Saying My Final Farewell to Him

"Alright," I agreed casually to Lyra's offer to cook dinner. She had no idea I'd printed the divorce papers that morning, neatly stacked in a folder on my desk, waiting for the right moment.

When I returned home that evening, the kitchen was filled with warmth and the comforting aroma of her cooking—a rare scene in recent years. Lyra had prepared an impressive spread, plating each dish with care as if this was an apology, though she never said it out loud.

At the table, she filled my bowl with rice, her tone almost sweet. "Honey, Jonah has been helping my company a lot recently. He doesn't ask for much—just a small 5% stake in my company. Do you think you could transfer a bit of your shares to him?"

As she spoke, she served the last dish onto the table, a perfectly arranged meal that looked, smelled and even tasted perfect. Yet, the moment I heard her request, my appetite withered.

I set my spoon down, studying her face with an odd calm. "Sure."

Lyra blinked, visibly taken aback. The last time she'd tried to involve Jonah in anything related to my finances, I'd balked and we'd argued for hours. But now, I felt strangely numb.

I left the dining room, heading to the study to draft the agreement. The share transfer was straightforward—my lawyer had already sent me a template in anticipation. I signed it quickly and brought it back to the table, placing it in front of her.

She stared, looking incredulous. "Honey, you... agreed?" Her voice was hesitant, almost wary.

"Yes," I said smoothly, "I signed it. You just need to add your signature here, here and here."

She scanned the document, her expression a mix of disbelief and surprise. Without a second thought, she picked up the pen and signed her name, the ink still drying as she handed the contract back to me. Her face softened and she offered me a warm smile as she ladled some soup into my bowl.

"Honey, you've been so… gentle lately." Her voice was coaxing, trying to gauge my mood. "When we have a child in the future, I'm sure we'll be so happy together. Don't you think?"

I said nothing, stirring my soup absently, knowing there was no "future" for us. She seemed content with my silence, interpreting it as agreement and continued eating with a newfound ease.

***

The next morning, I left early, watching as Lyra hurried to pack her things for her "business trip." I'd seen her schedule on her phone last night, noting the plans she'd made with Jonah to tour a few "prospective properties" for her company. She wouldn't be back for several days.

Once she was gone, I wasted no time. I called a real estate agent and put our apartment on the market. It was my premarital asset, a place I'd bought after five years of saving and hard work. When Lyra had been struggling to afford rent, I'd let her move in. But as her business grew, she never mentioned moving or even contributing to the household costs, always brushing off the suggestion with a smile and a casual "We're too attached to this place to leave it."

While she'd once given me her earnings to manage, that habit faded over time, until all that remained were her company dividends. When I discovered she'd bought Jonah a duplex in a high-end neighborhood—one that cost nearly ten times the value of our modest home—I'd felt the last strands of loyalty slipping away.

Within three days, the apartment was sold, thanks to its prime location and excellent condition. I finalized the sale, sold off my remaining shares in Lyra's company and split half of our shared assets. By the time I stepped out of the bank, my bags were packed, my lease signed for a new apartment and my flight ticket purchased. I'd left the city without looking back.

***

A week later, Lyra and Jonah strolled through a bustling mall, the vibrant hum of shoppers filling the air. They stopped at a high-end boutique, where Lyra's gaze lingered on an elegant silk tie in the display. Without a second thought, she pointed it out to the salesperson, who carefully wrapped it in a box.

As she handed the box to Jonah, a playful smile spread across his face. "How did you know I've been wanting this one?" he asked, assuming the gift was meant for him.

Lyra held the tie close to her chest, her expression softening as she met his eyes. "It's not for you," she said, her voice carrying a gentle, almost wistful tone. Jonah's smile faltered, confusion flashing across his face as he watched her.

Lyra's gaze drifted off, her eyes softening as if she were speaking to someone else entirely. "It's for my husband," she murmured, almost to herself. "These days, he's been so... gentle, so accommodating. He never complains, always listens and agrees to everything I ask."