Chapter 7

"Emmanuel, I want a divorce."

The lounge went silent. Emmanuel finally looked up at me.

His eyes were surprisingly clear.

Seven years of marriage, and no matter how bad things got, I had never once mentioned divorce.

Emmanuel knew my personality—once I made up my mind, there was no going back.

He hurried off the leather sofa and rushed over to me.

“You’re serious?”

For the first time in a while, he looked me in the eye and spoke to me like a normal person.

He glanced down at Oliver, then let out a bitter laugh.

“Vivian, if we divorce, you won’t get custody of Oliver. He’ll stay with me.

"Don’t be ridiculous.”

He was certain I would fight for Oliver. He wasn’t blind—he knew exactly how much I had endured for our son, how much I had sacrificed.

Oliver clung to his dad, glaring at me like he was terrified I might take him away.

“I don’t want you, Mom. I want Dad.”

The girl from the lounge sauntered over, giving me a smug smile.

“Vivian, you’re at that age, with no job and no home. You won’t win custody of him.

"Just take him home. No fight between a married couple lasts forever."

I clenched my teeth, gripping the divorce papers tightly.

I had known this would happen. But seeing everyone’s disdain for me, their lack of support, made me falter for a moment.

But I couldn’t afford to be weak. I pinched myself hard.

Reminding myself that as a woman, I had to be strong. No more tears. Tears were only magic to someone who loved you. To someone who didn’t, they were just a joke.

“Emmanuel, don’t worry.

"I don’t want the house. I don’t even want Oliver. Let’s divorce.”