Weight of Words Untold

The day I decided to file for divorce, Dean Potter couldn't wait to draft the divorce agreement.

Five years ago, he had been forced to marry me, and now he was finally free.

On the day we were finalizing our divorce, Dean arrived with his new flame, radiating delight mixed with a hint of mockery. "Veronica Byrd, look at you—you're miserable."

I watched his figure fade into the distance, my vision blurring.

Miserable?

In the next life, it wouldn't happen again.

-

As I initiated the divorce, Dean stood before me, staring for what felt like an eternity, as if he were trying to bore a hole through me with his gaze.

It wasn't until I pulled out the divorce agreement and signed my name that he snapped out of it, his fingers tracing over the document, glancing at it repeatedly.

I knew he must have found it hard to believe that I, the woman he had been entangled with for five years, was the one initiating the divorce.

After a long silence, he tossed the agreement aside, a barely perceptible smirk playing on his lips. "I don't understand this. I'll need to consult my legal team."

I tightened my grip on the pen and replied firmly, "You don't need to. I'm walking away with nothing."

His tone shifted, displeased. "How do I know you won't try to pull something?"

I looked him in the eye and suddenly remembered that night five years ago; he had held onto that grudge all this time.

But after all these years, he should know best what kind of person I am.

With a decisive gesture, I threw the pen aside and settled into my chair.

"Fine, I'll wait for you to revise the agreement before I come back."

With that, I started to rise to leave.

He blocked my path, preventing me from leaving.

"Just wait here; it won't take long."

He seemed eager to cut ties with me, moving swiftly to the door and disappearing from sight.

I collapsed onto the couch in the quiet office, recalling what the doctor had told me.

Late-stage leukemia—there might not even be a chance for a bone marrow transplant.

I sighed, watching where he had vanished, and wondered if he truly cared at all.

Blood filled my nostrils, and I wiped my nose, but there were still stains. I hastily pressed a tissue to my face, almost emptying Dean's box of tissues in the process.

Thank goodness no one was around to see.

Before long, Dean returned with a new divorce agreement in hand.

Seeing me with my head tilted back, still trying to stop the bleeding, he looked surprised. "What are you doing?"

I quickly tossed the tissue in the trash and composed myself as I sat down.

As I took the agreement from him, I noticed a new clause he had added at the end: everything that wasn't mine had to remain, including jewelry, clothes, and shoes—none of which I had ever laid