Chapter 4

Abigail's POV

"What difference does it make whether she knows or not?" Nicholas's voice was as cold as a winter night wind. "Nobody in the outside world knows about our marriage anyway."

My face instantly lost all color, as if someone had slapped me hard.

"You'd better behave yourself," he continued, his tone infuriatingly calm. "Don't cause trouble with Olivia, and you can continue being Mrs. Jackson."

These words pierced my heart like nails, one by one, crushing my self-esteem. I forced myself to maintain a calm expression, not letting him see the turmoil inside me. Anger, humiliation, and grief churned in my chest, almost making it impossible to breathe.

Nicholas stood up, straightened his shirt, and left the living room without looking back. As if this conversation, as if I, wasn't worth another second of his time.

I sat motionless on the sofa, spending the entire night staring blankly into the darkness, looking at the ceiling, trying to understand how I had ended up here.

The next morning, I sat stiffly in the bright examination room at the hospital while the doctor reviewed my test results. His frown deepened, and a cold dread slowly sank to the pit of my stomach.

"Ms. Rodriguez," he finally spoke, "I'm afraid the results aren't promising. Your heart condition is very serious."

I stared at him blankly, my mind empty.

"At this point, we can only pursue conservative treatment," he added, his voice becoming distant and blurry in my ears. "We'll need to monitor your condition closely..."

I clutched the diagnosis report tightly, my knuckles turning white. The complex medical terms swam before my eyes, blurring together. In that moment, I felt the fragility of life with unprecedented clarity—the future suddenly becoming short and uncertain.

Instinctively, I still dialed Nicholas's number. Despite everything that had happened, I still craved his comfort and support. My world was collapsing, and I desperately hoped he would pull me back from the edge.

The phone rang four times before he answered.

"What is it?" His voice was cold and impatient.

"I went to the hospital today," I tried to keep my voice steady. "I got some test results—"

An airport announcement came through from his end: "Flight AA394 from London has now arrived at Gate 12."

"I'm busy right now," Nicholas interrupted me. "We'll talk later." With that, the call was disconnected.

I sat there motionless, the phone still pressed to my ear. Tears silently slid down my face as the weight of loneliness and despair nearly crushed me. Never before had I felt so utterly alone and helpless.

Leaving the hospital, I sat on a bench for a long time, my legs weak. I mindlessly scrolled through my phone, trying to distract myself. That's when I saw a recently posted photo—Nicholas and Olivia at the airport, walking side by side through the terminal.

So this was his "important business meeting." All those late nights at work, canceled dates, and distant excuses suddenly became clear. His so-called "work" was actually Olivia.

A cold sense of clarity washed over me. No matter how hard I tried, no matter how humbly I gave, I could never become the most important person in Nicholas's heart. I had spent three years trying to win over a man whose heart already belonged to someone else.

My diagnosis and this final betrayal hit like two heavy hammers, leaving me feeling hollow inside. What was the point of continuing to struggle? Should I endure several more years as his secret wife, hidden in the shadows, while he shared the sunlight of life with another woman?

In my bewilderment, George's kind face appeared in my mind. The concern and gentleness in his voice during last night's call stood in stark contrast to Nicholas's coldness. I suddenly realized I couldn't go on consuming myself like this. I didn't want to slowly wither away in a marriage that existed only on paper.

Rather than desperately clinging to what little dignity remained, I would leave with grace. Even if my remaining time was limited, I would live for myself, no longer letting Nicholas's indifference dictate my life.

Back home, I felt an unprecedented clarity and resolve. I sat at my desk, carefully drafting divorce papers. As I organized my thoughts, memories from the past three years flashed through my mind—the initial tenderness, the gradual coldness, countless lonely nights.

The agreement was simple: voluntary divorce, no claim to property, wishing Nicholas well. I just wanted a clean break, to end the suffering once and for all.

Tears occasionally blurred my vision, but I quickly wiped them away. This was no time for regrets. When I signed my name at the bottom of the document, I felt an unexpected lightness wash over me. As if I had finally put down a burden I'd been carrying for too long.

I decided not to tell Nicholas about my condition. This was my own battle, not something to be used to gain his sympathy or make him stay out of guilt. Whatever time I had left, I would live it on my own terms.

That night, I sat by the window, watching the city lights twinkle like stars. The future remained unclear, but for the first time in years, I felt an almost peaceful resignation. I had finally taken control of the one thing I still could—my choice to leave.

I placed the divorce agreement on Nicholas's desk in his study and sent him a text message: "Divorce agreement in your study, please review."

Nicholas's POV

I returned home late, irritable from days of meetings. The house was quiet; Abigail had probably gone to bed. I walked into my study, intending to handle some paperwork, when I noticed a folder on my desk and a text notification.

Divorce agreement in your study, please review.

I frowned, opening the folder and scanning the concise agreement. Anger suddenly flared in my chest, hot and painful. Was she really this eager to leave me?

My thoughts involuntarily returned to the day she had begged me to help Bruce. They weren't even blood relatives. Now that Bruce was about to return to the country, all the clues connected—she wanted to be with him. This sudden divorce agreement was merely her paving the way for herself.

This thought bothered me more than I had imagined. Although our marriage was just a transaction, it was also something I had long anticipated.

I didn't sign it. Instead, I locked the agreement in my drawer. Let her wait a while longer. I wasn't ready to give her the freedom she wanted.