Fading Loyalty

I placed the drafted divorce agreement on the coffee table while Charles Lopez was watching the financial news. He didn't even lift his eyelids, lightly pressing the remote to turn the volume down. "What are you sulking about now?" His voice carried his usual casual indifference, as if it were just a trivial matter. I said nothing and simply pushed the pen toward him. Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling window, falling onto the agreement, making the black text especially clear. Only then did Charles Lopez turn his face toward me, his brow furrowing slightly: "Eileen, are you serious?" "Yes." I nodded, my voice so calm it surprised even me, "I've made up my mind." He put down the remote and leaned back on the sofa, his gaze sweeping over the agreement's terms as his expression darkened. "The house is yours, the car is yours, and the funds will be transferred to your name," he read the property division clause aloud, his tone tinged with mockery. "Eileen, are you doing this to spite me or do you really want to leave?" "I really want a divorce." I cut him off, "If you're unwilling, then I don't want any of it. I just want to sign the divorce papers." Charles Lopez's expression turned completely cold. He stood up, came over to me, and looked down with a towering presence: "How have I wronged you? After all these years, haven't I treated you well enough?" I lifted my eyes to him—the man I had loved for eight whole years—now his face was marked only by unfamiliar distance and coldness. "You haven't wronged me." I said softly, "It's me who doesn't want this anymore." "You don't want this anymore?" He repeated those words, as if hearing the most ridiculous joke ever told. "Eileen, we've been married for five years. I've been loyal to you without question. What exactly are you unhappy about?" Loyalty. The word was like a thin needle, lightly pricking me, but I hardly felt the pain anymore. I once longed so desperately for his loyalty, but once disappointment had piled up enough, those two words lost all meaning. "Charles," I looked him in the eyes and said, word by word, "I don't need your loyalty anymore." Charles Lopez's face grew even darker. Just as he was about to speak, his phone suddenly rang. He glanced at the caller ID, his eyes flickering briefly, and without avoiding me, he answered immediately. "Hello?" His tone softened instantly, a stark contrast to the coldness he'd shown me moments before. "Okay, I understand. I'll be there right away." After hanging up, he grabbed the coat from the sofa and tossed me a line: "Stop messing around. We'll talk when I get back," then hurried out. I knew it was Ophelia Sharpe calling. That woman, always saved as "client" in his phone, yet sending him suggestive messages late at night. I walked to the entrance, watching his car vanish beyond the community gate, then slowly closed the door, refolded the divorce agreement, and slipped it back into my bag. He thinks I'm just throwing a tantrum, but what he doesn't realize is that I've been waiting for this day for a long time. In the stillness of the night, I always find myself remembering the early days when we first got together.