For Her Ex, The Wife Abandoned Her Sister in the Hands of the Criminals

When I arrived home, Emma was on her way out with Jack. She wore an elegant dress, her hand looped through his arm. She gave me a disdainful smile.

"So you do come home. Is this place a hotel, where you come and go as you please?"

I glanced at her, noting something unusual in her eyes. She'd always disliked me being at home.

Working remotely meant I was there every day, and whenever she returned from work, she'd throw her bag at me, ordering, "Get to work. Don't just laze around."

So, I quietly did the chores, hoping it would improve her mood.

Looking around, the house was a mess. Takeout boxes lay around, filling the air with an unpleasant odor. It was clear she had left it all for me to clean.

"Well, if that's what you want," I said, ready to fulfill her wish one last time.

I caught Emma's surprised look as I pulled out my suitcase and began packing. "I won't be living here anymore."

She paused, then started her mocking tirade, "Playing hard to get, are you? You really think you're so desirable? Let me tell you, without me, you're nothing."

I looked at her quietly, devoid of any former affection. Emma's face was lined with impatience, yet there was still confidence—confidence that I wouldn't dare leave her. Everyone believed it, too. She came from a wealthy family; the house and car were her contributions to the marriage. Even my monthly allowance came from her.

I was the classic "boy from the village," trailing her like a dog without principles, they said. But no one knew that I never touched the money she sent. I used my earnings to preserve my dignity.

A week ago, I sold the rights to my novel, earning a substantial sum. I had intended to share it with Emma, to show her I was no longer the useless man she thought I was. But now, I was simply too tired. I no longer wanted to offer my heart up for her to trample on.

"The divorce papers?" I asked.

Emma seemed momentarily surprised, then pulled the documents from her bag with a clenched jaw. "You're signing them? Don't worry, I'll give you everything you're entitled to. You and your Lily can go enjoy your lives."

Without lifting my eyes, I signed my name quickly. "Don't worry, I won't take anything that's not mine."

When I handed the papers back, her expression faltered, tinged with disappointment.

"Fine. You're decisive, I'll give you that. I suppose you've already found someone else," she accused.

It was clear she was angry, but I didn't care to analyze why. I had no more apologies or comfort left to offer.

Emma stormed out with Jack in tow, leaving me to pack. It struck me as odd that after five years, I had so few belongings—fitting neatly into a small suitcase. Perhaps I had never really lived for myself during those years.

As I rummaged through things, a photo slipped from the couch cushions. It was taken when I saved Emma's parents, a snapshot they had wanted to commemorate the occasion. In the picture, Emma's face was slightly petulant, young and puffed with annoyance, while my gaze stayed fixed on the face I once loved to the point of self-loss.

I had fallen in love at first sight back then. Fate had granted me a chance, only to snatch it away again.

But perhaps that's for the best. Lily's death opened my eyes. Love that cannot be forced is love better set free.