Part 2I Accepted His Divorce Proposal

Lana stood frozen between us, her head darting back and forth from me to Julian, the very picture of helpless confusion.

She was always a brilliant actress.

If I hadn't died once, if my wandering soul hadn't witnessed her kicking over my headstone with a look of pure disgust, I never would have known what a twisted, jealous heart beat beneath that cool, confident facade.

This look of genuine shock on her face was a rare sight. It wasn't my doing, but because of her, the entire room was now turning against me.

Zack shoved his chair back with a loud scrape and stormed over. "Monica, don't take it too far!" he snarled, his voice rough with impatience. "We already said it was a joke! Do you have to make everything so damn awkward? What, you can't take a joke?!"

How ironic. They were the ones who made the "joke," I was the victim, and now I was the one being blamed for not playing along.

Zack had always had a sharp tongue, his words dripping with sarcasm. I used to think that was just his personality, that he was like that with everyone, so I learned to ignore it.

Only later did I realize he was only ever like that with me.

As Julian’s wife, I had never truly been accepted by his friends. Not once.

I ignored Zack's barking as if he were just a dog in the distance. My eyes remained locked on Julian.

Seeing my unyielding expression, Julian finally understood that I was, for the most part, serious.

A bitter laugh escaped his lips, cold and mocking. He reached out, grabbed Lana’s arm, and yanked her into his embrace. Staring daggers at me, he spat out, "Fine. You said it. Don't you dare regret it."

"Pack your things. We'll be at City Hall tomorrow to sign the papers."

Then, in front of everyone, he lowered his head and crushed his lips against Lana's.

It was a possessive, punishing kiss, fueled by anger. It started with the press of lips and deepened until the intimate sounds of their mouths tangling together filled the air. The soft, ambient light from above cast them in a dramatic glow, like a scene from a movie—the woman's pliant waist arching back, the man's large, long-fingered hand cupping the back of her slender neck.

I saw Lana push against his chest in a half-hearted protest, a classic show of feigned resistance. When she couldn't move him, her hands slid upwards, her fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer.

I heard someone suck in a sharp breath, followed by the excited clicks of phones being raised to capture the moment. I was the closest to them, a front-row spectator to every unspeakable detail.

My lips, pale and trembling, parted as if to say something, but no words came out. What was there to say?

A soft place deep inside me had been struck a fatal blow. It felt as if something precious, something I had hidden in the deepest part of my heart, had just... quietly, silently shattered.

I squeezed my eyes shut, my face a numb mask, and turned to walk away.