The Humiliated Husband
Time froze. Ethan jolted to awareness, scrambling back to the bedroom like scalded. Slam! The door shut. Frantic rustling inside. Sophia blocked the entrance, robe loose, pale and straining for composure: "Lily! Calm down! Let me explain! It's not what—" "Explain?" I stared, voice eerily calm, ice-bound. "Explain why you're in pajamas at one AM, discussing core tech by the bedroom? Or why he didn't wear that shirt back?" My eyes swept her loose sash, the fresh red mark on her neck. "Explain this?" I pointed. Her hand flew to her neck, eyes shattering glass.
The door reopened. Ethan stumbled out in a T-shirt and pants, hair askew, gaze evasive. "Lily... let's go home... talk there?" His voice rasped, pleading. Home? The place he'd shredded? I surveyed these disheveled, shamed figures. The air reeked of lust and betrayal. Stomach revolted violently. I clapped a hand over my mouth, bolting for the hallway trash bin, bending over heaving dry sobs. Bitter acid scorched my throat. Behind me, a cold door and shameful silence.
Divorce Papers
The lawyer's office air conditioning hummed cold. Beige sofa stiff. I sat opposite the crisp-suited divorce attorney. He read terms monotonously: asset division, Emma's custody and visitation, support payments... Like a distant business contract. Ethan slumped in a separate chair nearby. Half a meter apart, yet an abyss between us.
He looked haggard, eyes sunken, fingers twisting unconsciously. When questioned, he'd startle, mumble "yes" or "fine." "Regarding NestIQ equity," the lawyer adjusted his glasses, eyeing Ethan. "You confirm waiving claims to marital appreciation? Given valuations, it's substantial..." "I waive," I cut in, voice clear. "I want nothing." Both stared, astonished. Ethan's lips moved soundlessly. "I want Emma," I told the lawyer, unwavering. "Full, unambiguous custody. The rest," I paused, glancing at Ethan's weary face, "means nothing." The lawyer scribbled notes. Ethan buried his face in his hands, shoulders shaking. Muffled sobs escaped his fingers. Outside, harsh sun sliced through blinds, casting barred shadows on the floor—like a cage.
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Time froze. Ethan jolted to awareness, scrambling back to the bedroom like scalded. Slam! The door shut. Frantic rustling inside. Sophia blocked the entrance, robe loose, pale and straining for composure: "Lily! Calm down! Let me explain! It's not what—" "Explain?" I stared, voice eerily calm, ice-bound. "Explain why you're in pajamas at one AM, discussing core tech by the bedroom? Or why he didn't wear that shirt back?" My eyes swept her loose sash, the fresh red mark on her neck. "Explain this?" I pointed. Her hand flew to her neck, eyes shattering glass.
The door reopened. Ethan stumbled out in a T-shirt and pants, hair askew, gaze evasive. "Lily... let's go home... talk there?" His voice rasped, pleading. Home? The place he'd shredded? I surveyed these disheveled, shamed figures. The air reeked of lust and betrayal. Stomach revolted violently. I clapped a hand over my mouth, bolting for the hallway trash bin, bending over heaving dry sobs. Bitter acid scorched my throat. Behind me, a cold door and shameful silence.
Divorce Papers
The lawyer's office air conditioning hummed cold. Beige sofa stiff. I sat opposite the crisp-suited divorce attorney. He read terms monotonously: asset division, Emma's custody and visitation, support payments... Like a distant business contract. Ethan slumped in a separate chair nearby. Half a meter apart, yet an abyss between us.
He looked haggard, eyes sunken, fingers twisting unconsciously. When questioned, he'd startle, mumble "yes" or "fine." "Regarding NestIQ equity," the lawyer adjusted his glasses, eyeing Ethan. "You confirm waiving claims to marital appreciation? Given valuations, it's substantial..." "I waive," I cut in, voice clear. "I want nothing." Both stared, astonished. Ethan's lips moved soundlessly. "I want Emma," I told the lawyer, unwavering. "Full, unambiguous custody. The rest," I paused, glancing at Ethan's weary face, "means nothing." The lawyer scribbled notes. Ethan buried his face in his hands, shoulders shaking. Muffled sobs escaped his fingers. Outside, harsh sun sliced through blinds, casting barred shadows on the floor—like a cage.
NEXT >>
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