Dear Husband, I'm tired of lying, good bye!

I still remember the first time I saw Dave. I was twenty-three—an eager, awkward newcomer in the newsroom, desperate to prove myself. My producer handed me an assignment that made my heart race: “Interview Dave Morales. The country’s youngest coffee-chain mogul.” Back then, Dave was already a mystery. Every journalist wanted him, and every one of them failed. He never liked the spotlight—hated interviews, dodged cameras, and ignored press invitations. But I didn’t want to be like everyone else. I wanted that story. So I found a way. I applied for a job in one of his cafés. As a barista. Yes, I lied. I told myself it was just part of the job—a harmless disguise, a shortcut to an exclusive interview. But looking back now, I wonder if it all began there… that pattern of lies, small ones that slowly built the world I’m trapped in now. For weeks, I worked behind the counter, pretending to memorize coffee blends while secretly studying him. He would visit often—tall, quiet, always with a book in one hand and a cup of espresso in the other. He barely spoke to anyone except the manager. But once, our eyes met when I accidentally spilled coffee on my apron. He smiled a little, just a polite curve of his lips. “You’re new,” he said. His voice was smooth, deep, and disarmingly calm. “I am,” I replied, forcing a nervous laugh. That was all. But from then on, I started following him—quietly, from a distance. Watching which cafés he visited, which beans he liked, how he always added a single cube of sugar to his drink. Until one day, he turned around and caught me. “I know you’re stalking me,” he said, not even angry—just mildly amused. “But the answer is still no.” I froze, face burning. “No…?” “To your interview,” he said. “You’re not the first reporter who tried.” He walked away that day, but something in his tone—half-challenge, half-curiosity—kept me from giving up. I tried again. And again. Until eventually, he gave in. What started as an interview became conversations. Coffee turned into late dinners. Laughter became routine. And before I even realized it, I was falling for him. It wasn’t just admiration anymore—it was love. And when he asked me to be his, I thought it was a miracle. Me—a girl from a small, nameless town, who grew up hiding the truth about her family, finally loved by a man like him. But not everyone was happy. Sandra Morales—Dave’s mother—made sure I knew my place. “You’re not right for him,” she told me once, her tone wrapped in polite venom. “You don’t belong in this world.” She even tried to pay me off. But I refused. I couldn’t let her take him from me. So I did the one thing I’ve always regretted. I lied. I hired two people to pretend as my parents. Paid them enough to play the part during dinners and gatherings. Told Dave’s family I came from a stable background, that I grew up abroad. I thought if I could just hold that lie long enough, they’d accept me. And they did. Or so I thought. Now I know the truth. They knew from the start. They used that lie to control me. Because of that secret, I stayed quiet. Because of that secret, Dave married me—and because of that secret, he could easily say he owned me. I pressed a hand against my chest, trying to calm the ache rising in my throat. Everything felt so false now. Every laugh, every kiss, every “I love you” we ever shared. The sound of the front door opening snapped me back. Dave’s voice followed—warm, casual, familiar. “Elisa?” I turned from the window as he stepped inside, holding a bouquet of roses and a small, velvet box. He looked tired but smiling, like the man I used to love. “Happy anniversary,” he said softly. “I’m sorry I missed dinner. Franco needed me. But I made sure to make it up to you.” I stared at the flowers, then at him, unsure if I wanted to cry or laugh. He walked closer and opened the box, revealing a delicate diamond necklace. “Here. I picked it myself.” “Dave…” I whispered, my voice shaking. He reached out and brushed a strand of hair from my face. “You were going to say something earlier, right? You said you had a surprise for me.” I tried to speak, but my throat tightened. A thousand words crowded my mind, none of them safe to say. Before I could answer, his phone rang. I didn’t need to look to know who it was. The name flashed across the screen: Liana. His hand hesitated for a second, then he sighed. “I have to take this.” My pulse quickened. “Now?” “It’s important. Business-related.” I forced a smile. “Can’t it wait?” “Elisa,” he said softly, “you know how it is. This deal means a lot. And you—” He touched my cheek lightly. “You need rest. Tomorrow’s your big day, right? You’ll be anchoring that special report about our partnership announcement. I’m rooting for you.” And just like that, he turned and walked away. The sound of the door closing felt louder than any argument. I stood there in silence, staring at the necklace he left behind. A perfect gift for a perfect lie. But sleep never came that night. The words I’d overheard at the hospital kept replaying in my head. The laughter. The deception. I needed to know. So when the clock struck midnight, I slipped out of bed, grabbed my keys, and followed him. I parked a few blocks from the hotel I saw his car pull into. My heart pounded as I crept toward the lobby, keeping my cap low, my face half-hidden. Then I saw them. Dave—and Liana. They were talking near the entrance, her hand brushing his arm like they’d done it a hundred times. I wanted to believe it was business, just another meeting, but then—someone else appeared. A woman. She looked… like Liana. But same hair, same build, even the same shade of lipstick I always wore on TV that Dave always wanted me to. I froze, unable to breathe as she leaned in—and kissed Dave.

“What is wrong with you, Elisa?” Dave’s voice thundered through the living room the moment I stepped inside. His tie was still loosened, his expression hard—angry in a way I hadn’t seen before. “You were acting strange a while ago on TV,” he continued, tossing the remote on the couch. “You didn’t even mention me, or the company, when I specifically told you to highlight our partnership deal. What was that about?” I blinked, still in my work clothes, makeup smudged from the long broadcast. “I don’t know,” I said quietly. “Maybe I just didn’t want to talk about it anymore.” His brows knitted. “What did you just say?” I swallowed. “I said, I’m tired, Dave. Tired of reporting about you, about your business, pretending to be biased every time. I can’t keep doing that.” The silence that followed was sharp. He took a step closer, disbelief darkening into anger. “Have you forgotten who gave you that program? That main slot you’ve always dreamed of? Me, Elisa. I built your name. I’m funding your show, your network deal—everything you have right now!” His words sliced through me like glass. I used to think those words—his support—meant love. That his influence was something he gave because he believed in me. But now, hearing them again, I realized they were never meant to lift me up. They were meant to remind me how much I owed him. And maybe that was what he loved most—control. I stared at him, my voice breaking. “Well, I never asked for any of it. You’re the one who gave it to me. And now—I don’t want it anymore.” Before I could breathe, his hand came down hard across my face. The sound echoed. My vision blurred. I stumbled backward, holding my cheek, stunned not just by the pain but by the man in front of me. For a moment, even Dave looked shocked—like he couldn’t believe what he’d done. His eyes widened, his lips parting, but no apology came. I tasted iron on my tongue. Then I smiled—small, bitter, trembling. “Let’s divorce.” He froze. “What?” “You heard me.” He laughed, short and incredulous. “Over this? Over one mistake? Elisa, do you even hear yourself?” “I do.” His voice rose again. “You think you can survive without me? You think your career can stand without my name attached to it? Without my money, my company backing your network?” I didn’t answer. I just looked at him—the man who once made me believe in forever—and realized how little of that man was left. Before he could say another word, a small voice interrupted us. “Brother? Sister-in-law?” We both turned. Franco stood by the doorway, holding his toy car, eyes wide and trembling. “Are you… fighting?” My heart clenched. He wasn’t my brother, not really—but I couldn’t unsee the child I had learned to love. Dave rubbed his forehead, sighing. “No, Franco. Go to your room.” But the boy’s eyes filled with tears. “Please don’t fight. I don’t like it when you shout.” I couldn’t stand it. I walked toward him, knelt, and wiped his tears. “Hey, sweetheart. It’s okay,” I whispered, forcing a smile. “We’re not fighting. Your brother’s just… busy with work… so he was a bit mad.” He sniffled. “Really?” “Really.” I held out my hand. “Tell you what—how about we go out today? Just you and me. Ice cream and the park. What do you say? Or we can go cart like what you want?” He nodded slowly, a tiny smile forming. “Okay.” Dave looked like he wanted to stop us, but before he could, the butler stepped in. “Sir,” he said respectfully, “Miss Liana called. She said her sister’s having another tantrum, and she insists you come right away.” Dave exhaled, frustrated. “Now?” “Yes, sir.” I didn’t wait for him to decide. “Come on, Franco,” I said, taking the boy’s hand. “Let’s go.” I didn’t look back. The afternoon sunlight was warm as we walked through the park. Franco ran ahead, laughing as he chased bubbles blown by another child nearby. I watched him, my heart heavy with too many thoughts. Despite everything, he looked so much like Dave—those same brown eyes, the same determined look when he smiled. It hurt to see him, because I couldn’t separate the boy from the truth anymore. Still, I couldn’t hate him. None of this was his fault. As I watched him play, my hand instinctively touched my stomach. A small, fragile secret—one I had kept for weeks. I was pregnant. I wanted to tell Dave on our anniversary. I had imagined how he would smile, how his arms would wrap around me, how we’d start over, maybe even heal. But now… what was the point? He didn’t love me. He only loved what I could do for him. I was lost in that thought when I heard a sharp cry. “Franco!” He had lost control of his little wooden cart, the wheels spinning wildly before the whole thing tipped over. He tumbled across the gravel, landing hard on his knees. I heard the thud, the scrape, and then his cry—sharp and frightened. My heart lurched as I ran toward him. Blood streaked down his leg, dirt clinging to the wound. “It’s okay, sweetheart. You’re okay,” I whispered, scooping him up despite his squirming. “I’ve got you. Sister-in-law is here.” We rushed to the hospital. Hours later, when the door swung open, Dave stormed in. His face was flushed, eyes burning with fury. “What happened?” he barked. “How could you let this happen? You can’t even take care of a child for a few hours?” “Dave—” He didn’t let me finish. His hand came up again, the second slap harder than the first. The sting spread across my cheek, but the ache in my chest was worse. “You dare hurt my brother? You only have one job—to be careful!” The words echoed, sharp and cruel, through the sterile white room. I blinked through the blur, my ears ringing. “Your… brother?” I laughed bitterly, the sound hollow and breaking. “Or your son?”

Dave froze for a moment, his brows furrowing as if trying to process what I’d just said. Then, unexpectedly, a laugh escaped his lips—low, mocking, disbelieving. “What are you trying to say, Elisa?” he asked, tilting his head, that same cruel amusement flickering in his eyes. I felt my pulse hammering in my ears. My hands trembled, but I forced the words out. “I know the truth now—about Franco.” His smirk faltered. “It was Liana,” I said, my voice shaking. “She was the one who told me who he really is. Why did you lie to me, Dave? Why didn’t you tell me the truth that your brother is your son?” He crossed his arms, unbothered, but there was a flicker of something—guilt, maybe—before it hardened into arrogance. “So what?” he said coldly. “If he’s my son and I hid it, made him my brother—what are you going to do, Elisa? Expose me?” “Yes!” My voice cracked. “You think you can just bury the truth forever? Franco deserves to know—he needs to—” Before I could finish, his hand came down on my face again. The slap echoed through the room. My vision blurred, and pain bloomed across my cheek. He grabbed my arm, yanking me close. His grip was so tight it hurt. His breath hit my skin, warm and threatening. “Do you think I’d let you?” he hissed. “If you expose me, I’ll tell everyone your background is fake. That you’re not rich—that you hired people to pretend to be your family.” “Dave—” The words hit harder than the slap. I could barely breathe. He meant it—every word. He would do it without a shred of remorse. For a moment, I thought maybe it was better if everything came out. I was tired—tired of the lies, the pretending, the weight of secrets. Maybe exposure would finally set me free. But then I thought of my grandmother—frail, her heart weak. If she learned I’d lied about my family just to marry a rich man… she wouldn’t survive it. The image of her collapsing from another heart attack froze me. I couldn’t let that happen. I was about to speak, to fight back, when the door opened. “Enough.” Sandra’s voice cut through the air like a blade. She stepped inside, calm but cold, her eyes flashing with quiet authority. Dave released me instantly, his jaw tightening. Sandra looked between us, then at him. “You wouldn’t dare,” she said icily. “Because if you ruin her and this family collapses with it—I’ll make sure you go down with us. We hid the child for his protection — for Dave and the business. If his rivals found out there’s an illegitimate heir, they’ll use it against him, drag his name through the mud, and destroy everything we’ve built. You love him, Elisa; you should understand that sacrifices are necessary.” I stared at her, confusion mixing with anger. “So… everything you’ve done for me,” I said softly, “was it all fake?” Sandra turned her gaze toward me, unflinching. “You’re the first one who faked everything, Elisa,” she said flatly. “Be thankful I agreed to this marriage at all because you became famous when you were nothing but a cheap girl.” My chest tightened. The world seemed to tilt beneath me. She took a step closer, her perfume sharp in the air. “You’re nothing without us. So don’t you dare ruin this. Got it?” Her words sliced through what was left of my strength. She turned and left, heels clicking against the marble floor, each sound echoing like a final warning. When the door closed, silence fell until Dave spoke again. “You can divorce me, but take note, I know where your grandmother is, and she needs medicine, right?” He left. I stood there, numb, my palms shaking, my face burning from the slap. The air felt heavy—like all the lies I had told, all the pretenses I’d built, were collapsing on top of me. No. I couldn’t just stand here. I couldn’t keep living like this. I gathered my strength and turned toward the door, ready to walk away, ready to end everything—when a familiar voice stopped me. “Still not leaving?” Liana stood there, leaning against the doorway. Her lips curved into a smirk, eyes glinting with amusement. “Are you really that stupid?” I clenched my fists. “Liana, not now—” “You should leave,” she said simply. “Because my sister is here now. She is the mother of Franco and Dave’s greatest love. And she’s the rightful one to be with him.” For a second I almost believed it—divorce, expose everything, walk away from the web of lies. The thought was intoxicatingly simple: leave the name, the money, the false life. But it passed in a breath. Why would I? I’d crawled my way up from nothing; I’d fought for every inch. If Franco and they chose to use me, then I could use them back. I straightened, anger sharpening my voice. “Tell your sister,” I said, stepping forward. “She’ll regret coming back. I won’t give up Dave. If we’re all going to lie, then fine—let’s all suffer with our lies.” I didn’t wait for her reply. I turned and walked out, my heels striking hard against the marble floor. Each step felt like defiance, though inside, my chest ached with something I couldn’t name. That night, I packed my bags. I needed to breathe—to be somewhere far from the city, far from the noise and deceit. I went to the province, to the small house where my grandmother lived—the woman who had raised me when my parents chose my sister over me. When I arrived, she was sitting by the window, her frail hands knitting quietly. Her face lit up when she saw me. “Elisa,” she said, voice soft and warm. “You look tired. Is something wrong?” I forced a smile and shook my head. “Nothing, Mom,” I whispered, kneeling beside her. “I just… wanted to be with you for a while.” She smiled faintly and patted my head. “Then stay. Rest.” For the next few days, I tried to. I cooked for her, walked along the fields, pretended that the air could wash away what I’d done, what I’d become. But peace never came. Every quiet moment was filled with echoes of Dave’s voice, Liana’s smirk, Sandra’s threats. When I finally decided to return to the city, I opened my phone for the first time in days. Dozens of missed calls from Dave flashed on the screen. My stomach twisted, unsure if it was guilt or dread. At the airport, I barely had time to think before cameras and microphones were shoved into my face. Reporters shouted my name, flashes blinding me. “Mrs. Morales, is it true that Franco is your husband’s illegitimate child?” “Did you know about it before you married him?” The noise blurred into chaos. My bag slipped from my hand. My pulse pounded in my ears. My whole world spun—and then everything went black.

The door slammed behind us with a violent thud. Dave’s face was pale with fury as he turned toward me, his jaw tight, eyes wild. “Was it you?” he shouted, voice echoing through the room. “Were you the one who told the media about Franco?” My chest tightened. “What are you talking about?” He took a step closer, hands trembling. “Don’t play dumb with me, Elisa! Everyone knows now—everyone! Franco’s been crying in his room for hours, terrified to go to school, humiliated! Who else would know about it if not you? Didn’t we talk about this, if you do this then I will ruin your career!” “Dave, no!” I said, tears springing to my eyes. “Why would I ever do that? You think I’d use a child for revenge? I was as shocked as you are! I would never—” “Then who?” he barked. “You’re the only one with motive! You wanted payback!” He didn’t wait for my answer. He grabbed my wrist, dragged me toward our bedroom, and pushed me inside. The lock clicked behind me. “Stay there,” he said coldly. “I can’t even stand to look at you right now! How dare you ruin this family!?” The sound of his footsteps faded, and I sank to the floor, shaking. My chest ached with every breath. I could still hear Franco’s cries faintly from the other room, each sob cutting through me like a knife. Yes, I hated Dave’s lie, but I love Franco… like a brother. I thought about it, but decided just to let everything go—for the sake of peace. And now this? I decided to call my trusted man to investigate what happened… who leaked everything. I pressed my hand over my belly, feeling the faint flutter beneath. “It’s okay,” I whispered. “It’s going to be okay, baby.” But the words felt empty. My tears wouldn’t stop. The pressure in my chest grew heavier, and then—warmth. Wetness. I looked down and saw red blooming through the fabric of my dress. “No… no, please,” I gasped, clutching my stomach. Pain tore through me, sharp and deep. My vision blurred as I tried to stand, but the world tilted, and everything went black. When I woke up, the smell of antiseptic filled the air. My hands were cold. A doctor stood beside the bed, his eyes heavy with pity. “Mrs. Morales,” he said quietly, “I’m sorry… but you lost the baby due to so much stress.” The words shattered me. I couldn’t even cry at first. I just stared at the ceiling, my mind blank. My baby. Gone. And everything was in mess. Surely, my lie would be exposed soon. What would I do, then? Then the tears came—silent, endless. But before I could even breathe, the door burst open. Sandra stormed in, her face twisted with anger. “Do you realize what you’ve done?” she hissed. “Do you know how this looks for us? The news, the scandal, and now this—another mess to clean up!” I looked at her, still dazed. “I just lost my child,” I whispered. Not even Dave cared about it now, he only cared about his public image. She crossed her arms. “And whose fault is that? Maybe if you weren’t so dramatic, so desperate to play the victim—” “Enough!” I shouted, voice cracking. “I’m so done with this!” But then another voice cut in. Liana. She stood by the doorway, smirking. “Because of you, my sister has gone insane,” she said coldly. “You destroyed her family, ruined Franco, and you still act like you’re the victim? Pathetic.” The room spun again, chaos pressing in from all sides. Sandra and Liana’s voices clashed, cruel words raining down on me until I could barely hear myself think. Then Dave appeared. His expression was unreadable—exhausted, furious, empty. “Enough!” he barked, silencing them. His gaze fell on me. “You’re going to fix this, Elisa. You’ll go back to work. You’ll do the broadcast tonight and deny everything. Lie if you have to—you’re good at that, aren’t you? Tell me it’s not true, or maybe tell that Franco is our son! Do everything in order to fix this or your career will be the one ruined next!” I stared at him, my heart breaking all over again. He waited for a response, but I said nothing. I just nodded weakly. That evening, I sat before the studio lights, the camera red dot blinking like an eye staring straight into my soul. My script lay untouched. My hands trembled. The producer’s voice echoed through the earpiece. “We’re live in five… four…” I took a deep breath. “Good evening,” I began. “This is Elisa Morales.” I paused, feeling the lump rise in my throat. “Before tonight’s report, I need to say something—not as an anchor, but as a woman who has lived too long behind lies.” The crew froze. The control room went silent. “I didn’t know Franco was my husband’s son,” I said, voice steady despite the shaking. “I was deceived—just like everyone else. And yes, I lied too. I faked my background to fit into a world that never truly wanted me. But I’m done pretending.” I took off my mic, tears slipping down my cheeks. “I’m stepping down from this position… and from this life of lies.” Then I walked off set. Later that night, my phone buzzed nonstop—calls, messages, voicemails from Dave, from Sandra, from everyone. I didn’t read a single one. I blocked his number. Then I called my lawyer. “Send the divorce papers,” I said quietly. “And do everything so he would never hear from me again.” Within the hour, I packed my bags. No more pretending. No more pain. At dawn, I boarded the first flight out. The sky outside the window turned gold, and for the first time in years, I felt light. I closed my eyes, whispering to the child I’d lost and the woman I used to be. “It’s over,” I said. “No more lies.”

“Find her!” Dave’s voice thundered through the office. Papers scattered from the desk as he slammed his hand down. “She’s not some random person off the street—she’s Elisa Morales! Everyone knows her face, her name, her story! How can no one find her?” His assistant stood frozen, trembling. “Sir, we’ve checked all the local hotels, hospitals, even airports. No record of her anywhere. It’s like she vanished.” “Vanished?” Dave repeated, his voice cracking. “She’s famous. People don’t just disappear when they’re famous!” Another man from security cleared his throat. “Sir… we think she paid someone off. Or… someone’s helping her hide.” Dave’s chest tightened. The world around him started to blur—the sound of phones ringing, people whispering outside, all fading into static. He turned toward the big screen on the wall, still replaying the clip that had destroyed everything. “I didn’t leak anything about Franco. I love that boy. I would never use him to hurt anyone. But yes, I lied about who I was. I regret it every day. I’m stepping down, and I’m done.” Her voice. Her face. The tears that fell so quietly while she spoke the truth. Now it was everywhere—every channel, every headline. Elisa Morales Confesses. Dave Morales’ Brother Revealed to be his illegitimate son. The company stock had dropped overnight. Sponsors were backing out. His rivals were circling like vultures, using his family’s humiliation to strengthen their campaigns. He felt the air leave his lungs. His world—the one he built so carefully—was collapsing. The office door burst open. Sandra stormed in, eyes flashing. “What have you done?!” she hissed. “Do you have any idea how much shame you’ve brought to this family? I was right. You should have never let her hold the mic again, and so now she twist it, and where is she now?” “Mother, not now.” “Not now?” she snapped. “The board is demanding answers! The investors are panicking! And you—you just stood by while that woman went on live television and destroyed everything we’ve built!” His father, David, followed behind, calm but cold. “You should’ve controlled this from the beginning. You let her get too close… believing you can control her. Now look where it’s led us.” Dave clenched his fists. “Enough.” “Excuse me?” Sandra glared. “I said enough!” he roared, the sound echoing against the walls. “I’m trying to fix this, but you’re not helping by throwing blame around!” Sandra’s face hardened. “Then fix it fast. Because if you don’t, there won’t be anything left to fix.” He stormed past them, chest burning. “I’ll handle it my way.” He ordered the butler to prepare the car. “To the countryside,” he said. “To Elisa’s grandmother’s place. That’s the only place she’d go.” The drive was long and tense. Rainclouds gathered as the car sped down the empty road, the air thick with the scent of an approaching storm. Halfway through the drive, his phone rang. Liana. He hesitated before answering. “What?” “Dave—please,” Liana’s voice trembled. “It’s my sister. She… she tried to kill herself. They found her unconscious. She’s at the hospital. She just wants to be with you and Franco. Now that you actually broke up with Elisa, maybe you can be together—” He gripped the wheel tighter, eyes fixed on the road. “And why are you telling me this?” “Because she needs you!” He gave a bitter laugh. “Need me? Did she forget that she was the one who left me? She didn’t even want our child back then, so I had to raise him as my brother. Now? I don’t care anymore, Liana. I shouldn’t have cared at all.” That was his mistake. When Liana first came back, he’d wondered—foolishly—if the past could be rewritten. If maybe she still loved him, and they could start again. She had been his first love, after all, the woman he once thought he couldn’t live without. But it didn’t take long to see the truth. Whatever they’d had was gone, hollow, replaced by convenience and pretense. He didn’t love her—not anymore. So he stopped trying and honestly want to focus on Elisa. Yet now, as everything around him fell apart, he realized how every choice since then—every lie, every silence—had led him to this exact ruin. “Dave—” He ended the call. Silence filled the car again, but his mind wasn’t quiet. Images of Elisa flooded back—her soft laughter in the mornings, the way she would tilt her head when she was thinking, how she always defended Franco when he got into trouble. He remembered how she’d once told him, “I can handle the lies, Dave. Just don’t ever make me lie to myself.” He thought she’d never leave. She loved her work, her reputation, her spotlight. He thought she’d choose those over anything else. Had he miscalculated her that badly? The plane ride to the province was quiet. He sat by the window, staring at the fading clouds, remembering the way she used to fall asleep on his shoulder during flights. His chest ached with something between regret and disbelief. By the time he reached the small town, the rain had started to fall. The road was muddy, the air heavy with the smell of wet earth. He stopped in front of the old wooden house—the one Elisa had mentioned once when she spoke about her grandmother. He stepped out, drenched within seconds, and called out, Granny! Granny, it’s me—Dave! Is Elisa here?” No answer. He called again, louder. Still nothing. He tried knocking on the door, again and again, until his hands hurt. Finally, an old woman from across the road appeared, holding an umbrella. “She’s not here anymore,” the woman said softly. “Left two nights ago with her granddaughter. Didn’t say where they were going.” Dave froze. “What do you mean she left?” “She just… packed and left. Said will start a new life with her granddaughter.” He turned his gaze toward the empty house. Rain trickled down his face, cold and relentless. He stood there for a long moment, the storm swallowing every sound but the beating of his heart. His phone buzzed in his pocket again. A message from his lawyer. He opened it, hands trembling. The court has granted Elisa’s petition for divorce. The judgment is final. You are no longer a couple.