A soft voice floated from the living room.

"Rafe, I can't open this jar of nuts. Can you help me?"

He dropped my hand like it burned and walked out.

The little cuts on my fingers stung, but that pain was nothing compared to the one sitting heavy in my chest.

Dinner was pure torture. Rafe sat at the head of the table, Carmela and me on either side. He kept serving her food, refilling her glass—every move dripping with affection that wasn't meant for me.

I stared at my plate, doing everything I could not to meet her smug little grin.

My phone buzzed.

[Don't pretend you didn't see that. I know you're watching.]

No need to check who it was.

I bit my lip and ignored it. I was already leaving; she wasn't dragging me down again.

But of course, Carmela wasn't finished showing off.

She stood, lifted a bowl of soup, and smiled that fake-sweet smile.

"Mia, thanks for cooking. Let me serve you some soup." Her gaze slid down from my belly to my pale face.

"This is Rafe's favorite chicken soup," she added. "I used to make it all the time."

She leaned in, pushing the bowl toward me like we were best friends.

"Here, try—"

The spoon slipped. Hot soup splashed over my hand.

"Ah!" I hissed as my skin went red.

Carmela froze, then launched into performance mode.

"Rafe! I didn't mean to! My hand slipped!" Tears sparkled on cue.

Rafe jumped up immediately. "Carmela!" He grabbed her hand, all frantic concern. "Does it hurt? Did it burn you?"

I stood there, fingers trembling as the soup slid down my wrist. He didn't even look my way. Or maybe he did—and just didn't care.

He bent close to her, voice soft enough to make me sick.

"It's fine. Don't be scared. I'll get the medicine."

A flicker of triumph flashed in her eyes before she lowered them again.

"Rafe, maybe check on Mia too. It's my fault... if she's hurt, I'll feel awful."

Only then did he look up. "Mia, did you get burned?"

I almost laughed. "No." My voice was barely there.

I put down my utensils and left.

He started to follow until Carmela grabbed his arm. "Rafe, my hand really hurts."

He stopped. Of course he did.

When the door shut behind me, silence finally wrapped around the house.

Leaning against it, I felt the burn in my palm pulse with my heartbeat as tears slipped down.

Then my phone lit up.

[All assets are accounted for. You can leave anytime. The divorce agreement is ready. Should I send it?]

I typed back: [Yes.]

Two minutes later, the fax machine started humming.

Page after page slid out—bold letters across white paper: Divorce Agreement.

The sound of it printing was louder than goodbye.

I took the papers and knocked on Rafe's study door.

He looked up, frowning. "More company files?"

"Yeah." I tried to keep my voice steady.

He took the stack and skimmed—

Then Carmela's scream cut through the air.

"Rafe! My stomach hurts!"

His expression changed. Without thinking, he grabbed a pen, signed his name, and tossed it down.

"I'll handle it when I get back."

He ran out.

I stared at his signature until the ink blurred. My heart felt completely still.

I left the signed agreement and my wedding ring on the desk.

When the plane lifted off, the lights of Borevia City melted into the clouds.

I was finally free.

Carrying the last bit of warmth inside me, I flew toward a new life.