Dear Husband, I'm tired of lying, good bye!

“What is wrong with you, Elisa?”

Dave’s voice thundered through the living room the moment I stepped inside. His tie was still loosened, his expression hard—angry in a way I hadn’t seen before.

“You were acting strange a while ago on TV,” he continued, tossing the remote on the couch. “You didn’t even mention me, or the company, when I specifically told you to highlight our partnership deal. What was that about?”

I blinked, still in my work clothes, makeup smudged from the long broadcast. “I don’t know,” I said quietly. “Maybe I just didn’t want to talk about it anymore.”

His brows knitted. “What did you just say?”

I swallowed. “I said, I’m tired, Dave. Tired of reporting about you, about your business, pretending to be biased every time. I can’t keep doing that.”

The silence that followed was sharp. He took a step closer, disbelief darkening into anger. “Have you forgotten who gave you that program? That main slot you’ve always dreamed of? Me, Elisa. I built your name. I’m funding your show, your network deal—everything you have right now!”

His words sliced through me like glass. I used to think those words—his support—meant love. That his influence was something he gave because he believed in me. But now, hearing them again, I realized they were never meant to lift me up. They were meant to remind me how much I owed him.

And maybe that was what he loved most—control.

I stared at him, my voice breaking. “Well, I never asked for any of it. You’re the one who gave it to me. And now—I don’t want it anymore.”

Before I could breathe, his hand came down hard across my face. The sound echoed. My vision blurred. I stumbled backward, holding my cheek, stunned not just by the pain but by the man in front of me.

For a moment, even Dave looked shocked—like he couldn’t believe what he’d done. His eyes widened, his lips parting, but no apology came.

I tasted iron on my tongue. Then I smiled—small, bitter, trembling. “Let’s divorce.”

He froze. “What?”

“You heard me.”

He laughed, short and incredulous. “Over this? Over one mistake? Elisa, do you even hear yourself?”

“I do.”

His voice rose again. “You think you can survive without me? You think your career can stand without my name attached to it? Without my money, my company backing your network?”

I didn’t answer. I just looked at him—the man who once made me believe in forever—and realized how little of that man was left.

Before he could say another word, a small voice interrupted us.

“Brother? Sister-in-law?”

We both turned. Franco stood by the doorway, holding his toy car, eyes wide and trembling. “Are you… fighting?”

My heart clenched. He wasn’t my brother, not really—but I couldn’t unsee the child I had learned to love.

Dave rubbed his forehead, sighing. “No, Franco. Go to your room.”

But the boy’s eyes filled with tears. “Please don’t fight. I don’t like it when you shout.”

I couldn’t stand it. I walked toward him, knelt, and wiped his tears. “Hey, sweetheart. It’s okay,” I whispered, forcing a smile. “We’re not fighting. Your brother’s just… busy with work… so he was a bit mad.”

He sniffled. “Really?”

“Really.” I held out my hand. “Tell you what—how about we go out today? Just you and me. Ice cream and the park. What do you say? Or we can go cart like what you want?”

He nodded slowly, a tiny smile forming. “Okay.”

Dave looked like he wanted to stop us, but before he could, the butler stepped in. “Sir,” he said respectfully, “Miss Liana called. She said her sister’s having another tantrum, and she insists you come right away.”

Dave exhaled, frustrated. “Now?”

“Yes, sir.”

I didn’t wait for him to decide. “Come on, Franco,” I said, taking the boy’s hand. “Let’s go.”

I didn’t look back.

The afternoon sunlight was warm as we walked through the park. Franco ran ahead, laughing as he chased bubbles blown by another child nearby. I watched him, my heart heavy with too many thoughts.

Despite everything, he looked so much like Dave—those same brown eyes, the same determined look when he smiled. It hurt to see him, because I couldn’t separate the boy from the truth anymore.

Still, I couldn’t hate him. None of this was his fault. As I watched him play, my hand instinctively touched my stomach. A small, fragile secret—one I had kept for weeks.

I was pregnant. I wanted to tell Dave on our anniversary. I had imagined how he would smile, how his arms would wrap around me, how we’d start over, maybe even heal. But now… what was the point?

He didn’t love me. He only loved what I could do for him.

I was lost in that thought when I heard a sharp cry.

“Franco!”

He had lost control of his little wooden cart, the wheels spinning wildly before the whole thing tipped over. He tumbled across the gravel, landing hard on his knees. I heard the thud, the scrape, and then his cry—sharp and frightened. My heart lurched as I ran toward him.

Blood streaked down his leg, dirt clinging to the wound. “It’s okay, sweetheart. You’re okay,” I whispered, scooping him up despite his squirming. “I’ve got you. Sister-in-law is here.”

We rushed to the hospital.

Hours later, when the door swung open, Dave stormed in. His face was flushed, eyes burning with fury.

“What happened?” he barked. “How could you let this happen? You can’t even take care of a child for a few hours?”

“Dave—”

He didn’t let me finish. His hand came up again, the second slap harder than the first. The sting spread across my cheek, but the ache in my chest was worse.

“You dare hurt my brother? You only have one job—to be careful!”

The words echoed, sharp and cruel, through the sterile white room. I blinked through the blur, my ears ringing.

“Your… brother?” I laughed bitterly, the sound hollow and breaking. “Or your son?”