Signing the Papers

I stared at the divorce papers in front of me, my hands clenched into fists.

My signature was the only thing missing. Jeremiah had already signed, I guess our marriage never meant anything to him.

I felt my throat tighten, but I refused to cry.

I sniffed.

Grabbing the pen with so much force I thought it would snap in half. My hands were shaking, but not from sadness—no, it was pure rage. I pressed the tip to the paper and dragged my name across it in sharp, angry strokes.

Done.

Just like that, twenty years of knowing him, four years of marriage, gone.

I exhaled sharply, shoving the papers aside. Then I picked up my phone and called Mr. Flint.

"Come back," I said, my voice cold and Sharp.

The moment he stepped through the door, I shoved the papers at him. "Tell Jeremiah that I don’t want a single cent from him. And he can shove all his money up his ass."

Before he could even react, I threw the pen at him. I wanted to throw more, break something, to scream, but I forced myself to stay still.

The maids upstairs were already packing my bags. I didn’t care what they thought. I didn’t care what anyone thought. I was leaving this house, his house, and I was never looking back.

But one thing was certain.

This wasn’t over.

Jeremiah might think he could walk away from me so easily, but he had no idea who he was dealing with.

By the time I was done, there would be nothing left of him.

His company? Gone.

His reputation? Destroyed.

His entire life? Ruined.

He wanted to throw me away like I was nothing?

Fine.

I would make sure he lost everything.

I turned towards the stairs to climb up and help the maids to pack my things but as I held the railing my head began to spin.

A wave of dizziness hit me, my stomach twisting in a way that made me want to throw up.

I sucked in a deep breath and clenched my jaw. No. I couldn’t afford to be sick now. I had too much to do.

Ignoring the nausea, I forced myself to move.

With the maids’ help, I packed my things, and loaded them into the car.

I took a slow, deep breath.

I have to go back home. Back to my parents house.

Could you imagine, at twenty-eight years old, I’m crawling back to my parents because I married a fucking asshole.

What would they even say?

I hadn’t seen them in four years—since the day I chose Jeremiah over them. My father would be furious. My brother would laugh in my face. And my mother? She’d probably just sigh and say, How will society see us now?

I clenched my jaw, biting back the tears.

But the worst part?

I had nothing.

No career, no money, no plan. I had thrown everything away to help Jeremiah build his company, and now I was walking away with nothing. I had turned into a goddamn housewife for a man who didn’t even love me.

My only hope was that my parents would take me back.

I slid into the driver’s seat, gripping the wheel so tightly my knuckles turned white.

Then I started the engine and left the house.

---

The drive to my parents house was long, and my mind wouldn’t shut up.

Jeremiah. Jeremiah. Jeremiah.

Fucking Jeremiah.

I had loved him with all my heart. My entire fucking heart.

And for what?

For him to toss me aside like I was trash? Like I never meant anything to him.

Tears burned my eyes, but I furiously blinked them away.

No.

I wouldn’t cry for him. I shouldn't. Even though my heart felt like it would explode.

I refused.

I reached for my bag, fumbling blindly for a tissue, keeping one hand on the wheel.

I just needed a second to grab the tissue. But the moment I took my eyes off the road.

**BANG.**

The world exploded around me. As I crashed into the car in front of me.

My head hit the airbag, pain exploding through my skull as my car spun out of control.

And then—

Darkness.

----

The next thing I knew, I was waking up in a hospital bed. My head throbbed, my body ached, and—

There was a man sitting beside me.

A very handsome man.

He had gorgeous features, dark hair, and the kindest grey eyes I’d ever seen. The moment he noticed I was awake, he smiled warmly.

"I'll get the doctor," he said, standing up.

But I grabbed his wrist, my voice hoarse. "What happened?"

He hesitated, then sat back down. "You crashed into my car," he said. "But don’t worry, I’ll let it slide—since you look worse than my bumper."

I blinked, caught off guard. A joke? He wasn’t angry?

Before I could respond, the doctor walked in.

"Good to see you awake," he said, checking my chart. "You have a mild concussion, but otherwise, you and the baby are fine."

Wait. What!?

I sat up too fast, my head spinning. "What baby?"

The doctor looked confused. "Ah… you're three weeks pregnant, ma'am."