Divorcing My Scumbag Husband Is The Best Thing I Ever Did

I pressed my lower lip between my teeth, my eyes glued to Trenton in the video, unable to meet his gaze.

How revolting!

He certainly knew how to play his hand. With a few well-chosen words, he cast me as the villain, while Corinne emerged as the ultimate victim.

The girl filming noticed my silence and, brimming with delight, turned the camera toward my pale face, her tone laced with disdain. “Mr. Watkins made it very clear: all of this stems from your selfish nature. You stifle newcomers. You’re nothing but a petty, narrow-minded, and dirty person!”

Dirty? Narrow-minded?

Her words crashed over me like a thunderclap, reverberating in my ears.

My vision dimmed, and I stumbled, collapsing to the ground. The broken sculpture I had clutched rolled away, coming to a rest at her feet.

She picked it up, raising it mockingly before the camera, her voice dripping with contempt. “So, this is one of your masterpieces? Looks like a mere broken stone. No wonder you feel threatened by newcomers, you’re just scared of being outshined!”

“Lies! This is my blood and sweat!” My eyes blazed red, my face contorted with fury.

I lunged forward, shoving her to the ground and reclaiming my piece.

The sharp edge bit into my palm and blood oozed out, causing everyone to step back in alarm.

Cradling my injured arm, I staggered down the street, blood trickling between my fingers. Perhaps from the loss, my vision darkened, and I crumpled to the ground.

As I regained consciousness, I found Trenton sitting nearby, impatience written all over his face. “Was this really necessary, Sonia? Pulling a stunt like this just to get me to come home, how desperate can you be?”

“Do you even realize how busy I’ve been? I’m balancing multiple projects while training Corinne. You refuse to come home, fine, but can’t you at least act decently?”

“Seriously, what’s with the high-and-mighty attitude? Just because you’ve crafted a few pieces of junk doesn’t mean you’re something special. If you ask me, you’re miles behind Corinne!”

His glare pierced through me as he unleashed a barrage of accusations like bullets, each one striking my temples with a dull throb.

“Get out!” I shot back coldly, my voice stripped of emotion.

How shameless he was, wielding flimsy excuses to justify his affair.

“You—”

“Fine, fine! Clearly, you’re not that sick if you have the energy to put on an act!” He spat the words, turned on his heel, and stormed away.

After several days in the hospital, Trenton never came to visit.

Upon my discharge, I noticed a few nurses sharing knowing looks.

“Ms. Lynn, if you ever feel unwell again, please call me right away!” One of the younger nurses said, slipping her phone number into my palm.

I blinked at her, bewildered, unable to grasp the implication behind her gesture.

When I returned home, chaos greeted me.

Broken fragments and discarded tools littered the floor while my belongings lay scattered in disarray.

Clenching my fists, I reached for my phone, ready to confront Trenton.

Just then, a notification flashed on the screen: [Sculpting Master Trenton and Assistant Corinne Unveil New Work After Days of Effort!]

The headline piqued my interest, and I found myself clicking on it, unable to resist.

Suddenly, it felt as if an invisible hand had tightened around my heart, each breath turning into a desperate struggle for air.

There, before me, stood a nude sculpture of Corinne.

My stomach churned violently. I stumbled to the bathroom, retching until only bile remained, leaving me weak and drained.

"Lol."

A bitter laugh escaped my lips as I slumped against the floor. I pulled the nurse’s phone number from my pocket and flung it into the toilet.

Just let me die here. I lost track of time, feeling as if I were caught in a haze.

When I finally emerged from my stupor, the house lay empty and silent, its stillness suffocating.

Unable to bear it any longer, I drafted a divorce agreement without a moment’s hesitation and resolved to deliver it to him myself.

When I arrived at the studio, a staff member spotted me and rushed over. “Ms. Lynn, Mr. Watkins isn’t here at the moment. Would you like to sit down and wait?”

She looked uneasy, likely hoping I’d choose a different spot.

Ignoring her concern, I marched straight to Trenton’s workspace and pushed open the door.

"Ah?"

“Ms. Lynn, you’re here? Are you worried about Mr. Watkins? Don’t fret; I’ve been taking excellent care of him these past few days. He’s even gained some weight!” Corinne declared, her head held high, eager for my reaction.

In former days, I might have lashed out and raised my voice in defiance. But now, I felt nothing.

Seeing my lack of response, a flicker of disappointment crossed her face, yet she pressed on, trying again. “Oh, right, Ms. Lynn, I wanted to clarify that the statue really wasn’t a big deal. I simply wanted to model it after classical Western art, so I pleaded with Mr. Watkins to help me…”

I raised a hand, cutting her off mid-sentence. Classical Western art, what a shameless excuse. “Enough. Spare me your little games.”

Her expression darkened, and she forced an awkward laugh before attempting to walk away.

“Wait. Take this and give it to Trenton. Tell him to sign it and finalize the divorce!” I pulled the divorce papers from my bag and handed them over, determined to use her as my messenger since I couldn’t reach him.

“Oh, I don’t know…” She feigned hesitation, yet the corner of her mouth twitched with smug satisfaction.

I released a chilling laugh, lifting my cup and savoring a sip. “What? How do you plan to advance if I don’t get divorced? Are you prepared to keep wearing the label of the other woman?”

Her expression darkened at my candor, yet she still accepted the papers and made her exit.

A smirk of disdain curled at the corners of my mouth as I watched her leave.

She was so young and impressionable; with just a few choice words, I had sent her reeling, unable to hide her feelings. How easily she was thrown off balance.

That night, I succumbed to sleep on the sofa, completely unaware of Trenton’s return.

Upon entering, he took in the disarray, littering the floor with hardly any space to step. His expression turned stormy with fury as he marched toward me, seizing my clothes and pressing me down as if I were a criminal in his grasp.

“Sonia, can’t you manage to clean up this house? You’re lying there like a dead pig!”

“I work myself to the bone every single day, only to come home to this mess! Do you feel no shame at all? How outrageously lazy!”

In disgust, he kicked a chair, the sound echoing as it creaked beneath him.

“Get your filthy hands off me!” I shot back, my voice laced with disdain, my gaze filled with unmistakable revulsion.

Trenton was caught off guard by my icy tone, not expecting such determination from me. Rising, I seized a piece of broken sculpture from the floor and flung it at his face. He flinched, his gaze reddening with anger as he shot daggers at me.

“You call me lazy? Yet you never consider what you’ve been up to with Corinne here at home!”

“Nude art, inspired by classical Western themes, Trenton, you are completely shameless. You’ll say anything to excuse your little games!”

I pressed myself against the wall, barely managing to stay upright as waves of nausea washed over me.

Seven years of marriage had been a rollercoaster. We’d fought, clashed over differing opinions, and argued about finances.

Even when I wasn’t at fault, I often found myself the first to apologize. But today marked a turning point; I was done.

Trenton’s eyes flickered, but he stubbornly refused to back down, raising his voice to retort, “Art is art! Do you really have so little tolerance?”