Page 117 of Of Lies and Shadows

I hate it.

The silence echoes louder than it should, and my chest tightens in protest. I get up slowly, wincing at the dull ache that still pulses through my body. The shower is quick andmechanical. The water stings my scar, but not nearly as much as the emptiness gnawing at me.

The children must be at school. I remind myself it’s normal. It’s a weekday. Life goes on.

But something feels wrong.

When I step back into the bedroom, I see it—an envelope sitting on the dresser. Brown. Heavy. It wasn’t there last night.

My stomach drops.

I walk to it like it might explode. The second I pick it up, I know. I know.

His handwriting on the front. My name.

My hands tremble as I tear it open, and then I see them.

Divorce papers, already signed.

A thick fog of disbelief floods me, followed by a crack of something sharp and burning in my chest. My heart, mydamnedheart.

He’s giving me everything. Part custody of the children. One of the cars. Alimony. An apartment in the city under my name.

But not him. He’s giving me everything—excepthim.

He’s handing me a future, tied in a bow of legal generosity, and ripping himself out of it.

It hurts worse than the bullet. At least that pain had a point of entry, a clean edge. This? This is betrayal wrapped in tenderness. A wound I never saw coming.

I clutch the papers to my chest like they might disappear if I hold them tight enough, as if the ink will smudge and the words will blur into something less final.

How dare he?

After everything he’s put me through, after all we’ve survived, he wants out now? After yesterday, after the softness, the care, the look in his eyes like I was his whole damn world?

It makes no sense. Unless… maybe it’s guilt. The thought slithers into my chest, cold and sharp.

My feet are moving before I fully register it, my grip white-knuckled around the papers as I descend the stairs. I catch a glimpse of his car through the window. He’s still here.

Good.

I storm to his office and throw the door open without knocking.

“Divorce?”

He looks up, startled but composed, his expression unreadable, a perfect mask of calm that only makes me burn hotter.

“You should be resting,” he says quietly, too quietly. But I hear the strain in his voice, the crack in the steel. He’s not calm. He’s crumbling.

“Divorce?” I shout again, shaking the pages at him. “Is that what you want? Was taking a bullet the final payment on my debt?”

His jaw clenches, but he stays still.

“Don’t do this,” I snap. “Don’t shut down on me now. I’m not breakable, Dante. Just tell me the truth. You’re done with me, is that it?”

Something in him snaps.

“I could never be done with you!” he roars, slamming his fist down on the desk as he shoots to his feet.

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