Part 3Farewell To My Cold Wife

Victoria finally signed the papers, driven to the edge by the sound of Spencer’s soft, manufactured weeping.

I called my lawyer right then and there, handing over the logistics. Victoria stood frozen by the island, her face a mask of frost, watching me handle the call with detached efficiency.

When I hung up, the venom finally spilled out.

"Remember this, Nathaniel. You brought this entirely on yourself," she sneered. "I’ve signed. There is no going back. We have an ironclad prenup. Don't harbor any delusions that you'll be walking away with a single cent of Kensington money."

I carefully folded the agreement and slid it into a manila envelope. I nodded.

"I know."

I stood up and looked at her. "If there's nothing else, I'm going to pack a bag."

Victoria’s blazing fury hit the brick wall of my absolute apathy, leaving her visibly choking on her own adrenaline.

I knew that feeling. It was like having a wad of cotton shoved down your throat—you can’t swallow it, and you can’t spit it out. It just suffocates you.

For eight years, that was exactly how she had handled every conflict between us: with walls of ice and suffocating silence.

Her face darkened. Spencer took a cautious step toward her, reaching out to support her arm.

I pulled my gaze away and looked down at Mia, whose face was streaked with tears.

I thought about it for a second, then spoke softly.

"I won't be picking you up from preschool anymore. And I won't be there when you're sick in the middle of the night. You're five now. You need to learn who actually cares about you, and who is just playing a part. Don't go wandering off with strangers just because they offer you something sweet."

Six months ago, Victoria had a sudden out-of-town conference. She commanded me to drop off some clothes at her office before her flight. I was a nervous wreck; I’d been berated before for bringing outfits she deemed "unpresentable." I spent an hour carefully steaming and matching her clothes, then drove like a maniac to her corporate headquarters.

Because of that, I was twenty minutes late picking Mia up from her elite preschool.

Mia had wandered out of the gates and down the busy avenue. A stranger offered her a lollipop and coaxed her into a car. Thank God, the person only realized she was lost and drove her straight to the precinct.

But during those agonizing two hours, I lost my mind. The Kensington security detail swarmed the city. Victoria aborted her business trip and sped back from the airport.

In the aftermath, I was crucified. It didn't matter what the circumstances were. The entire Kensington clan poured their collective wrath onto me.

I could take their abuse. I was used to being their punching bag.

But from that day on, Mia looked at me like I was the villain of her story. That shift in her eyes was the slow poison that finally cured me of my attachment to her.

"Nathaniel, Mia is the sole heir to the Kensington estate. She doesn't need life advice from an outsider!" Victoria snapped. "Or are you just saying these dramatic, pathetic things hoping I'll beg you to stay?"

I just smiled, didn't say a word, and walked lightly toward the master bedroom.

I had been a stay-at-home husband for eight years. I never realized that packing a bag could feel so paralyzing.

I looked around the bedroom. I had picked out the curtains, sourced the vintage rugs, framed the art. Suddenly, it all looked incredibly tacky to me.

In the end, I only opened my bedside drawer. I took a single photo album and two keys.

Victoria had been standing in the doorway the entire time, her eyes burning holes into my back.

As I walked past her into the hall, I kept my voice flat.

"Tell the staff to throw the rest of my stuff away tomorrow."

"Don't you dare regret this, Nathaniel!" she screamed down the hallway.

I didn't break my stride. I walked out of that beautiful, frozen cage, and the front door clicked shut behind me.