AFTER DIVORCE: His Ex-Wife Became Rich

I CLUTCHED THE DIVORCE agreement in my trembling hands. My vision blurred as tears clouded my eyes, but the bold black letters at the top of the page were impossible to ignore. Divorce Agreement. The words echoed in my mind, a cruel reminder of how much my life had crumbled.

I haven't even slept a wink while thinking about this. Philip decided to sleep in one of the guest rooms as if he didn't really want to stay in one room with me. I tried knocking on his door to ask about the divorce last night but he didn't open it.

Until morning came, I'm still here, outside the guest room to see and ask him about this. I didn't care anymore if I looked like a damn puppy trying to get his attention. I just want him to not continue the divorce. I love him so much that it will kill me if that happens.

I straightened my back when Philip opened his door. He was shocked upon seeing me still outside of the room.

“P-Please, Philip,” I begged, my voice cracking. “We can make this work. I’ll do anything. Just don’t… don’t end this. I can't.”

His expression was blank, as though this wasn’t a conversation about tearing apart the life we’d built together over the years.

“Astrid,” he began, exhaling sharply. “I don't want to complicate everything. You’ve heard me enough last night already. I don't want to repeat what I said this time. It’s not working for the both of us.”

“But… I l-love you, Philip,” I answered as if that would be enough to take back his decision.

He didn’t answer immediately but he clenched his jaw.

“I just want to be happy, Astrid. This marriage is suffocating me already,” he said.

I stared at him, my heart pounding. “And divorcing me will make you… happy?” I asked with my heart breaking silently inside.

“Yes,” he said simply, without hesitation.

That single word crushed me. I felt the air leave my lungs, my chest tightening as though the weight of his indifference was suffocating me. I nodded slowly, tears streaming down my face.

Then I realized something. I love him so much that his happiness is what matters to me the most.

“Fine,” I whispered. “If that’s what you want. I'll… sign the divorce paper,” I added half-heartedly.

He just nodded. “You should pack your things,” he said. “I think it’s better if you leave now.”

I looked at him, searching for even a flicker of guilt or regret, but there was nothing. Just the same detached expression he’d worn since we started this conversation. I wanted to scream, to beg him to change his mind one last time, but I knew it was pointless.

“R-Right,” I said, my voice hollow. “I’ll leave now.” I quickly turned my back on him for him to not see my tears and go back to our room.

The rain started falling as I stuffed my belongings into a suitcase. The weather this morning isn't that good. The sound of raindrops hitting the roof mirrored the chaotic thoughts in my mind. Each item I packed felt like a piece of myself being stripped away.

I paused for a moment, clutching a framed picture of the two of us from our wedding day. My thumb traced the edge of the glass as tears fell freely down my face. How did it come to this?

With my trembling hands, I then got the divorce paper again and with my heart piercing painfully, I signed it while crying silently.

When I stepped outside, the rain soaked through my clothes almost instantly, but I didn’t care. The cold droplets on my skin were nothing compared to the emptiness I felt inside. I glanced back at the house one last time, hoping, praying that Philip would stop me, that he’d realize he was making a mistake.

But the door remains closed. So, even if it's painful, I left the house.

My parents’ house was only a few miles away, but it felt like crossing an ocean. By the time I arrived, I was drenched, shivering, and utterly broken. My mother opened the door, her expression shifting from surprise to concern as she took in my disheveled appearance.

“Astrid?” she said, pulling me inside. “What happened?”

I couldn’t speak. The words caught in my throat, strangled by the weight of my emotions. Instead, I collapsed into her arms, sobbing uncontrollably.

“Oh, honey,” she whispered, stroking my hair. “It’s going to be okay. I’m here. We’re here.”

My father appeared in the hallway, his brow furrowed in confusion. “What’s going on?”

“She’s home,” my mother said simply, her voice soft but firm.

I spent the night in my childhood bedroom, the walls still adorned with posters and photos from my teenage years. It was strange being back, surrounded by the remnants of a life that felt so far away. I curled up on the bed, clutching a pillow as though it could hold me together.

The rain continued to fall outside, the sound soothing and relentless. I stared at the ceiling, replaying the events of the evening in my mind. Every word Philip had said, every look he’d given me, it all felt like a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from.

But as the hours dragged on, a new thought began to take root. Maybe this wasn’t the end. Maybe it was a chance for me to start over, to rebuild my life on my own terms.

The pain was still raw, the wound fresh, but I realized that I couldn’t let it consume me. I had to find a way to move forward, to find happiness again, if not for anyone else, then for myself.

The morning came, bringing with it a fragile sense of clarity. The rain had stopped, and the sun peeked through the clouds, casting a soft glow over the world. I stood by the window, watching as the droplets on the glass sparkled like tiny diamonds.

It was a new day, and for the first time in a long time, I allowed myself to hope.

“I’ll be okay,” I whispered to myself. “I have to be… for my baby.”