He Treated Me Like Trash, So I Gifted Him Divorce Papers

The cool night air clung to my skin as I walked toward the university parking lot. My driver, Thomas, straightened when he saw me approach. His eyes flickered with quiet concern—he must have noticed how pale I looked, how tightly I held myself together.

“Ma’am Kamilla,” he said gently, opening the back door of the car. “You’re finished for the night?”

I nodded quickly, not trusting my voice. My throat was raw, my chest tight. I slipped inside the car, clutching my purse like it was the only thing holding me upright.

As Thomas pulled onto the road, the silence pressed heavily. The city lights blurred outside the window, but my mind wasn’t on them. It was still back in that study hall, where Anthony’s lips had branded another woman like they used to brand me.

The echo of his words looped endlessly. She’s nothing but an airhead bitch. My nails dug into my palms. Six years of marriage, and that was all I amounted to in his eyes.

I forced a breath, pulled my phone from my bag, and scrolled to a number I never thought I would dial at midnight. Jamille Santos—my lawyer, my friend’s cousin. She had handled Clara’s separation two years ago with razor-sharp precision.

The line rang once before she answered. “Kamilla? It’s late. Is something wrong?”

I swallowed, steadying my voice. “I need your help. I… I want a divorce.”

There was silence on the other end, then a sharp exhale. “What happened?”

I pressed my forehead to the cool window glass. “I caught Anthony tonight. With Maris. He didn’t see me, but… I heard everything. He called me worthless. Said I’d never know.” My voice trembled, but it wasn’t grief anymore—it was rage.

Jamille’s tone hardened, professional yet laced with sympathy. “You did the right thing calling me. Do you want me to prepare the papers tonight?”

“Yes,” I whispered, gripping the phone tighter. “Tomorrow is our anniversary. I want him to receive them then. I don’t want gifts. I don’t want flowers. I want my freedom.”

Jamille’s pause was brief, resolute. “Consider it done. I’ll draft everything now. You’ll have the documents ready by morning.”

“Thank you,” I murmured, a weight lifting off my chest. For the first time in hours, I felt like I was breathing again.

When I ended the call, I closed my eyes and let the hum of the car settle me. I wasn’t broken. Not anymore.

By morning, the world hadn’t changed, but I had.

The sun streamed weakly through my curtains, gilding the bedroom Anthony and I once shared. I stared at the space where his side of the bed should’ve carried warmth. It was cold, empty, untouched. Fitting.

Jamille’s courier arrived at dawn. A thick envelope rested in my hands, heavier than it should have been. Divorce papers. Freedom bound in legal ink.

I didn’t linger. I dressed simply—no makeup, no frills. Just black slacks, a cream blouse, and my resolve. Clara texted me three times to ask if I was sure. I didn’t bother replying.

By ten o’clock, Thomas and I pulled up in front of DEKKU University. The campus was on business now, a bustling crowd over there, students rushing in and out of buildings, completely unaware that one professor’s Pandora's box was about to crack open.

I stepped out, the envelope clutched in my hand. A secretary at the faculty office looked up as I entered. “Good morning, Mrs. Foster,” she greeted warmly.

“Good morning,” I replied, my smile tight but polite. I set the envelope on her desk. “Please give this to Professor Anthony Foster. It’s urgent.”

She nodded, oblivious. “Of course.”

I turned on my heel before she could ask questions. My heels clicked down the corridor like punctuation marks to the end of a chapter.

---

Hours later, I was at home when my phone buzzed against the table. Anthony’s name flashed across the screen. For a moment, I considered ignoring it. But curiosity won. I answered the call.

“Kamilla!” His voice thundered through the line, raw with disbelief and anger. “What the hell is this?!”

I let the silence stretch, savoring it.

“You filed for divorce?!” he barked. “On our anniversary? Are you insane?!”

My lips curved in the faintest of smiles. “You read the papers, Anthony. You know exactly why.”

He cursed under his breath, fury dripping with each syllable. “You think you can just walk away from me? No. I won’t allow it. This isn’t happening, Kamilla.”

But his rage only fueled my calm. I whispered the words I had promised myself the night before. “It already happened, Anthony. You can’t stop me now.”

And before he could spew another lie, I ended the call.