"I'll tell you what … seeing you're so pitiful, how about I let him come home to you tomorrow morning? You two barely meet each other once a week. You'd better make the most of it tomorrow."
I facepalmed and saved our chat screenshots without a hint of emotion. If we ended up in court, these would serve as evidence of Donald’s affair.
After I tossed Olivia's necklace into the trash, I started to contact divorce lawyers to discuss property division in a calm manner.
The lawyer asked, “Mrs. Hernandez, are you sure about this? Do you really want to file for divorce?”
"A husband and wife are bound by love for life. It’s always best to settle amicably. Once it goes to court, there’s no turning back," he advised.
I hesitated because I knew that divorce was not as simple as signing a paper. Even if I no longer wanted to stay with Donald, I still did not want to leave and burn the bridges.
The next morning, as expected, Donald came home. I did not ask him where he had been the night before and he did not seem too keen on explaining.
He quietly took a bowl, filled it with porridge, grabbed one of the meat sandwiches that was brimmed with filling from the table and started eating his breakfast.
He acted as if the last night's argument had never happened. He even casually remarked, “No matter where I eat, nothing tastes quite right. My wife’s home cooking is always the best.”
I had spent hours studying recipes and practicing dishes, all in the hope of getting him to eat just a little bit more. Yet in the end, all I ever got from him was a comment about how I smelled like kitchen grease.
I did not say anything.
When he noticed the necklace in the trash, he looked irritated.
I did not know what was going on inside his head but for some reason, he managed to hold back his temper and only mocked, “Are you still mad?”
“Well, I got kicked out of my own house last night and I’m not even mad. What’s your excuse?” he asked.
I didn’t bother to correct him. It did not matter whether he had left on his own or because I had pushed him out the door to spend the night at his assistant’s house.
I simply said, “I’m not mad.”
He scoffed. “You threw away her gift and you’re still saying you’re not mad?”
He shamelessly took the last meat sandwich. He did not even care that the breakfast that I prepared was only meant for one person.