He Chose His Assistant — I Chose Divorce

I sat alone in the empty living room, holding my father's urn in my arms.

My phone screen lit up again.

Jeff was calling.

The ringtone echoed for a long time before stopping, only to start again moments later.

I stared at his name as though it belonged to a stranger.

Finally, the ringing ceased.

A few seconds later, another message came through from a mutual friend—a voice recording.

I tapped it open.

The background was noisy, with Luna's voice faintly audible in the distance.

"Jeff, don't pay attention to her. You can't spoil women too much. The more you indulge them, the worse they get."

Then came Jeff's cold voice.

"Carol, don't overthink it. That five-million-dollar ad campaign was because Luna just joined the company. She's my new assistant. I need to establish her authority for her.

"You'd better take a good look at yourself. Tomorrow, I expect the house to be cleaned properly. Otherwise, don't even think about keeping that million."

The message ended.

Expressionless, I listened to the entire recording and saved it with a swipe of my finger.

Then I sent a single message: [See you at the courthouse tomorrow for the divorce.]

Early the next morning, I went to the courthouse. The lobby buzzed with people coming and going.

I sat alone on a bench in the corner, waiting for Jeff.

Nine o'clock.

Nine-thirty.

Ten.

Jeff never came.

I sent him a message.

[I'm waiting for you at the courthouse.]

It wasn't until nearly noon that his another assistant, Keith Madison, finally called.

"Ms. Reynolds, Mr. Ellison is in a meeting. He doesn't have time to entertain your tantrums. Mr. Ellison also said you should stop acting childish.

"Oh, and Mr. Ellison will be coming home for dinner tonight. He wants you to prepare his favorite barbecue ribs."

The line disconnected.

I stood in the middle of the crowded lobby, gripping my phone while the stares from strangers pierced into me like needles.

Childish?

My father was dead. And in Jeff's eyes, I was merely throwing a tantrum?

A surge of fury shot from the soles of my feet straight to my skull, burning away every shred of reason.

I immediately called back.

Keith answered, sounding impatient.

"Ms. Reynolds, I already told—"

"Put Jeff on the phone!" I screamed so loudly that the entire lobby fell silent. "Tell him if he doesn't answer, I'll jump off the Ellison Corporation building! Right outside his office window!"

Maybe it was the desperation in my voice. Or maybe the words jump off a building frightened Keith.

After a flurry of muffled noises, Jeff's voice finally came through. His anger was tightly restrained.

"Carol, have you lost your mind? You're screaming in public like a lunatic. If you don't care about your image, I still care about mine!"

But the moment I heard his voice, I suddenly calmed down. After rage reached its peak, all that remained was the stillness of cold ashes.

"Jeff, I'm not crazy. I'm only asking you one thing. Are we divorcing or not?"

He let out a cold laugh.

"Divorce? On what grounds?

"Carol, get this straight. You eat my food, wear what I buy, and even your father's medical bills are being paid by me.

"Luna is only my assistant. But she's more capable and ambitious than you. Are you jealous of her?

"You'll always be my wife, as long as you behave. Stop using divorce to threaten me. That trick doesn't work on me."

His tone was certain, completely convinced that I could never leave him.

Too bad. The Carol he knew was already dead.

I reached into my pocket and touched the wrinkled bankbook inside.

It was what my father had left for me.

There was only twenty thousand dollars in it—the savings he had scraped together by living frugally for years.

He had once told me, "Sweetheart, if one day, the Ellison family treats you badly, use this money to buy a ticket home."

However, I couldn't go home anymore though I was being bullied. Because I didn't have a home.