My Godfather Husband Gave Our Marriage a Zero, but Refused to Let Me Divorce Him Chapter 10

My Godfather Husband Gave Our Marriage a Zero, but Refused to Let Me Divorce Him Chapter 10

He nodded weakly, as if all strength had left his body.

He spread out a huge stack of documents across the table.

Deeds, equity certificates, real-estate titles, bank statements, investment portfolios-the table

was covered completely.

I glanced over the pile. “What is this?”

“Nearly every share, property, and dollar I own is yours. I know money can’t bring back our baby or undo what happened to your mother. But this is the only atonement I can offer.”

He slid the newly revised divorce papers toward me.

I scanned the pages. The terms were overwhelmingly favorable to me.

Once, I would only have claimed what was rightfully mine. But Livia had taught me one harsh truth. Money held power. It mattered more than shattered love.

I gave a short nod. “Very well.”

I lifted my gaze to meet his. “Sign them.”

Rocco’s fingers tightened around the fountain pen. The nib dug into the paper, tearing it in places.

“Hurry,” I said flatly.

Only then did he slowly, laboriously scrawl his signature.

He set the pen down when finished.

His eyes wandered over the tiny basement room. “I won’t sell this house. I’ll stay right here, clinging to all our memories.”

I folded and tucked my copy of the divorce agreement safely away and stood up. “Hold onto

whatever ghosts you want.”

With that, I turned and walked toward the metal front door.

Muffled, broken sobs and raw groans reverberated against the cramped walls. I never looked back.

I pulled the heavy iron door open and stepped outside.

It slammed shut behind me, sealing off the basement forever-and every fragment of my past with

Rocco.

Back in Vermont, I received the assets awarded by the divorce ruling at last. True financial freedom

was mine.

Using this fortune, entirely and cleanly mine, I rented a storefront on a quiet old street and opened

a tiny coffee shop.

On quiet afternoons, I visited my mother’s grave.

I brought bouquets of her favorite white lilies-the ones she’d loved in life-and sat peacefully

beside her for a while.

Wind rustled the treetops in the cemetery. All old love and hatred slowly softened into quiet

acceptance.

Friends occasionally told me news of Rocco.

Livia had lost everything and faced the full force of the law.

As for Rocco, he truly remained trapped in that dilapidated basement.

He rarely returned to his grand mansion or high-rise office buildings. Most days he stayed inside

that peeling, cramped space.

My old second-hand scooter still sat by the entrance. The couch and dining table were unchanged from our struggling years.

He stepped down from his role in the family and sold off his shares. He was no longer the powerful,

confident Don.

Most often he sat alone inside the dim room, drinking and staring blankly at empty chairs.

Two plates and two forks always waited on the table, as though at any moment I would push open the door, cook a simple cheap dinner, and fill the basement with the rich aroma of braised beef and

ginger.

He whispered my name endlessly, and spoke of our unborn child.

Surrounded by nothing but faded memories, he remained anchored to a ghost.

Spring rain drifted down over the old street. A thin mist fogged the coffee shop’s glass windows.

I poured a freshly brewed latte and set it before a customer.

The deep, rich scent of roasted coffee beans filled the air.

I walked over to the window and watched raindrops slide down the glass.

Once I had fought desperately to survive hardship with someone, dreaming of sharing prosperity

side by side.

Only now did I understand: a genuine, healthy relationship never demands merciless fairness.

It doesn’t follow someone else’s formula, and true affection cannot be weighed in dollars. Love cannot be calculated on a scorecard. Nor can it be coached or fixed by strangers.

The milk in the pot simmered and bubbled softly. I turned off the stove.

My new life rested securely, entirely in my own hands.

Down in that damp basement, however, one man lingered forever, trapped in moldy, vanished days

that could never return.