My Last Twelve Hours as His Wife

The moment the words left Astrid's mouth, she raised her hand and struck her own face. The crisp sound of the slap reached Evan's ears, and he immediately scooped her up into his arms and glared at me. "Fiona, how dare you slap Astrid? She's a public figure! How can you be so vicious?"

Without giving me a single chance to defend myself, Evan had already pronounced me guilty based solely on Astrid's theatrical performance. "You've been hurt because of me, Astrid. I'll definitely make it up to you. I promise you, the lead role in that movie you wanted is yours."

Astrid flashed me a cocky smirk where Evan couldn't see. Then, she mouthed the words, "The position of the lady of the Beckett family is mine!"

Not a spark of emotion stirred within me. I didn't even want Evan anymore. Why on earth would I care about being the lady of the Beckett family?

Hence, I ignored her and kept myself firmly planted at the door. "Evan, sign the divorce agreement. Let's divorce!"

The air in the room grew suffocatingly tense once again.

Right then, the office door was violently flung open. My mother, Roxanne Miller, charged in, and the first thing she laid her eyes on wasn't me, but the divorce agreement in my hands. Without saying a word, she snatched it, tore it to shreds, and brought her hand back to slap me hard across the face.

"Have you lost your mind? Why are you so hellbent on getting a divorce when you have a perfectly good life?" Her hands were on her hips, and her tone was harsh. She pierced my heart with every sentence, as if she wanted everyone in the room to hear.

"Evan is the cream of the crop in appearance and status! Who else could you possibly land if you lose him? When a woman gets divorced at 30, she becomes secondhand property!

"Who would want you then? If it weren't for Evan, do you honestly think you could live this comfortably on the pocket change your research institute pays you? This is just a tiny hiccup, yet you're making a mountain out of a molehill!

"Listen here, only deadbeat losers stick to one woman their whole lives—and it's not because they don't want mistresses; it's because they don't have the means to get them!"

I pressed my tongue against the inside of my cheek where I had been struck. A profound sense of helplessness and sorrow washed over me.

Everyone thought my marriage was picture-perfect, but Mom knew just as well as I did how rotten it was to the core. Even so, she still wanted me to grit my teeth and bear with it. To that end, she had even slapped me in front of Evan and his side piece.

A self-deprecating smile touched my lips when I thought of that.

When I didn't refute, Mom thought my resolve had wavered. Her tone softened a bit, but her words still cut deep. "Fiona, all married couples fight. Look at your dad and me; we fought and bickered our entire lives. Listen to me and apologize to Evan. In the future—"

I lifted my gaze to meet hers. My tone was calm yet incredibly firm. "I won't be doing that. I'm going through with this divorce, and nothing will change my mind! I've spent my whole life bending to your will—in where I studied, where I worked, and whom I married.

"I lived for everyone but myself. That ends now. This time, I'm choosing myself!"

"You're simply impossible to reason with!" Beside herself with rage, Mom raised her hand to slap me again. Yet, the moment she met my resolute eyes, her hand froze in midair and ultimately didn't land on my face.

She could only grit her teeth and hiss, "Fine, divorce him then! But when you're bawling your eyes out with regret in the future, don't you dare come crawling back home to me!" With that, she stormed out and slammed the door behind her.

The deafening sound made the walls tremble slightly. Then, the office went dead silent.

Once again, I reached into my handbag and pulled out another copy of the divorce agreement. "Sign it!"