," I said.

The driver nodded and started the engine. As the car moved forward, I looked out the window. I watched the massive iron gates of the Wilson estate close behind me. I did not feel sad, and I did not feel angry. I only felt a profound sense of relief because I was finally free.

I leaned back against the seat. I slowly moved my right hand and placed it gently over my lower abdomen. I pressed my palm against the flat surface of my stomach.

"We are going to be fine," I whispered softly to the empty car. "It is just you and me now, and he will never know about you. Should we go build our new life?"