He didn’t ask whether I was hurt.

He didn’t ask what the doctors had said.

He didn’t even glance at the purple bruising visible above the collar of my hospital gown.

Instead, he tossed his phone onto the small table beside my bed and stared at me with a fury so intense that, for one absurd second, I wondered what I had done wrong.

“Did you send Sarah to call me?”

I blinked.

“What?”

“Don’t play innocent, Clara.” His jaw tightened. “She called me screaming that you had been in an accident and accusing me of abandoning you.”

A dull ache spread through my chest.

Not from my bruised ribs.

From somewhere much deeper.

“I did call you,” I said quietly. “Before Sarah did.”

“I was dealing with an emergency.”

“Maya’s emergency.”

His eyes sharpened immediately.

That was all the confirmation I needed.

Ethan walked toward the window and dragged a hand through his hair.

“Maya fell almost twenty feet during filming. She could have broken her spine.”

“And I was in a car accident.”

“You’re sitting here talking to me.”

The words came so naturally to him.

So easily.

As if my survival had retroactively erased the fact that I had needed him.

I looked down at my hands.

Ten minutes earlier, I had been preparing myself to cry when he arrived. Sarah had told me to look fragile, to let Ethan see how badly he had failed me.

Suddenly, I didn’t have to pretend.

I felt fragile enough.

But strangely, I couldn’t cry.

“Do you know what I thought when the car hit me?” I asked.

Ethan said nothing.

“I thought of you.”

His expression shifted slightly.

“I couldn’t breathe properly. There was blood on my blouse, and I didn’t know whether it was mine. The officer kept asking me questions, but all I wanted was my husband.”

“Clara—”

“So I called you.”

He exhaled impatiently.

“And I told you I was busy.”

“No.” I finally looked at him. “You told me to stop dramatizing.”

Silence.

For the first time, Ethan seemed uncomfortable.

But it lasted only seconds.

Then his face hardened again.

“This constant competition you have with Maya is exhausting.”

I stared at him.

Competition?

Something inside me went perfectly still.

“I almost got seriously hurt today, and you think I’m competing with her?”

“You knew she was injured.”

“I learned after you hung up on me.”

“Either way, this obsession has gone too far.”

He picked up his phone.

Then he said the sentence that changed everything.

“Maybe we should divorce.”

Five years of marriage flashed through my mind.

The first time Ethan had threatened divorce was after I confronted him about canceling our anniversary dinner because Maya needed him at an awards ceremony.

I had cried until sunrise.

The second time was when I asked him why Maya had a key to his private office.

I apologized for “not trusting him.”

The third time was six months ago, when he disappeared on my birthday because Maya was having what he called an emotional crisis.

That night, I begged him not to leave me.

Each time, Ethan had watched me panic.

Each time, he had waited until I surrendered.

And each time, after I promised to be more understanding, he graciously agreed to stay.

He had trained me well.

Divorce was the cliff.

He only had to push me toward the edge, and I would crawl back.

But lying in that hospital bed, something had changed.

Perhaps love didn’t disappear all at once.

Perhaps it died from repetition.

One ignored phone call.

One empty chair.

One humiliation.

One woman who always mattered more.

Until finally, there was nothing left to kill.

I raised my eyes.

“Okay.”

Ethan frowned.

“What?”

“I agree.”

His face became completely blank.

“If you want a divorce, I’ll sign.”

For several seconds, he simply stared at me.

Then he gave a short, humorless laugh.

“You’re emotional.”

“I’m actually surprisingly calm.”

“Clara.”

“You should go back to Maya.”

His expression darkened.

“Don’t do this.”

I almost laughed.

He had asked for a divorce.

Yet somehow I was the one “doing this.”

“I’m tired, Ethan.”

He stood motionless beside my bed.

I turned my face toward the window.

After a long silence, he picked up his phone.

“Fine,” he said coldly. “When I come back from my trip, we’ll discuss this when you’ve stopped being dramatic.”

Then he left.

He never kissed my forehead.

Never asked whether I needed help getting home.

Never noticed that I didn’t ask him to stay.

That night, Sarah drove me back to the penthouse.

The next morning, I called a lawyer.

By the time Ethan boarded his flight for his two-week business trip, the divorce agreement was already being prepared.

And for the first time in five years, I stopped waiting for my husband.

---

Now, two weeks later, Ethan stood outside my guest bedroom.

I could hear him pacing once.

Twice.

Then came a knock.

“Clara.”

I opened the door.

He had removed his jacket, but his tie was still perfectly knotted. His expression, however, was anything but composed.

“What exactly is going on?”

I almost smiled.

“You asked for a divorce.”

“I was angry.”

“So?”

“So married couples say things when they’re angry.”

“You said it three times before.”

His mouth tightened.

“And you knew I didn’t mean it.”

“That’s the problem.”

He stared at me.

I walked to the desk and picked up the white envelope that had been waiting there since yesterday.

Then I held it out.

Ethan didn’t take it.

“What is that?”

“The divorce agreement.”

His eyes dropped to the envelope.

For the first time since I had known him, Ethan Vance looked genuinely stunned.

“You actually contacted a lawyer?”

“Yes.”

“While I was away?”

“You gave me two weeks. It was enough.”

His gaze snapped back to mine.

“Enough for what?”

“To understand that I don’t want to be your wife anymore.”

The silence that followed was enormous.

Then Ethan laughed softly, but there was no amusement in it.

“This is because of Maya.”

“No.”

“It obviously is.”

“Maya is only the reason I finally saw the truth.”

His fingers curled at his side.

“And what truth is that?”

I looked at the man I had loved for five years.

The man whose footsteps once made my heart race.

The man I had begged three separate times not to abandon me.

And I felt… nothing.

“The truth is that when I was bleeding on the side of the road, I called my husband.”

My voice remained calm.

“And he treated me like an inconvenience.”

Ethan’s face changed.

Just slightly.

But I saw it.

“You chose her without even knowing whether I was safe,” I continued. “And afterward, you came to the hospital angry at me for interrupting you.”

“Clara, I didn’t know how serious—”

“Exactly.”

He stopped.

“You didn’t know.”

I placed the envelope against his chest.

This time, instinctively, he took it.

“I used to think losing you would destroy me,” I whispered. “That’s why every time you mentioned divorce, I begged.”

I smiled.

Not bitterly.

Not angrily.

Just peacefully.

“But then you finally made me understand something.”

His throat moved.

“What?”

“Being married to someone who never chooses you hurts much more than losing him.”

For the first time, Ethan had no answer.

I stepped backward and placed my hand on the door.

“The papers are already signed on my side.”

His eyes widened.

“Clara.”

“Good night, Ethan.”

I closed the door.

And three seconds later, I heard the white envelope tear open in the hallway.

Then absolute silence.

For once, Ethan Vance was the one standing outside a closed door, realizing that the person on the other side was no longer going to chase him.

But neither of us knew yet that the divorce papers weren’t the only thing waiting to destroy the life Ethan thought he controlled.

Because the following morning, a photograph of Maya and Ethan appeared on every major entertainment site in the country.

And according to the timestamp printed beneath it, the photograph had been taken three years earlier.

On my wedding day.
:::