Divorcing My Scumbag Husband Is The Best Thing I Ever Did

I shut the exhibition hall, transferring all my remaining works into the small studio where my journey had begun.

It was a space filled with memories of countless days and sleepless nights, bearing witness to my struggles and heartaches.

As I arranged my pieces, I couldn’t help but wonder, had Trenton truly changed?

The love had long since withered, leaving that marriage certificate as the sole barrier between us.

Leaning against the wall, I surveyed the sculptures that crowded the small room, each one a testament to my past.

Among them stood a lifelike statue that we had once crafted together, a bittersweet reminder of what once was.

In those days, he would softly clasp my hand, guiding my movements with the sculpting knife while patiently teaching me the art of carving.

When I accidentally cut myself, he was always there; concern etched on his face as he disinfected and dressed my wound.

“Sonia, we’ll become the greatest sculptors in the world someday. One day, I'll personally carve a statue of you, towering several meters high!” He had declared, his heart racing as I rested against his chest, my eyes closed in sweet contentment.

Yet now, everything had transformed, veering into the absurd and theatrical.

The sharp ring of my phone sliced through my thoughts. I dismissed Trenton’s call once more, turned off my phone, and allowed myself to drift off to sleep at my workbench.

The next morning, I stirred to a flurry of messages, ending with a furious voice message from him. “Sonia, haven’t you had enough? If you’ve got the nerve, don’t ever come back!”

With an impassive expression, I closed the message.

He had only ever questioned why I hadn’t returned home, pinning the blame on me while conveniently ignoring his affair with Corinne.

I exited the studio and headed back to the exhibition to collect the remaining pieces. Yet, just as I stepped out with the final box of sculptures, I was abruptly surrounded by a throng of reporters.

Cameras flashed before me, offering no chance for escape.

“Ms. Lynn, can you explain why the sculpture exhibition with Mr. Watkins was abruptly closed yesterday? Was there a specific reason behind it?”

“Yes, we heard that a mysterious woman destroyed some of your works. Do you have any comments on that, or do you know who she was?”

The questions bombarded me from all directions, leaving me dizzy.

Over the years, Trenton and I had gained a certain level of fame, unwittingly stepping into the spotlight as public figures.

With every bit of strength I could muster, I pushed through the crowd, only to find my way blocked by a girl who suddenly stood in my path. “Ms. Lynn, we’ve heard that Corinne is merely Mr. Watkins’s assistant, but apparently, you can’t stand even the tiniest irritation, keeping any woman away from him!”

I paused, turning back to shoot her a chilling look.

“Refuse to let any woman near him? If your definition of ‘near’ includes your husband kissing another woman, then I must confess, I’m not as forgiving as you are.”

The girl faltered for a moment, then quickly blocked my path again, pressing forward. “But I heard you intentionally used a broken sculpture to hurt Corinne out of spite, causing her significant harm. Even when Mr. Watkins stepped in, you persisted in your actions. Don’t you think you’re bullying her for lacking your experience?”

She spat the word “intentionally,” emphasizing it with a finger pointed straight at me as if she were the arbiter of justice for Corinne.

Sensing a juicy story, the surrounding reporters swung their cameras in my direction.

I managed a bitter smile, reached for a broken piece of sculpture, and held it up with calm determination. “Lacking tolerance? Corinne destroyed years of my work. These sculptures embody my every emotion, each painstaking hour, yet she shattered them without a second thought. And now she believes a mere ‘mistake’ can absolve her?”

Anger bubbled within me as I stared her down, my fists clenched so tightly that my knuckles turned white.

I stepped forward, locking my gaze on her work badge, my eyes cold as ice. “Did Corinne send you? Is she using you to tarnish my reputation? How cheap her tactics are.”

The girl was taken aback, panic flickering in her eyes as she hastily tucked her badge into her shirt. “That’s just your assumption. I’m asking as a reporter, representing the public.”

“I have a video of Mr. Watkins here; why don't you take a look first!,” she said, retrieving her phone to play a video.

It was Trenton, smiling gently as if yesterday’s events had left no mark on him.

“Hello, everyone,” he began, his voice warm and inviting. “First, I want to extend my apologies on behalf of my wife for her actions. Her unreasonable behavior caused harm to my assistant, leading to the unfortunate cancellation of our exhibition. Moving forward, Corinne and I will be collaborating on a new sculpture to share with all of you!”