The Sweet Romance Ended—So Did We

"Wesley, stop it!"

I struggled to push him off, but he had his full weight on me. When I saw his hand reach downward, I slapped him hard across the face.

That slap made him freeze.

His eyes turned bloodshot, laced with fury. "Emerie, don’t forget—you’re still my wife. I can’t even touch you now?"

As I remembered the surgical abortion. My entire body trembled.

“You disgust me.”

Our eyes locked, but I didn’t back down.

Finally, he got off me, sliding down to the carpet, letting out a bitter laugh.

“So that’s why you want a divorce. Now it all makes sense.”

“Who is it?”

I said nothing.

Wesley grabbed his coat from the sofa and stormed toward the door.

"Emerie, you want a divorce? Keep dreaming!"

"You better hide him well. If I find out who he is, I’ll kill him!"

I stared at his retreating back.

A sharp pain pierced my chest.

I called out to him.

“Wesley.”

He stopped but didn’t turn around.

I asked, “Do you love me?”

He stayed silent. So I went on.

“If you loved me, would you keep Jessica—the girl who’s been in love with you for years—by your side?”

“If you loved me, would you have let your mother take our son away from me, take him overseas?”

“Wesley, the day you agreed to let your mother take our child, that’s when I started doubting your so-called love.”

He finally turned to look at me, confusion gleaming in his eyes.

“Didn’t we agree to send our son with Mom so we could have some time for ourselves?”

“That was your idea, not mine.”

“I carried that child for ten months. I would never send him far away just for the sake of some ‘alone time.’ I’m not that kind of person.”

He shook his head slightly.

“We also said we’d try for a second baby.”

I suddenly laughed.

“There won’t be a second baby. I went into anaphylactic shock from the perfume. I lost the baby.”

There are no words to describe the look on his face.

“Why didn’t you tell me when I went to the hospital?”

He questioned me, voice tight.

“I planned to tell you that night—on my birthday. But you didn’t come. You had Jessica deliver the perfume instead.”

“Wesley, what would it have changed if the hospital told you?”

He went silent for a long time, then said flatly, “We can always have another child.”

“No, Wesley. I’m done. I want a divorce.”

“If we don’t get divorced, I can’t promise what I might do.”

I picked up the divorce papers and walked over to him.

“Sign it.”

He took the papers, eyes fixed on me. “What about you, Emerie? Do you still love me?”

“I’ve let go.”

“This time? Or a long time ago?”

I didn’t answer so he continued, “It was a long time ago, wasn’t it? You stopped clinging to me. When I went on business trips, you stopped telling me to stay safe. When I drank, you didn’t tell me to take it easy. I was in Moscow for ten days once. You never even messaged me. Just like tonight—my stomach was killing me, and you didn’t care at all.”

“Emerie, you stopped loving me first.”

“I stopped clinging to you because Jessica was always there. There was no space for me. I stopped asking about your trips because she’d post your photos together. I stopped warning you about drinking because you were always shielding her from alcohol. And that trip to Moscow? I didn’t message you because you and Jessica were dancing in a bar. I didn’t want to interrupt.”

“As for tonight? You’re right. I really don’t love you anymore.”

“I’ve made room for Jessica. I wish you two the best.”

Wesley clutched the divorce agreement, his eyes bloodshot. Then, with a roar of rage, he tore the papers to shreds and stormed out.

I asked the housekeeper to clean up the mess and went to the study to print ten more copies.

An hour later, I saw Jessica’s latest social media post.

Wesley was asleep in bed. She sat on the edge, took a selfie, and posted it with a caption.

[The man I love never learned to love himself. If you don’t love him, why won’t you just let him go? Why keep torturing him?]

I grabbed the stack of divorce agreements, got in the car, and drove straight to Jessica’s home.