Every single time I brought up his illness, Chester fell back on the same guilt trip.
When his parents cornered me about when I'd produce an heir, he said nothing.
When the press accused me of marrying him for the Delgado fortune, he stayed silent.
When I was on the verge of losing our baby, he wouldn't even make one emergency call for me.
And afterward, Chester would always apologize, tell me he was just a mute, tell me he didn't deserve me.
Every single time, I'd shake my head through tears and promise I would never leave, that I'd stay by his side until the day he was cured.
The illness was fake. But every ounce of what I'd lost for him was real.
I let go of the last thread holding me to this marriage and said, "Then let's divorce."
Chester's pupils contracted sharply.
He was about to type a reply when the ringtone he'd assigned to that one special contact went off.
He hurried into the bedroom.
The second the call connected, he shut the door behind him without thinking.
I laughed at myself.
I'd take that as his answer.
I went to the company, submitted my resignation, and finished the handover while I was there.