Divorced Overnight The CEO Who Chose Her Intern Too Late

At the celebration banquet, the handsome new intern sidled up to my wife, acting all cute and curious about the hearing aid in my ear.

My wife yanked it right off and handed it to him with a smile.

He turned it over a couple times with obvious distaste, then casually tossed it on the floor.

I reached down to grab it, but he "accidentally" stepped on my hand. Pain shot through my fingers as the hearing aid crunched under his shoe.

I put the damaged device back in and turned to confront him, furious—only for my wife to slap me across the face.

"Morton Dickerson, this party is to celebrate Harry's new software design. Don't you dare make a scene!"

I looked at my wife's angry face, then at Harry James beside her, smirking at me.

I smiled and let it go. I took the hearing aid off, dropped it in the trash, and walked out.

That hearing aid was the most precious gift she'd ever given me—back when we first got together.

But now? I didn't want it anymore. I didn't want her either.

1.

In front of everyone, I removed the hearing aid and tossed it cleanly into the garbage.

I gave them all a calm smile. "You guys keep eating. I'm heading out."

Then I left.

Silence swallowed my ears again. No sound at all. Like being pushed into a world sealed off from everything else.

I saw the anger on Cicely Swanson's face, but I didn't care anymore.

Outside the private room, I texted my best friend Samuel Matthews.

[I'm quitting in the next couple days. Coming to join your company.]

His reply came almost instantly, the excitement clear even through text.

[Yes! Once you're here, we can develop software together. This is going to be huge!]

Samuel didn't ask questions. I appreciated that.

Back in college, we were both computer science majors, obsessed with coding and software development. We'd teamed up for competitions more times than I could count, winning award after award.

After graduation, he moved to another city to start his own business. I stayed behind to marry Cicely and went to work at her family's tech company.

Samuel's career took off. Mine went nowhere.

He'd told me more than once that I was wasting my talent, that I should come work with him. Every time, I turned him down so I could stay close to Cicely.

But now, Cicely had changed too much—all for some intern who'd just walked through the door.

There was no point in staying anymore.

Back home, I put on my backup hearing aid.

My phone chimed. Harry had sent a video.

I opened it. Dim lighting. A karaoke lounge.

Cicely was holding a microphone, gazing toward the camera with soft, adoring eyes.

"Harry is so talented—I'm singing this one for him!"

Then she started singing along to the track. "Mischief."

Her voice was sweet and lilting, tender and lingering.

My heart stopped.

Cicely couldn't carry a tune to save her life. "Mischief" was the only song she'd ever practiced enough to sing well.

When I was a kid, an illness took most of my hearing.

But Cicely used to lean in close to my ear, singing softly, sweetly, making sure I could hear every word.

Her smile back then was warm and bright.

"This is the song I learned just for you, Morton. From now on, I'll only ever sing it for you."

Something deep inside me had cracked open that day, flooding with tenderness for her.

And now she was singing it for Harry. In front of everyone.

She'd broken her promise.

I closed the video and let out a bitter laugh.

I looked around the room. Cold. Empty. Bleak.

I opened the closet and started packing my things.

Cicely didn't get home until almost one in the morning.

When she saw me sitting calmly on the couch watching TV, her face twisted with anger.

"I texted you ahead of time. Why didn't you come down to meet me?"

Whenever Cicely came home late from work events, I always went downstairs early to wait for her—so she'd see me the moment she walked into the complex.

Not this time. I wasn't going to keep throwing myself at her feet.

I picked up my phone.

Our chat history was a wall of green. My messages. Her replies were sparse.

The last one was from her.

Just four cold words: [On my way back.]

I looked at Cicely. My voice was flat.

"I forgot to check my messages."

She stormed toward me, her words crashing down like a hammer.

"Morton Dickerson, what is your problem? Harry is younger than you—can't you just let things go? He accidentally stepped on your hearing aid and you had to throw a tantrum right there? Did you even stop to think about how that made me feel?"