That night, I sent my husband a single text, one that seemed innocent.
“Okay. Tomorrow at 5:00 p.m. at the Central Cafe.”
he replied in less than a minute.
“Perfect.”
He had always loved that word, as if life were a pretty filter and a decorative wife by his side.
The next day, I was in a regular room, still in pain, still struggling, but with a dangerous clarity, and I got ready, not like a patient, but like a woman who doesn’t apologize for existing. hair pulled back, light makeup, and a subtle lipstick, a blouse made of good fabric, because I knew that men like him get scared when the woman they’ve discarded shows up looking solid.
The physical therapist helped me into the wheelchair.
“Are you sure you want to go out?” she asked.
“I’m sure,” I replied. “Today, I need to walk on the inside.”
Carol accompanied me to the entrance. She didn’t go into the cafe. She stayed outside near the car like a protective shadow. The central cafe was old and elegant at the same time. Small tables, antique tiles, people talking in low voices, a place where no one makes a scene because everyone there pretends to have class.
My husband was already there. Welled shirt, expensive watch, strong cologne. He stood up when he saw me and feigned concern.
“You should be resting,” he said as if he still had authority over me.
I smiled calmly.
“I am.”
He looked at the wheelchair with that expression that had disgusted me from the start. It wasn’t pity. It was revulsion. He sat down and ordered an espresso. I ordered water. He laughed lightly.
“Always so controlled, aren’t you? Even with your coffee.”
I looked at him as if observing a child.
“Say what you want to say,” I said, cutting to the chase.
He was surprised I had cut through the theater, so he got straight to the point because men like him always do.
“I want to resolve this quickly. No drama, you signed. So we each go our own way.”
“Of course,” I replied.
He relaxed a little. And when he relaxes, he talks too much.
“No need to get lawyers involved,” he said. “We just divide what can be divided and that’s it.”
I kept my voice steady.
“What can be divided?” I asked.
He smiled, a smile of someone who thinks they’re being generous.
“The company, for instance.”
I felt the air in my chest turned to ice, but my expression didn’t change.
“The company,” I repeated.
“Yes.”
He fiddled with his phone as if it were obvious.
“I helped. I was by your side.”
I tilted my head slightly.
“You were by my side when it was convenient for you,” I said.
He narrowed his eyes.
“Sophia, don’t do this.”
