My Wife's Neglect Ended Our Marriage

At our son’s first birthday banquet, my wife ordered a special dish—just for her assistant.

Without hesitation, I messaged my lawyer friend to draft a divorce agreement.

When Georgia saw the document, she laughed in disbelief, eyes burning with fury. “Out of a hundred dishes at the banquet, you fixated on the one I ordered for Reniel?”

“Can you rein in your possessiveness for once?”

“You can call it whatever you want,” I replied calmly. “Either way, I’m done with this marriage.”

——

By the time I rushed back into the banquet hall, her assistant had taken the seat that used to belong to me.

Wearing a suit perfectly color-coordinated with Georgia’s, he carried himself like the man of the hour—confident, comfortable, like he owned the place.

“He and President Herrera look really good together,” someone whispered behind me.

“They go to work together every day. Who knows, maybe they’re even living together now.”

The words pierced like invisible daggers to my heart, making my chest tighten.

As soon as I returned, Reniel gave a meek apology.

“Sir, I’m so sorry for spilling wine on your clothes earlier. You’re not mad, right?”

Before I could speak, Georgia cut in, her voice sharp with sarcasm. “Don’t I know what kind of person you are?”

“Go sit at Table Three. I ordered you a bowl of porridge.”

The guests praised her attentiveness.

“She’s so considerate—he mentioned a stomachache, and President Herrera immediately ordered porridge.”

“He hurt his foot and she personally applied a bandage.”

“A woman that is attentive... Reniel is really lucky.”

I forced a smile, even as my nails dug into my palms.

Georgia used to despise incompetence.

There were times she would fire an assistant just for printing one extra name tag. Yet here she was, displaying a patience I hadn’t seen from her in years—not even toward me.

“This banquet is about our son,” she said blandly, offering no explanation for any of it. “Let’s not make it about us.”

Just as I tried to rise, she stopped me with a hand on my arm.

“Oh, I forgot to mention—I've already decided who will be Lewis’s godfather.”

Before I could react, Reniel stepped forward and fastened a protective charm around my son’s neck.

He pressed a kiss on Lewis’s cheek and gently said, “From now on, I’m Lewis’s daddy too.”

He looked up at me, smugness and provocation written all over his face.

The ceremony was deliberately kept simple, but just as it was about to conclude, Georgia interrupted the host.

“According to tradition, to acknowledge a godfather, Lewis should bow to Reniel.”

I frowned. “He’s only one-year-old. Making him bow could cause suffocation or brain injury.”

“Can you think before you speak?” Georgia snapped. “Is Lewis really incapable of bowing—or do you just resent who I chose as his godfather?”

“That's enough, President Herrera,” Reniel interjected with a mild smile. “The safety charm was symbolic. That’s enough ceremony.”

In his words, the woman who had just been arguing with me cooled instantly.

“I’d like to say a few blessings for Lewis, if I may?” He smiled.

Georgia gave him a subtle nod of approval, and a microphone was placed in his hand.

I glanced at the table. A wine glass, still holding the dregs of red wine, caught my eye.

Reniel smiled as he began to speak. “I heard Lewis was a test tube baby.”

“Now that I see him up close... he really does seem to lack a bit of soul.”

“Test tube babies must be terribly delicate. Must’ve been tough on you, Emerson.”

“Oh, and by the way, does Lewis know he came from a lab—”

Smack.

I stepped off the stage and struck him across the face.

His head jerked sideways, eyes welling up with tears.

Smack.

This time, it was Georgia. Her expression was cold as ice as she coldly spat, “That one was for Reniel.”