My Ex-Wife's Biggest Mistake

The Final Blow

Sunny reached the flat and he couldn't hold it together anymore.

He closed the door behind him, but the moment he was alone, everything he had been holding back at the party came flooding back. His chest constricted, and his breathing became shallow.

He looked around the apartment, at the furniture they had chosen together, the decorations Lydia had insisted on buying, and the little things that reminded him of the life they had shared.

Then he lost control.

His hand swept across the table, sending everything on it crashing to the floor. A decorative item struck the wall and shattered, while the sound of broken objects echoed through the apartment. Sunny grabbed a chair and threw it aside, then kicked another object out of his way as he moved through the room.

"Why?" he shouted.

His voice cracked as he struck the table with his fist and then instinctively looked around, searching for something else to destroy, but there was nothing in the apartment that could make him forget what he had seen.

He stumbled toward the counter, grabbed a bottle of alcohol, and took a long drink. The liquid burnt his throat, but he didn't stop. He drank again, then lowered the bottle and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

A bitter laugh escaped him.

"Why did she do this to me?"

His eyes moved around the apartment again, but everywhere he looked, he saw Lydia. He remembered her sitting on the couch, laughing at something he had said. He remembered the nights she complained about work and how he would encourage her to keep pushing forward. He remembered how she used to tell him that she wanted to become successful so they could build a better life together.

He had loved that about her.

Lydia had never been a materialistic woman. She had never demanded expensive gifts or complained when he couldn't afford something. Even when things were difficult, she had always seemed satisfied with the little they had.

So why had everything changed?

"Was it because of money?" he asked himself, his voice barely audible.

He shook his head, then took another drink.

"No. Lydia isn't like that."

He remembered how she had stood before the crowd and promised to repay every dime he had spent taking care of her mother. The thought made his expression twist with pain.

Every dime?

He stared at the bottle in his hand.

"Was that all I was to you? Someone who paid your bills?"

His fingers tightened around the glass.

"I took care of your mother because I loved you. I never asked you to pay me back. Not once!"

His voice rose until it filled the apartment. He threw the bottle toward the wall, and it shattered into pieces. The sound made him close his eyes, but it did nothing to ease the pain inside his chest.

He lowered himself onto the couch, burying his face in his hands.

He stood there for a few moments, his shoulders shaking as he let go of the tears he had held back at the party. He tried to stop them, but the more he thought about Lydia, the harder it became. He cried bitterly, his breathing breaking between sobs as he remembered the woman he had believed would spend the rest of her life with him.

He didn't understand.

He couldn't understand how someone who had once seemed so happy beside him could stand before an entire crowd and end their relationship without showing the slightest regret.

"Why, Lydia?" he whispered.

His eyes fell on the broken pieces of glass scattered across the floor. He pushed himself up, still holding the bottle in one hand, and took a step toward another object he wanted to destroy.

Then a knock came from the door.

Sunny froze.

For a moment, he simply stared at it, wondering if he had imagined the sound. Another knock followed, slightly louder this time.

"Who is it?" he shouted angrily.

A brief silence followed.

Then a familiar voice answered from the other side.

"It's me, Lydia."

Sunny's heart jumped.

He dropped the bottle onto the couch and hurried toward the door. His feet were moving so fast that he hardly noticed the pieces of broken glass on the floor. He stepped on some of them as he rushed forward, feeling sharp pieces cut into his skin, yet he didn't stop.

His mind was already racing.

She's back.

Perhaps she had come to apologise. Maybe she had realised how badly she had hurt him and wanted to explain everything. Perhaps the entire scene at the party had been some terrible misunderstanding, and she would tell him that she hadn't meant what she said.

He desperately wanted to believe it.

Please, let it be a misunderstanding.

His hand reached for the door handle, but he didn't open it immediately. He glanced down and noticed the blood covering his fingers. Some of it had smeared against the wall when he used it to steady himself, but he barely registered the pain.

He took a shaky breath and opened the door.

Lydia stood outside.

She was alone.

Sunny's eyes immediately filled with tears again. The sight of her standing there brought back all the feelings he had tried to bury, and before she could say anything, he stepped forward.

Lydia...!

His voice trembled.

He reached out, desperate to pull her into his arms. "Tell me it was a misunderstanding. Please, just tell me that's not what you meant earlier."

But Lydia stepped backward before he could touch her.

Sunny's hands stopped in midair.

"Wait," he whispered, looking at her face. "What are you doing? I thought you came back to..."

Before he could finish, someone stepped out from the corner where he had been standing.

Damien.

Sunny hadn't noticed him.

Damien walked forward with the same cocky smile he had worn at the party. He looked at Sunny's bloodied hands, then at his face, but showed no concern. Instead, he reached into his pocket and brought out a long envelope.

"Here," Damien said, handing it to Lydia.

Lydia accepted it without saying anything.

Sunny stared at the envelope, then shifted his gaze toward Damien. His expression slowly changed as he realised that Lydia hadn't come back alone after all. The hope that had briefly returned to his heart began to disappear, leaving behind a feeling he couldn't quite describe.

Lydia turned toward him and held out the envelope.

Sunny looked at her hand.

"What is this?" he asked.

His voice was shaky, and his bloodied fingers trembled as he reached out to collect it. The envelope felt strangely heavy in his hands, though it was only paper. He looked from it to Lydia, waiting for her to explain.

But she showed no sign of concern about the blood covering his fingers. She didn't ask what had happened to his hands or why he looked as though he had been crying for hours. Her face remained serious, without a smile or even the slightest hint of regret.

"Open it and see for yourself," she replied.