Part 2Farewell To My Cold Wife

Victoria gripped the pen so hard I thought the brass would snap. The fire in her eyes flared into an inferno.

"Nathaniel, you need to learn when to back down, before you push this past the point of no return! Do I really have to spell this out for you?!"

With a violent swing of her arm, she hurled the pen. It slammed against the custom wallpaper, shattering the casing and splattering black ink across the hardwood floor.

Spencer jumped, dropping his folders.

I flinched, a tremor running through my spine.

The temperature in the room plummeted.

Breathing heavily, Spencer knelt to gather the scattered papers, then stepped closer to Victoria. He placed a gentle, grounding hand on her shoulder.

"Victoria," he murmured, his voice infuriatingly soft. "Stress is bad for your health. Just talk to him."

That quiet, soothing tone worked like magic. The tension bled out of Victoria's shoulders.

Before she could speak, the rapid patter of bare feet echoed from the stairs. Mia came running down, her little face scrunched in panic.

Maria, our nanny, was right behind her, clutching a pair of slippers. "Mia, sweetheart, please put your shoes on! If you catch a cold, your father will be so worried."

I stood frozen as my five-year-old daughter ran right past me. She threw her arms around Spencer’s legs, looking up at him, checking him over frantically.

"Spencer, don't be scared!" she squeaked. "I'll protect you! I won't let anyone hurt you."

Spencer smiled a soft, practiced smile and ruffled her hair. "Thank you, Mia. But shouldn't you put your slippers on? If you get sick, your dad will be sad. Maria, I'll take those."

Only then did Mia look at me. Her little upper lip curled in obvious disdain.

Maria stood there, paralyzed by the sheer awkwardness of the room, terrified of making a move that would offend the wrong person.

"Give them to me," I said quietly.

I took the small pink slippers from the nanny, walked over to my daughter, and knelt on the floor.

"Shoes on, Mia."

Instead of listening, Mia grabbed a heavy crystal ashtray from the coffee table and hurled it blindly at me.

"I don't want you to help me!"

The heavy glass struck my forehead. The skin split instantly, warm blood trickling down into my eyebrow.

Spencer let out a gasp and scrambled to find the first-aid kit.

Victoria didn't move. she just stared at the blood on my face, her eyes icy. "Are you happy now? Is this the scene you wanted?"

Even now. Even with blood on my face, she thought I was just acting out.

Looking at them—Victoria, Spencer, and Mia—I realized something profound. They looked like a family.

I had poured eight years of my life into this house, and I was leaving with nothing but empty hands.

I slowly reached down, picked up the ashtray, and set it perfectly back in its place.

Victoria watched me in silence for a long time. Maybe the sight of me, bleeding and quietly tidying up, finally sparked a flicker of pity in her. She stepped forward and reached for my arm.

"Stop cleaning," she said, her voice dropping a fraction. "The staff will do it. Just... stop looking for a fight, and we can move past this."

I ignored her hand, sat down on the sofa, and slid the divorce papers back across the marble table toward her.

"Are you ready to sign now?"

"Nathaniel!"

Victoria snapped. She shot up, glaring down at me with absolute fury. "You just won't let it go, will you?! Fine! You want a divorce? You can have it. But don't even think about getting custody of Mia!"

I had raised Mia with my own two hands. While Victoria chased her corporate ambitions, I was the one changing diapers, pureeing peas, and staying awake for 48 hours straight when the fevers spiked. I had sacrificed my own identity to be the safety net Victoria needed to conquer the boardroom.

Despite Mia’s growing coldness toward me over the years, I had never stopped pouring every ounce of my love into her. Victoria knew Mia was my anchor. She thought she had the ultimate trump card.

She was wrong.

The moment Mia had looked at Spencer with adoration while hurling glass at my head, the tether snapped. I had already let my daughter go.

"I'm forfeiting custody," I said, my voice eerily calm. "I’ll also leave my mother’s jewelry behind. Consider it my contribution to her trust fund. You don't have to worry, Victoria. The second this paper goes through, I will vanish from Mia’s life. You’ll never have to explain me to her again."

The massive living room fell dead silent. You could hear the hum of the refrigerator two rooms over.

Then, Mia’s high-pitched voice sliced through the quiet.

"Good! I hate having you as my dad anyway! I want Spencer to be my dad!"

She was five. She probably didn't grasp the agonizing weight of those words.

My chest caved in. A dull, suffocating pain radiated from my heart. I slowly bent forward, pressing my palms against my face, forcing myself to swallow the bitter, jagged grief clawing up my throat.

Victoria didn't reprimand her. Instead, she turned her wrath entirely on me.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Nathaniel?! Are you happy now? Are you satisfied that you've turned your own daughter against you and torn this family apart?!"

She lashed out, swiping her hand across the coffee table. The cracked ashtray went flying again, shattering loudly against the floorboards.

Mia burst into tears. She buried her face in Spencer’s chest, sobbing. "Spencer, I'm scared! Tell Mommy to stop yelling! She only listens to you..."

Spencer rubbed her back in slow, soothing circles.

"Victoria, you promised me you wouldn't lose your temper," he said softly. "Please, speak to him calmly."

Then, he turned his wide, apologetic eyes to me. "Nathaniel, please don't take it to heart. She's just angry. It's my fault for tonight. I shouldn't have ordered the food. I promise, I won't attend another family dinner. Please, just make peace with her."

There were actual tears pooling in Spencer’s eyes. He looked like a tragic peacemaker, sacrificing himself for our marriage. The sight of it made me want to vomit.

I looked at Victoria. Despite her raging temper, Spencer's words had worked. She had instantly quieted down.

A laugh bubbled up in my chest. I laughed so hard the tears I’d been holding back finally spilled over.

"Tell me, Spencer," I wheezed, wiping my eyes. "In what capacity exactly are you playing marriage counselor for my wife and me?"

"I—I—Nathaniel, you misunderstand!" Spencer stammered, stepping back. "Victoria and I are strictly professional! Please don't be angry. If you hate me that much, I'll resign tomorrow. I'll leave the company. As long as you two are happy..."

Victoria stared at him, her fists clenching so tight her knuckles turned white.

I saw the raw, desperate concern bubbling up in her eyes. I decided to push it.

"You should know something, Spencer," I said, my voice dropping to a conversational murmur. "Victoria clearly has a soft spot for you. But until I vacate the position of the pathetic, live-in husband, you'll never get the promotion you really want. If you keep begging me to stay, I just might. Is that really the outcome you're hoping for?"