Reunited in a War Zone After the Divorce

The smell of disinfectant hit my nose as I held the medical records, standing in the pediatric ward corridor. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a familiar figure, and my heart suddenly sank. Mia Lynn was wearing an off-white trench coat, standing by the Infusion Room door, with a man in a suit leaning close to her. He reached up and casually brushed the wind-blown hair off her face, the gesture effortless and intimate. That was Mike Collins; I'd seen him once on Mia Lynn's social feed—she said he was a partner. "Simon? What are you doing here?" Mia Lynn saw me first. There wasn't a trace of surprise in her tone, only a faint coldness. Mike Collins glanced over too, a flicker of curiosity in his eyes, but he didn't say anything. "Nora has a fever. I brought her in to get checked." I swallowed the bitter taste in my throat. "What about you? Here on business?" "I'm here with Mr. Collins to pick up a report." Mia Lynn avoided my gaze, her fingers absentmindedly rubbing the strap of her bag. "But you—Nora was running a 39-degree fever, and you insisted on bringing her yourself. Couldn't you have waited until I finished?" I froze—she was the one who said last night that she had an important client meeting today and told me to watch the kid more closely. "The kid's fever is getting worse—I can't wait." I whispered an explanation. "Hurry up for what? You think you're so capable?" Mia Lynn's voice suddenly rose, drawing stares from those around us. "Last time Nora scraped her knee, you insisted on dealing with it yourself, and it got infected, so she had to be hospitalized! Simon Scott, can you stop being so self-righteous?" Mike Collins gently patted her back, trying to calm her down: "Mia, don't get upset. Let's talk this through." "How am I supposed not to get upset?" Mia Lynn shrugged off his hand and stared right at me. "He's always like this, acting without thinking. How can I trust him with the kid?" My heart slowly turned cold, like it had been frozen by the air conditioning in the hallway. After five years of marriage, I thought I was doing enough—taking care of all the household chores, accommodating her work, putting up with her temper. But in her eyes, I'm not even fit to look after the child. "Mia Lynn," I pulled a folded paper from my bag and held it out to her, "Let's get a divorce." Mia Lynn's pupils suddenly contracted, like she hadn't heard me clearly: "What did you say?" "The divorce agreement—I've already signed it." My voice was calm, but inside I felt like I was being sliced by a dull knife. "I didn't ask for much property. Nora's custody is yours, and I'll pay child support on time." She suddenly raised her hand, grabbed the divorce agreement, and tore it to pieces. The torn paper fluttered to the floor like broken promises. "Simon Scott, are you out of your mind?" Her eyes were red, not from sadness but from anger. "You want a divorce over something so small? Let me tell you, that's not going to happen!" Mike Collins frowned and tugged on Mia Lynn's arm. "Mia, calm down. Talk about this at home." "At home?" Mia Lynn shrugged him off. "I want to make this clear right now: Simon Scott, if you even think about divorce, Nora will never see you again!" Watching her lose it like that, I suddenly felt like I didn't know her at all. Turns out, in her eyes, our marriage was just a card to use against me. I turned and walked into the Infusion Room. Nora was lying on the bed, asleep, her little face flushed, her brow still furrowed. I sat by the bed, holding her warm little hand, thinking only one thing: this marriage really needs to end.