Chapter 4

The words hung in the air between us.

Chloe' s face went slack with shock, her eyes wide and unblinking.

"Divorce?" she whispered, as if the word itself was foreign.

Then, the shock morphed into anger. "Divorce? Are you insane? After everything? After I just saved a man's life? You want to divorce me for that?"

She started pacing, her movements agitated despite her supposed weakness.

"This is because of Mark, isn't it? You've always been jealous of him!"

The accusation was so absurd, so far from the truth, I almost laughed.

"This is about you, Chloe. About your choices. About our baby."

Tears began to stream down her face, but they felt different this time. More desperate, less performative.

"No, no, please, Ethan. Don't do this. I'll... I'll make it up to you. I promise. We can try again for a baby. I'll be better. I swear."

Hollow promises. Empty words.

I went to my desk and pulled out a folder.

Inside were the divorce papers David' s lawyer cousin had helped me draft.

I placed them on the coffee table in front of her.

She stared at them as if they were venomous snakes.

"I'm serious, Chloe."

I turned and walked back to the bedroom, closing the door behind me.

I didn't want to hear her pleas, her accusations, her manufactured remorse.

That night, for the first time in what felt like an eternity, I slept soundly on David' s couch.

A strange sense of peace settled over me. The decision was made. The path was clear.

The next morning, I called Olivia.

"Ethan! I was wondering when I'd hear from you. Still thinking about that project in Singapore?"

"I'll take it, Olivia. When can I start?"

Her surprise was evident even over the phone. "Wow, that's... decisive. Are you sure? It's a big move."

"I'm sure," I said. "I need a change."

"Excellent! I'll have HR send over the offer letter today. We can get you on a plane within a few weeks if you're ready."

A few weeks. A new life. It felt like a breath of fresh air.

Two days later, I went back to the house to pack the rest of my belongings.

Chloe was there.

The house smelled incredible.

She had cooked. A lavish meal, all my favorite dishes.

Roast chicken, garlic mashed potatoes, even the apple pie she knew I loved but hadn't made in years because it was "too much work."

She was wearing a dress I' d bought her for our first anniversary, a soft blue that matched her eyes.

"Ethan," she said, her voice gentle. "I made dinner. For us."

It was so uncharacteristic, so out of place, it was almost comical.

I remembered all the times I' d come home from a long day at work, exhausted, to find her complaining about having to order takeout because she was "too tired" or "not in the mood" to cook.

I remembered our anniversary last year, when I' d cooked a special meal, and she' d barely touched it, too busy scrolling through her phone, complaining about a comment someone left on her Instagram.

This grand gesture now, it felt manipulative, insincere.

"I'm not hungry, Chloe."

Her face fell. "But... I made all your favorites. I worked so hard."

"I'm sure you did."

My tone was flat, devoid of the appreciation she clearly expected.

She flared up. "You know, you're impossible, Ethan! I'm trying here! I'm trying to fix things! Can't you see that?"

"Fix things?" I asked. "Some things can't be fixed, Chloe."

She started to cry again, the easy tears flowing. "I love you, Ethan. Don't you know that? This is all just a horrible mistake."

I didn't respond. I just continued packing my boxes.

Internally, I scoffed. Her hypocrisy was astounding. She was lamenting my refusal of a single meal, after I had cooked for her, cared for her, for years, often with little to no acknowledgment.

My resolve was firm. This new opportunity with Olivia was not just a job; it was my escape hatch.

As I was loading the last box into my car, my phone buzzed.

A bank alert.

Large withdrawal from joint savings account.

My blood ran cold.

I tapped the alert.

Ten thousand dollars. Transferred yesterday.

To an account I didn't recognize. But the memo line was clear: "Mark Jennings Medical Fund."

She hadn't even asked.

She had just taken it.

My money. Our money.

For him.

The rage I' d been suppressing threatened to boil over.

I called her immediately.

It rang three times before she picked up, her voice wary. "Ethan?"

"Where are you, Chloe?"

"I'm... I'm at Jessica's. Why?" A slight irritation in her tone.

A lie. I could hear the distinct beep of hospital machinery in the background.