They were finally dragged out of the room, but not before leaving me with a venomous warning: if I divorced Evan, they wouldn’t return a single cent of the wedding expenses, leaving me to figure out how to pay off the debt myself.
Moments later, a message lit up my phone. It was from Evan, sent using Anne’s account.
“You see it now, don’t you? Your family doesn’t love you. No one in this world will ever love you except me.”
Because of my difficult upbringing, I had always been deeply insecure, too afraid to let anyone know the truth. Only after meeting Evan had I dared to open up about my family.
Back then, his eyes were full of pity, and he whispered countless promises in my ear, assuring me he would love me enough to make up for everything I lacked.
But over time, that promise twisted into something darker: the idea that only he could ever love me.
There was a time when those words would have terrified me, leaving me awake all night, haunted by dreams of abandonment.
But now, I silently told myself, “It’s okay, Claire. I love you.”
The first step in loving myself was cutting off everyone who tried to manipulate me.
I blocked every contact I had with my family and Evan. Then I washed the tear stains from my face with warm water and closed my eyes for the first peaceful sleep I’d had in years.
On the day I was discharged, I went home to pack my belongings.
To my surprise, Evan returned with Anne. I had assumed he’d spend the entirety of our honeymoon with her, but there he was, back the very next day.
He glared at the box in my hands, his expression dark.
“Claire, I heard you were sick. I transferred through multiple flights overnight to rush back. Isn’t that proof enough of how much I love you? What more do you want?”
I didn’t look at him, calmly continuing to pack my things. My voice was steady as I said, “I want a divorce.”