He Watched the Stars With Her, So I Signed the Divorce Chapter 03

He Watched the Stars With Her, So I Signed the Divorce Chapter 03

After we got home, I began packing my clothes.

Ryan stood in the bedroom doorway, his expression grim.

“You’re moving out now because you want both our families to know we had a fight?”

I folded the clothes I wore most often and placed them in my suitcase.

“This isn’t a fight. We’re separating.”

“Emma Carter.”

Whenever he used my full name, his voice carried the strained patience of someone holding his temper in check.

“I’ll admit I talked to Claire more than I should have, but you can’t twist a normal friendship into something sordid.”

I stopped packing.

“I texted you in the middle of the night because my stomach hurt. You took fourteen days to reply. That same night, you spent an hour on a video call with her.”

Ryan frowned.

“The ship’s satellite network is regulated. We can’t use it for personal messages whenever we feel like it.”

I placed a thick stack of printed screenshots on the bed.

On March 15, I had a 102-degree fever and asked him to send me a single reply.

That same night, Claire posted a screenshot of a video call that had lasted sixty-three minutes.

On April 20, a pipe burst at home. I rushed back from work and dealt with it alone until after midnight.

Claire posted a video on Instagram of Ryan showing her the moonlit ocean from the deck.

On May 9, my father suffered a heart attack and was rushed to the hospital. I stood in line at the registration desk, trying to pull up his insurance card on my phone, but my hands were shaking so badly that I kept entering the wrong passcode.

Meanwhile, Ryan sang ‘Happy Birthday’ to Claire while people whistled in the background.

He stared at the pages for a long time without speaking.

“Claire was in a really dark place then. Things were bad with her family too, and I was afraid she might hurt herself.”

I gave a faint smile.

“My father was in surgery. I was scared too.”

He looked up at me, and something in his expression briefly softened.

The ringing phone interrupted us.

It was Claire.

Ryan answered and put the call on speaker.

Claire was sobbing so hard she could barely breathe.

“Ryan, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gone to the dinner. In the restroom, Emma said she was going to expose me and make sure I never worked in the documentary industry again.”

Ryan immediately turned toward me.

“You threatened her?”

I continued packing.

“The hotel has security cameras.”

“There’s no need to check,” he said, his voice hardening. “Claire wouldn’t lie about something like that.”

I looked at him.

For the past two years, every time I had been hurt, I had needed evidence to prove it.

All Claire had to do was cry, and he accepted her story as fact.

Claire went on over the speakerphone.

“Did I cause trouble between you two? I was only worried you’d be alone at sea with no one to talk to.”

Ryan lowered his voice.

“Don’t cry. None of this is your fault.”

After ending the call, he stared at me, his expression dark.

“Why are you so determined to go after someone who’s sick?”

“Has she actually been diagnosed?”

“Emma, do you have to be so cruel?”

I pulled another document from the drawer.

It was the transcript of a voice message I had sent him the previous winter.

[Ryan, I’m barely holding it together. It’s freezing at home, and my stomach hurts. I’m not trying to bother you. I just want to hear your voice.]

I had sent that recording only to him.

That afternoon, Claire had sent the same audio file back to me with a message attached.

Claire: [Emma, you really need professional help.]

I held my phone out to him.

“Did you send this to her?”

Ryan’s expression changed.

“I only asked her to help me figure out whether you were emotionally unstable at the time. She’s taken a few psychology classes.”

The drinking glass beside my hand fell to the floor and shattered.

A shard sliced across my palm, and blood welled up almost immediately.

Ryan saw it. Instead of helping me, he picked up his phone and texted Claire first.

Ryan: [She lost control. Don’t be scared.]

I looked down at my hand.

I had reached a point where even pain took an extra second to register.

I pressed a tissue against the cut, picked up my purse, and left.

The emergency room hallway was flooded with harsh white light.

Daniel Foster was waiting near the entrance with a copy of the court notice confirming the hearing date.

When he saw my hand, he went straight to the nurses’ station for antiseptic and gauze before handing me the documents.

“The hearing is set for nine a.m. three days from now.”

I took the papers.

Daniel hesitated before asking, “Are you sure you don’t want to try mediation?”

I looked at the narrow cut across my palm.

“I’m sure.”

My phone buzzed.

Ryan: [Claire is badly shaken up because of you. I’m going to check on her tonight. You need to calm down.]

Daniel glanced at the screen but said nothing.

I took a screenshot and saved the message.

Early the next morning, Ryan called me.

“I’m going with Claire to the lighthouse to shoot some footage today. You’ll have to take your mother to her follow-up appointment yourself.”

I looked at the appointment paperwork in my hand.

“You promised you’d come with us.”

He answered without hesitation.

“It’s a follow-up, not surgery. Stop using your family to guilt me.”

My mother heard every word.