Hilda’s POV

Our room instantly felt suffocating. The air had become thick with the smell of flowers and burnt-out candles. My hands trembled as I set Wilson’s phone back on the nightstand, the message I had read still fresh in my mind.

The name on the screen stared back at me, burning into my thoughts like a brand. My fingers grew numb, while I clenched my fists so hard my nails threatened to draw blood from my palms.

Lillian, his supposed “friend”.

She wasn’t supposed to be here, in this city not to mention texting him and even calling him sweetheart.

My mind spun to the past as I tried to recall how she came into our lives. Years ago, when Wilson had left the city to attend college to pursue his studies, he met Lillian.

From what I’ve been told they were nothing more than friends. A simple friendship was all that they had between them.

This was what I thought until a few weeks before our wedding, Lillian weirdly became attached to him; occasionally throwing subtle hints that she would steal him from me.

Luckily I didn't have to worry about her as Wilson’s mother, Mrs. Autoure, who never liked Lillian took care of the situation and ensured that Lillian left town and severed all ties with Wilson.

That’s why I was deeply shocked not at the mere fact that she had returned but also because he was calling him sweetheart and discussing hotels with him.

The sound of running water from the bathroom filled the silence, its steady rhythm a complete opposite of the storm that was currently raging inside me.

I gently rubbed my palms on my chest in an attempt to ease the excruciating pain I was feeling. I didn’t know what to think. I was feeling like somebody was tearing my skin apart, piece by piece, each crack more painful than the last.

“He isn’t cheating. He wouldn’t” I reassured myself, even though doubt was gnawing at the edges of my brain.

I repeated the thought over and over, till I could no more.

An image of them together, entangled in each other’s arms, laughing, touching, and caring for each other flashed through my memory, causing my stomach to twist painfully.

Suddenly, the flow of the water from the bathroom stopped, and my head snapped up. My heart hammered in my chest as the bathroom door swung open, and Wilson stepped out, steam curling around his shoulders.

His towel hung low on his hips, droplets of water still clinging to his body. He didn’t even glance my way as he walked to the dresser, his movements brisk and dismissive.

I swallowed hard, trying to gather the strength to speak yet my voice trembled when I finally did.

“Where were you earlier, Wil?” I inquired, pretending to be busy with the stuff I was collecting from the floor.

“What do you mean?” he asked, his tone visibly irritated.

I squeezed my hands together to stop the shaking. “I didn’t know you met Lillian today,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

His hand froze on the drawer handle, and my breath caught in my throat.

So he really did meet her… At this point, I needed no confirmation again because his reaction just gave it all out.

The room fell into a thick and suffocating silence again, until he finally exhaled sharply and yanked the drawer open.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he lied, pulling out a fresh shirt.

Wait, what? He's resorted to lying now? I could only wonder at the number of things he's lied to me about.

“Don’t start any drama this evening, Hilda. Just clear all this…” He gestured to the decorations. “And go to bed.”

A humorless chuckle escaped my lips at his response. “No, no… Don’t do that. Don’t act like I didn’t just see a message from Lillian calling you her ‘sweetheart’ and saying she’s leaving the hotel.”

Wilson’s shoulders tensed, his back stiffening before he turned to face me with gloomy eyes. “You went through my phone?” he asked, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.

I lifted my chin, refusing to back down. “I didn’t have to,” I shot back, my heart thundering in my chest. “It popped up. I didn’t even need to go through your phone to find out.”

His jaw clenched, and his hand ran through his damp hair. “You’re overreacting, Hilda. It’s not what you think.”

Letting out a loud empty laugh, “Then explain it to me, Wilson. Explain to me why Lillian is in a hotel, thanking you!” I demanded.

For a moment, we locked gazes and as I stared into them, I could see his eyes slowly softening until irritation replaced them.

He grabbed his shirt, pulling it over his head with deliberate slowness. “There’s nothing to explain,” he said flatly, brushing past me without a second glance. “Drop it.”

“Drop it?” I repeated, my breath coming out shaky as my chest tightened with frustration..

“Wilson, I have been patient. I have given you space, I have tried to be the perfect wife, even though you’ve given me nothing!

You’ve shown me no love, no affection, not even the decency of honesty! And now, after everything, you expect me to just drop this?”

He spun around, his eyes flashing with anger. “I don’t owe you a damn explanation, Hilda,” he growled.

“You’re my husband, Wil. You do owe me an explanation!” I shouted back, desperation evident in my voice.

As if to make me crazier, he let out a cold laugh before sneering, “Am I?” With two fingers, he tilted my cheeks up to face him. “Answer me. Do you really need an explanation?”

He shook his head and added. “Because it sure as hell doesn’t feel like it.”

His words were like a slap to my face, stealing air from my lungs. I stumbled back, my hand clutching the edge of the dresser for support.

He’s never felt like my husband? And so didn’t feel the need to explain?

I forced a shaky breath, my vision blurring with tears. “You don’t mean that,” I whispered, my voice barely audible.

He looked at me, his face unyielding. “I do.”

Silence engulfed the room again, warranting me the opportunity to stare directly at him for a little while.

Lost in his gaze, I wished he could retract his statement and tell me that he didn’t really mean what he just said and that this was just another fight—that he would come to bed later and we’d pretend everything was okay in the morning.

Sadly there was nothing of that sort. It looked like he truly meant it.

Forcing myself to swallow a chunk down, “Are you still in love with her?” I dropped the multimillion-dollar question.

Wilson’s eyes closed for a split second, his expression flickering with something between disbelief and indifference before he turned away.

“I’m not doing this right now,” he muttered, reaching for his keys on the nightstand.

Panic clawed at my chest, and I hurried to him, grabbing his arm. “Where are you going?”

“Away from here,” he replied coldly, pulling his arm from my grasp.

I followed him as he strode out of the room, down the hallway, and towards the front door. “Wilson, wait!” I called out. I hurried after him, nearly stumbling down the stairs. “You can’t do this, Wil. Please, just listen to me!”

He stopped at the door, turning to face me. For a moment, I stood still, my heart pounding loudly as if I had just run a hundred-meter race.

I let out a shaky breath of relief as he changed his mind and headed into his study rather. He wasn’t leaving. At least not tonight.

A few minutes later, he came back to our room upstairs, his expression icy and unreadable. Without making a sound, he tossed something onto the bed, the papers fluttering across the bedsheets.

Confused, I sat up on the bed and picked one of them up.

My breath hitched, my gaze snapping up to his cold, distant eyes as I processed the inscriptions on the paper. “What is this?” I asked, even though I could read clearly what the document says.

“I’ve been thinking about this for a long time,” he began, taking a step closer. “Let’s get divorced”.