After The Divorce, He Regretted Everything

"We need to talk."

Adrian's voice was calm as he placed a brown envelope on the table.

I stood still for a second, the warm bowl of soup in my hands slowly losing heat.

"What is that?" I asked.

He loosened his tie and leaned back slightly on the sofa, his expression distant, as if this conversation meant nothing to him.

"Divorce papers."

The words came out simply.

Too simply.

For a moment, I didn't react. The room felt quiet, almost unreal, as if everything had slowed down around me.

Then I walked forward and set the bowl on the table before my hands could start shaking.

"Why?" I asked, lifting my eyes to meet his.

"This marriage has no meaning anymore."

I let out a soft breath that almost sounded like a laugh.

"Did it ever have meaning to you?"

Adrian frowned slightly, as if the question itself annoyed him.

"Don't make this difficult."

His tone was still calm, but it carried a trace of impatience.

I held his gaze for a moment longer, then asked the question I already knew the answer to.

"Is it because of her?"

There was a pause.

Not long. Just enough.

But it told me everything.

Sophia.

His first love. The woman he never forgot. The one everyone in the city knew about, even if no one said it out loud.

"She's sick," Adrian said. "She needs rest. I can't let her be disturbed by rumors."

I stared at him, the meaning behind his words settling slowly but heavily.

"So you're divorcing me... to protect her."

"This is the best solution." He pushed the envelope closer to me. "You'll get compensation. A house and money. It's enough for you to live well."

I looked down at the documents.

Everything was prepared. Clean. Organized.

Final.

He had already planned this.

Not recently. Not suddenly.

For a long time.

"When do you want it done?" I asked.

"Tomorrow."

The answer came without hesitation.

"So soon," I said quietly, more to myself than to him.

Then I nodded.

"Alright."

Adrian looked at me, something flickering in his eyes.

"You agree?"

"Yes."

There was no point arguing. No point asking for something that was never there.

"I'll sign," I said calmly. "But I have one condition."

His gaze sharpened slightly.

"What condition?"

"After the divorce, we have nothing to do with each other," I said. "If we meet again, we act like strangers."

He studied me for a moment, as if trying to understand something, then gave a short nod.

"Fine."

I picked up the pen.

For a brief second, my hand paused above the paper.

Not because I was hesitating.

But because I realized how simple it was.

Three years of marriage.

Ending in a single signature.

I lowered the pen and signed my name.

The ink dried quickly.

Just like that, it was over.

I pushed the papers back toward him.

"Done."

Adrian stood and picked them up, flipping through briefly as if to confirm.