Chapter 6
Brandon refused to sign the divorce papers.
I didn’t argue; I quickly handed the case to my lawyer and filed for divorce.
I submitted my resignation, but Brandon didn’t approve it, so I applied for vacation leave instead.
After supporting his startup, I hadn’t taken a break in ages.
Now, I stood at the front door with my suitcase, hesitating to knock when the door swung
open.
My mom walked out with a bag of groceries.
Seeing me, she froze for a moment, her expression shifting. “Why are you back alone? Where’s Brandon?”
When I didn’t answer, she scoffed. “Most people come home in style; you’re here because you can’t make it out there. Did you and Brandon have a fight, or are you just here to crawl back to your mom?”
It was true; no one knew me like my mother. She could tell I was in rough shape, but she still scolded me sharply. “I must have really hit rock bottom to have a daughter like you! You can’t get pregnant, can’t keep a man. You’ve been married for years and never contributed a dime to this family. What’s the point of having you?”
I shot back, “Brandon and I give you tens of thousands of dollars each year!”
She sneered, “Tens of thousands? Is that even real money? After all these years, that’s all you can bring home? How low can you get? If I’d known you were only worth this much, I might as well have stopped paying for your education and let you sell yourself. At least then, I’d get something back!”
Her words were nothing short of poison. I stood there, silent, as she let loose a barrage of hurtful comments.
I realized I must have been hurt too deeply outside to think I could find warmth back home. When I turned to leave without saying a word, my mom chased after me. Before I could react, she splashed a bucket of cold water at my feet. “Your brother’s winter break is coming up. This is to wash away your bad luck! And if Brandon doesn’t bring home a million dollars this year, don’t bother coming back for New Year!”
As I walked away, I could still hear my mom yelling, “Stop wasting money! Your brother’s getting married, and you better buy him a nice place in the city!”
I clenched my fists, but I just couldn’t bring myself to tell her I was divorced.
Maybe it was because I hadn’t been home in so long, but I felt a foolish hope that I might hear something comforting from my mom. The cold, damp fabric of my pants clung to my ankles, echoing the chill in my heart.
Brandon was so sure I could never leave him; maybe he knew he was my only safe haven. Outside of him, I felt like I had nowhere to turn.
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I didn’t want to go back to the city center, so I booked a hotel nearby. As I settled in, I realized it was the same room where Brandon and I had once stayed together.
It was my senior year, just after Brandon and I started dating.
On Christmas Eve, my mom had exploded on me, hitting and berating me over nothing. When midnight struck, Brandon called. I was feeling low, but I forced a smile on the phone.
On Christmas morning, my mom saw my puffy red eyes and lost it, calling me a jinx. She left with my dad and little brother for a day of fun.
I was left alone at home, lost in my thoughts when suddenly, I got a message from Brandon: [Look downstairs).
Confused, I walked to the window and was shocked to see him standing right outside my building.
He must have sensed I was in trouble during our call and rushed to find me, catching a train without even packing a bag—just his phone in hand.
When he saw me at the window, he tilted his head back and gave me the warmest smile.
At that moment, the ice in my heart began to thaw.
That day, we wandered hand in hand, exploring every street near my house. Despite the heavy snow falling around us and the freezing cold, holding his hand felt like stepping into spring.
That night, we stayed in this very hotel.
Fireworks lit up the night sky outside, and we talked for hours, sharing secrets under the shimmering display.
He looked deeply into my eyes, his expression serious as he said, “Sylvia, let’s get married after graduation. We can be each other’s only family. I want to be with you forever.”
A knock at the door snapped me back to reality.
Frowning, I realized I hadn’t called for room service.
When I opened the door, I thought I was imagining things.
“Sylvia.” Brandon stood there in a deep gray coat, tall and composed, looking at me with hope in his eyes.
After a brief moment of shock, I remembered my travel app was linked to Brandon’s email, which explained how he knew where I was.
He must have thought that traveling this far would win me over.
But all I could manage was a flat, “I won’t change my mind. Don’t waste your time.”
His eyes darkened, and he shook his head, his voice softening as he pleaded, “It’s been days; you should be over this by now. I miss you. Let’s go home.”
I was annoyed by his misplaced confidence and snapped back, “I’ll say this one last time: I’m not mad. I just don’t want to see you again. Please leave.”
Brandon refused to move. He humbled himself, confessing, “I know I messed up, but I swear I’ll never make that mistake again. I’ve already fired Jenna. I won’t see her again!
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Please, believe me, Sylvia!”
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I replied coolly, “I believe you. But the divorce isn’t about Jenna. Even if you never cheat on me again, I won’t love you. Brandon, we’re just not right for each other.”
He seemed taken aback as if I’d just told him the biggest joke. “Not right for each other? You once said we were the perfect match!”
A smirk crept onto my lips as I shot back, “Oh really? You also promised at our wedding to love and cherish me forever. Have you done that? After I shielded you from alcohol, I spent all night with a headache while you held me and said that once we were rich, I’d never have to suffer like that again. Have you made that happen?”
He looked taken aback by my question, guilt washing over his face.
Neither Brandon nor I had a strong tolerance for alcohol, but there were times when we had to drink for business. Especially in the early days of our startup, when he was still trying to make a name for himself, he felt the pressure to down every drink whenever he made a toast. I ended up covering for him more times than I could count at those tables. In fact, many of our long–term clients today were the result of those conversations I had
while he drank.
He had seen me stumble home after those nights, my head pounding and barely able to function. He knew all of that, yet he still pressured me to join Johnson for a drink, all to prove a point to Jenna. Time had passed, and those fiery promises we once exchanged had turned pale and ridiculous.
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Chapter 7
