When I Asked My Husband for a Divorce, He Said He’d Be Bringing Home a Young Woman, So I Left - 1
Life never goes as planned.
Truly… it never does.
A deep sigh eventually turns into a sob. No matter how much I cry, the tears never run dry.
No reply came to the letter I sent, but through the grapevine, I heard that my husband was retiring.
In the past, I would have eagerly awaited this, longed for it—but now, his retirement and return at this timing felt like a boot stomping down on my already shattered heart.
What’s more, though I received no response, he sent instructions to the steward by letter.
“I will return with one guest—a twenty-year-old woman. Prepare the finest room in the estate and ensure she lacks for nothing during her stay.”
The steward, his face pale with pity, showed me the letter with trembling hands.
A man of long service to this house, composed and experienced, he rarely showed distress. But this time, he had no choice but to seek my guidance, unable to conceal the truth. Had it been something he could arrange without my knowledge, he surely would have—but this was beyond him.
The finest room in the estate.
Excluding the master’s study, which was not meant for lodging, the finest rooms were the master’s own chamber, the marital bedroom, and my room—as the viscountess—all south-facing and bathed in sunlight.
To surrender the master’s room to a guest was unthinkable.
Bringing home a twenty-year-old woman and demanding the finest room be prepared for her.
This was an order for me to… vacate my room. To leave the estate.
Divorce.
True, it was I who had wished for it.
But to ignore my letter asking for separation and return with another woman—
It will soon be ten years since we married. Fifteen, if you count our engagement.
I had believed in the trust we built, nurtured through deepening affection—that no matter what, he wouldn’t treat me so callously. But perhaps that was just my own delusion.
Was I the only one who loved?
Or had he already forgotten, leaving it all in the past?
Tears I thought long dried spilled over, but crying and screaming wouldn’t stop time. If I didn’t move my hands, my belongings wouldn’t pack themselves. I had refused the maids’ help—this was my task to bear.
Since I was the one who sought separation, I had already begun packing.
I would leave behind all the dresses and jewelry tailored for me as the viscountess. Only the bare necessities and the treasures I couldn’t bear to part with—worthless to others but filled with irreplaceable memories.
Each time I picked them up to sort through, memories flooded back, tears wouldn’t stop, and my hands froze.
…I was loved. We loved each other. Looking back, I can’t help but believe it.
He cherished me.
His eyes and voice burning with passion, he sought me.
Even if, after marriage, he could only return home as often as I could count on my fingers, I believed in our bond.
My husband, fighting on the front lines against monsters.
My duty, as the wife who married into this viscount’s house, was to hold the fort—and I devoted myself to it, body and soul.
We truly did love each other.