The Ruthless Major General

She wants a divorce

The scent of blood still lingered in the air, mixed with dust and the sharp tang of broken glass. My boots crunched softly against the floor as I moved around the living room, silently picking up the shattered pieces.

I cleaned slowly. The mess wasn't just physical. It was a reflection of everything I had left behind... and everything that had rotted in my absence.

As I straightened up, my eyes caught the photo of my daughter on the wall. Aurora, smiling in a field of sunflowers, her arms outstretched toward a sky I wasn’t there to witness.

I walked toward it, my gaze frozen on that little face, so familiar and yet still foreign.

Ten years.

Ten damn years without seeing her.

I stared at the photo for a long moment before I finally reached up and gently took it down. I didn’t know if I was holding a picture of my daughter or a stranger.

With a deep breath, I set it down beside the couch.

Then I went back to the bottle I’d started earlier. Just a few sips remained. It wasn’t much, but enough to dull the ache behind my ribs. I sank into the couch, the weariness crawling into my limbs.

Eventually, sleep found me.

But it wasn’t gentle.

I woke abruptly—instinct on fire—my hand clamping down on a wrist.

“Hey—!” a startled voice gasped.

My vision cleared.

It was Lila

I blinked, heart still pounding, and loosened my grip.

She stood over me, a thin blanket in her other hand.

“It’s just me,” she said, her voice hushed. “I was trying to cover you up... It’s cold outside.”

The soft amber glow of pre-dawn seeped through the curtains. The house was quiet again.

I sat up slowly, rubbing my eyes before shifting into a seat. “Thanks.”

She didn’t leave. Instead, she sat beside me, but not too close.

There was silence for a moment, and then—

“Why did you come back?” she asked, barely above a whisper.

I opened my mouth to speak, but she cut me off with a sharp breath.

“For a decade, Aiden” she said, her voice growing hard. “You didn’t come home.”

Her words hit harder than any punch.

“You built your life on the front lines, fighting at the border, chasing honor—while your family bled without you.” Her eyes shimmered with fury. “Even when we needed you most, when Aurora was sick, when I was falling apart, you stayed gone.”

“I—”

“No,” she said harshly, shaking her head. “I don’t want to hear it. Not now. Not anymore.”

She looked away.

“Next week,” she said, her tone steady, cold. “You should be getting ready to sign the divorce papers.”

I stared at her, everything in me aching. The words wouldn’t come out the way I wanted. So I reached for the only thing left in me.

I cried.

Not loud. Not broken.

But enough for her to notice.

Enough for the weight in my chest to find the crack.

“Lila, please...” I managed, my voice hoarse. “Just... don't hate me. Not entirely.”

She stood.

Her back was to me as she said, “Leave before Aurora wakes up. I’ll call you when the papers are ready.”

Then she walked away.