Dear CEO, I Want a Divorce
Not all of it — just enough for my lungs to finally open.
I stood, pocketing the phone.
Anthony was in the living room, half-collapsed on the couch, laptop open, tie loosened, hair a mess. He looked like he’d aged ten years in three days.
Donna had cried herself to sleep on his lap the night before, and she still lay curled beside him now, her tiny hand fisted in his shirt.
“Anthony,” I said quietly.
His eyes snapped open. “What? What happened?”
I sat down opposite him, leaning forward. “The registrar withheld the final stamp. The marriage isn’t legal.”
Sikat na Kabanata