The divorce papers sat on the table, all crisp edges and legal finality. They might as well have been a guillotine.
"Sign it," Raymond said, his voice too calm, too cold. Like he'd rehearsed it a thousand times.
I pinched the bridge of my nose and ignored the flutter in my stomach. "You first," I said, smiling—though my hands were shaking.
His smirk was brief. A twitch of his lips that didn't reach his eyes. He was always good at pretending he didn't care.
I stared at the papers again. Married for reasons neither of us understood anymore. Married because someone thought it would be convenient. Married because pride had convinced both of us it was a good idea.
"Convenient," he muttered, leaning back. "Convenient? You think this was convenient?"
I laughed, sharp and bitter. "Convenient? Maybe for you. I spent three years pretending to like you for appearances. So forgive me if I want my freedom now."
Raymond's hand hovered over the pen. He hesitated. Just for a second, just long enough for me to notice. A crack in the armor he wore so well.
"You hate me," he said finally. Not a question. Just a statement.
I shrugged, leaning on the table. "I don't hate you. I… I don't even know what I feel. But I know I don't want this marriage. Not anymore. And you… well, I think you already know you feel the same."
He frowned, jaw tightening. "Maybe. Maybe I don't."
I rolled my eyes. Classic Raymond. Always so stubborn. Always pretending to be untouchable. "Fine. Sign it then. Or not. I really don't care anymore."
He picked up the pen, and I could feel the tension in the room crackling like a live wire. One signature. That's all it would take. One signature and we'd be free—or maybe trapped in something far worse than marriage.
And for the first time in years, I wondered if freedom was worth it.