Sorry, Husband Expired

I stared at the cold pasta. "I've decided. I'm going. But I'm divorcing Peter."

She paused, then said softly, "Alright."

She never liked him—not even from the start. I probably should've seen it sooner—Peter ditching his morals the second Cindy snapped her fingers.

She was his late mentor's only daughter. Peter, ever the responsible guy, had promised to look after her. So whatever she wanted, he gave.

Even if it meant giving her a kid.

"I'll book your ticket. Lionel will be there to pick you up."

Lionel Rinehart. Childhood friend. Aunt Sophia's golden student.

After the call, the divorce agreement hit my inbox. I headed to Peter's study to print it and found a folder full of his chats with Cindy.

All sweet words and flirty messages. He kept telling her not to hope for more—but I knew better.

Cindy already owned a part of him.

He let her believe in the fantasy. Let her stomp all over me.

But I didn't love him anymore. Not even a little. Calm, steady, I copied every single message.

Even if he refused to sign, I had proof.

***

I signed the papers clean, then dropped off my resignation at the hospital.

Rebecca, the hospital director, looked shocked.

I smiled. "My aunt wants me to settle down in Hampsburg."

"And your husband?"

I glanced at the clasp on my bag, still smiling. "We're divorcing. I'm sure the hospital's heard by now—Peter's been hanging around OB-GYN. Says she's his sister, but come on, Rebecca. We're both women. We know what that really means."

She didn't say a word. Just signed the resignation.

"Yuna, the world's a lot bigger when you stop tying yourself to love."

I took the papers and headed to my office to pack.

The whole department looked at me with that soft, pitying kind of sympathy.

Before leaving, I made one last stop—OB-GYN.

Down the hall, I saw Peter, eyes all soft, watching Cindy breastfeed the baby.

Pain hit like a punch to the chest.

I snapped a photo.

***

Back home, I packed light—just clothes and books. Everything from Peter? Left it.

In the car, he kept blowing up my phone. [What do you want for dinner? When should I pick you up?] Like nothing happened.

I didn't text back.

Right before boarding, I finally picked up.

"Yuna, why haven't you answered? Were you busy?"

I said nothing. He kept saying my name like that would fix things.

Then the loudspeaker cut in:

"This is the final boarding call for Ms. Yuna Zander booked on flight HB183 to Hampsburg. Please proceed to gate 514 immediately."

"Yuna! Where are you?!"