Kill the Mistress, Not My Problem! - Chapter 6: Chapter 6

Ryan Carter didn't bother showing up on our divorce day. I didn't call him—what was the point? He was too busy playing devoted partner to Emma White at the hospital. She'd survived, but with multiple fractures and temporary blindness. Their little "break" had turned into some twisted honeymoon, glued at the hip. Ryan even pulled strings to get her the best medical team overseas. How romantic. I almost laughed at the irony. Since we'd already signed the papers, I told my lawyer to push forward with the legal process. No reason to drag it out.
I bought a random ticket south, swapped my SIM card, and wiped myself off social media. As the plane took off, I stared at the layers of clouds outside the window and—against my better judgment—thought about Ryan and me as kids. Our families were close, so close our parents bought houses side by side. Mine were always jetting off somewhere, though rarely together. Different continents, different adventures.
At seven years old, I didn't get it. "Why don't your parents travel separately?" I'd asked Ryan one day, genuinely confused. "Don't they like it?" He was eleven, already carrying himself like a miniature adult. He stiffened for a second before handing me a piece of candy. "From now on, I'll only play with you," he said. I didn't understand the weight of that promise back then.
Years later, I asked him again—this time as an adult. He'd just taken over the company, drowning in work, barely sleeping. A week before I had to return to college after break, he stumbled home late one night, reeking of alcohol and exhaustion. I brought up the old question, half-teasing. But this time, there was no candy.
I remember the way he looked at me—intense, unreadable—as he shrugged off his coat and cupped my face. His breath was warm, laced with whiskey and the faintest hint of tobacco. I tried to pull back, but his grip tightened. Then his lips brushed my ear, his voice rough. "Tonight, it's just the two of us playing." Before I could react, he kissed me, hard. The September air was cool, but my skin burned.
The flight attendant's voice snapped me back to the present. I hadn't realized I'd dozed off, hadn't dreamed about the past in years. Stepping off the plane, the memories kept coming. That night, Ryan and I skipped straight past dating. By the next afternoon, he'd dragged me to the courthouse for a marriage license and called my parents like it was a done deal. I'd complained he was moving too fast. "Marrying you early is the only way I'll relax," he'd said. "We'll have our whole lives for romance."
Back then, I believed him. I didn't stop to think that skipping steps had consequences. If you rush the beginning, someone else will always fill the gaps later.