More Than A Gesture

Violet’s expression turned especially dark.

“No wonder you picked a fight today and insisted on a divorce. Turns out you’ve hooked up with some skank.

“You disgust me.”

…

I pressed my tongue against the side of my face where she had slapped me.

All it took was one careless insult from Daniel, and Violet didn’t hesitate to strike me in front of everyone.

She had never truly loved me.

When I didn’t respond, she assumed I was guilty.

Right in front of me, she reached out and took Daniel’s hand. Their hands intertwined.

I pulled out my phone and snapped several photos of them together.

“What are you doing?” she demanded.

“I’ll have my lawyer send you another copy of the divorce agreement. If you still refuse to sign, I’ll file a lawsuit,” I said calmly.

“And since you’re the one at fault, don’t expect a penny from me.”

Violet stared at me for a long time. Then, overwhelmed by rage, she let out a scornful laugh.

“Don’t you dare try to threaten me with your filthy money.

“Let me be clear—even if we get a divorce, I’ll be the one to initiate it. You’re not worthy of me.”

With that, she grabbed Daniel’s hand and got into my car.

The driver looked at me, clearly caught in an awkward position.

I shook my head, unwilling to argue over something so petty, and got into the front seat.

Through the rearview mirror, I noticed their hands still tightly intertwined.

I looked away, but the image stayed in my mind.

My thoughts drifted—unbidden—to three months ago, when Violet woke in the middle of the night with a sudden pain in her stomach.

Her face had gone deathly pale. I had been so worried that I instinctively reached out to soothe her, gently pressing her abdomen.

But the moment my hand touched her pajama fabric, she doused me with scalding water.

She apologized afterward, of course. But the helpless, bitter frustration from that night lingered with me for weeks.

Maybe that was the moment I truly began to let go of my love for her.

The car soon pulled up at the exhibition center.

The moment I stepped out, Violet shot me a sharp glare and snapped, “Why are you getting out? This isn’t a place for you!”

Daniel, standing beside her, chimed in with fake concern, “Don’t say that, Professor. Maybe Mr. Sargent just wants to sit in and observe.

“He may lack a formal education, but having a heart eager to learn isn’t a bad thing, right?”

“John? Audit a seminar? He’s more likely to embarrass us,” Violet sneered.

The two took turns ridiculing me, leaving me no chance to speak.

Just then, someone walked over to greet Violet.

“Professor Miller, we meet again. The gentleman beside you must be your husband?”

Violet glanced at me coolly, then effortlessly wrapped her arm around Daniel’s.

“That’s right. This is my husband, Daniel Webster—he’s also a researcher at my institute.”

At that, the crowd immediately showered them with flattery.

“Professor Miller and Mr. Webster are a match made in heaven! Together, there’s no doubt you’ll achieve even greater things in the pharmaceutical field!”

Amid the sycophantic praise, the two walked into the conference hall, hand in hand.

Even though I had already given up on Violet long ago, watching this still stirred a dull ache in my chest.

For the many years we’d been married, no matter how busy I was, I always made it home in time to cook her dinner and draw her a bath.

I loved her with everything I had, and I did everything I could to protect our hard-won marriage.

Yet she had never once acknowledged me as her husband in front of her colleagues.

I was hurt, but I never confronted her.

I kept waiting for the day she would finally accept my love.

But all that waiting led to this: her publicly declaring another man as her husband.

In that moment, the ten years I spent loving and protecting her became nothing more than a cruel joke.