The General's Ex-Wife's Regret

“Ms. Garcia sent you these papers, Mr. Donovan. Please sign them.”

Carl stared at the documents that Lea Brown, Jasmine’s secretary, slid across the table. His eyes immediately locked on the words written at the top in bold: Divorce Agreement.

His brows knitted together.

“What is this, Lea? Where is my wife?” he demanded, confusion threading his voice.

Lea almost groaned, shaking her head as her gaze bore straight into him.

“Can’t you read it? And you know Ms. Garcia is a busy woman. That’s exactly why she sent me here to talk to you,” she replied coolly.

Her eyes swept around the small, dimly lit room with thinly veiled disgust.

“She’s offering you money, a house, a car—everything you need. That way, when you’re released next year, you won’t suffer.”

Carl’s fists clenched on the table. Since his imprisonment a year ago, Jasmine hadn’t visited him—not once. And now, out of nowhere, she wanted to sever ties completely.

After everything he had done for her, after all the years of loyalty and sacrifice, was he now nothing but a burden to discard?

They had been married for four years. Every ounce of support he could give, he gave her. Yet here it was, thrown back at him as if it had never mattered.

“No,” Carl said firmly, his voice hard. “I want to talk to her myself. Tell her to come here.”

Lea exhaled sharply, irritation flashing across her face. Her patience was thinning against Carl’s stubbornness.

“Why don’t you just accept it? Ms. Garcia doesn’t want you anymore, Carl! Look at yourself—you’re rotting in prison. You’re ruining her image just by existing in her life!”

Carl’s jaw tensed, his nails digging into his palms.

“A killer like you has no right to be tied to Ms. Garcia!” Lea spat.

Carl’s eyes darkened, his voice quiet yet steady. “You don’t know the truth, Lea. Like I said, I’ll only sign once I’ve spoken to her.”

Lea pushed herself to her feet, palms slamming onto the table.

“You’re only hurting yourself, Carl Donovan. Ms. Jasmine Garcia is leagues above you now. You don’t deserve her. If I were you, I’d take what she’s offering and vanish from her life.”

Carl stayed silent, his jaw aching from grinding his teeth as he fought to contain the swell of emotion inside him. He couldn’t believe that after all the love and support he had given, Jasmine was discarding him like this.

But the creak of the iron door cut through his thoughts, as two uniformed guards led the way in, followed by his wife, Jasmine Garcia.

“Ms. Garcia. I thought you…” Lea rushed forward, asking in confusion.

“I had to come here now to fix this,” Jasmine said. She walked inside and sat next to the chair that Lea had just gotten out.

For a brief moment, Carl froze. His eyes landed on Jasmine, and the world seemed to stop. She was exactly as he remembered—beautiful, untouchable. He had longed for this moment, yet all he could do was drink her in silently.

He cleared his throat and just about to speak, but Jasmine cut him off sharply.

“Let’s get straight to the point, Carl. I want a divorce.” Her tone was cold, clipped. She slid the papers toward him.

Carl smirked bitterly, noticing she hadn’t even dismissed Lea to give them privacy.

“You really want this, huh?”

“Yes. Don’t worry. If it’s money you’re after, I’ll give you compensation. Name the amount, I’ll transfer it.”

Carl laughed—a short, hollow sound.

“Compensation? So that’s all our marriage is to you now? A line item in your bank account?” His gaze burned into her, though his lips curved in a mocking smile. “I never thought I’d live to see the day you reduced our years together to numbers.”

“Our marriage has been broken for a long time, Carl. You know that. Look at you—you’re in here, convicted. You couldn’t support me then, and you can’t support me now. You’re just dragging me down.”

She cast her eyes to the gray walls.

“If you really cared about me, Carl… about what we had… let me go.”

Carl felt her words pierce him deeper than any bullet ever had. A thousand invisible knives twisted in his chest.

If only she knew the truth. If only he could tell her. Would she see him differently? Would this end differently?

“Fine,” he muttered, voice cracking under the weight of defeat. “If that’s what you want.”

He picked up the pen, signed the papers, then looked at her with hollow eyes.

“I don’t need your money, Jasmine. Just… return the necklace I gave you. It’s my family’s heirloom. Once you give it back, we’re done.”

Jasmine swallowed hard, her throat tightening. Watching him sign the divorce felt nothing like victory. Instead, it left a hollow ache in her chest.

“Okay. I’ll tell Lea to return it tomorrow. If you need anything else… let her know.”

Without waiting for his response, Jasmine stood and hurried out, Lea snatching up the papers before following close behind.

Jasmine drew a shaky breath. A year had passed since she last saw her husband. She had buried herself in work, too busy—or too unwilling—to come here. But now she had no choice.

This divorce had to be settled.

“Do you think I’m really doing the right thing, Lea?” Jasmine asked softly, doubt flickering in her tone.

Lea glanced at her, the picture of loyalty.

“Yes, Ms. Garcia. Truthfully, you should have done this long ago. But you were too kind. This… this is best for both of you.”

Jasmine’s chest tightened at her secretary’s words, but she nodded, exhaling deeply. “You’re right.”

Carl sat there alone, staring at the door through which Jasmine and her secretary had just walked out.

He sighed deeply and leaned back in his chair.

The truth was, he wasn’t in prison because he was guilty. He was here because of his mission.

Carl Donovan wasn’t just any man. He was a soldier—a shadow operative who accepted the most dangerous missions the nation demanded. And this prison stint? It was just another cover.

He never planned on falling in love. But he did. And now, that love was gone.

“When disaster strikes,” he whispered to himself, “even the closest birds fly apart.”

Just then, the iron door groaned open again. The warden stepped in—and, to any outsider’s surprise, snapped into a sharp salute.

“Sir,” the warden said with crisp respect, “the President requests your presence.”

Carl’s expression hardened instantly. He rose to his feet, shoulders squared, and followed the warden out.