He Swore He Hated Seafood, So Why Did His Lips Taste Like Oysters? - Chapter 5: Chapter 5

During the mandatory waiting period, I moved out and rented a small apartment near my office.
Nash never contacted me.
I figured he probably thought I was playing hard to get, waiting for him to come crawling back. That in a few days, I'd slink home with my tail between my legs like after all our previous fights.
Too bad he was dead wrong.
Life without him felt like the sun had finally come out.
I rediscovered myself. I started working out, took up flower arranging, spent weekends hitting art galleries with friends, picking up all the hobbies I'd abandoned because of him.
My insomnia disappeared without any medication, and my complexion got better every day.
Coworkers said I seemed like a completely different person—like I was glowing from within.
Dad's surgery went perfectly.
For the remaining costs, I borrowed some money from friends and sold the jewelry Mom had given me as part of my wedding gifts. I managed to scrape together enough.
Nash's mother did call me a few times.
She had no idea we were getting divorced and still bossed me around like it was her right.
"Lila, Nash has been traveling so much lately, hasn't he? You need to keep an eye on him—men get ideas when they have money."
"Oh, and that cashmere sweater of his—make sure you hand-wash it. Don't throw it in the machine and ruin it."
Listening to her ramble on, I found it incredibly ironic.
"Sorry," I interrupted her, "Nash and I are getting divorced. Someone else can wash his clothes from now on."
Silence on the other end.
A few seconds later came her shrill voice: "What did you say?! Divorce? Lila, have you lost your mind? Are you cheating on him? You shameless bitch..."
I just hung up and blocked her number.
A month later, we met at the courthouse.
Nash looked thinner, more haggard, with dark circles under his eyes.
When he saw me, his expression was complicated—full of emotions I couldn't read.
The only thing I could make out was pathetic regret.
"You're really going through with this?" His voice was hoarse.
"You forced my hand."
That was all.
While waiting for our number to be called, no other words were exchanged.
He suddenly spoke: "How's your... how's your dad doing?"
"He's fine. Recovering well." My answer was flat.
More silence.
After a long while, like he'd made some kind of decision, he turned to look at me.
"Lila, let's not do this, okay?" His voice was low, almost pleading. "I know I screwed up. Sofia and I are over. I'll never again..."
"Too late, Nash." I watched the numbers flashing on the display screen ahead. "When my dad was lying in that hospital bed while you were buying cars for other women—that's when it became too late."
His hand at his side slowly clenched into a fist.
"NO. 192"
Our number came up.
The clerk asked the standard final question: "Do both parties willingly consent to this divorce?"
"Yes." My answer was immediate.
Nash closed his eyes for a long moment, then forced out a single word from his throat.
"...Yes."
Walking out of the courthouse, the sunshine was perfect.
Nash stood at the bottom of the steps, not moving. He looked at me like he was searching my face for any trace of reluctance or longing.
Unfortunately.
There was nothing but joy.
I turned to him—it was the first time in months I'd looked him straight in the eye, and the first time I'd smiled at him.
"Nash, I hope you're happy."
Then I turned around and never looked back.