Divorcing My Scumbag Husband Is The Best Thing I Ever Did

Trenton looked at me, his expression a mix of shock and turmoil, yet he still chose to stand by Corinne’s side. “Sonia, let’s end this here today!” he declared, taking Corinne’s hand, ready to walk away. I stood my ground before them, my expression unyielding, not prepared to relent. He seemed eager to brush everything aside, expecting me to swallow the bitterness without protest, but I refused to let it slide. “If you want me to drop this, I’ll consider it. But she must compensate me for my losses and publicly apologize, stating that her actions were a momentary lapse in judgment. Otherwise…” I fixed her with a piercing stare, my eyes chillingly dark. Fear washed over Corinne's face as the reality of my words sank in. If she complied, her career would be in tatters. Everyone would perceive her as nothing more than a petty individual driven by jealousy and incompetence. “Mr. Watkins, please, could you plead my case?” she whispered, her hands trembling slightly as she gazed up at him with tear-filled, imploring eyes. Seeing me draw nearer, Trenton’s demeanor soured. He urged me to show kindness, advising against acting like a shrew and questioning why I was complicating matters for a young girl. "Enough! Is it too much to ask for an apology?” I interjected coldly, my glare directed at the two of them, impatience simmering beneath my words. Corinne jumped at the sound of my voice, a shudder coursing through her, and tears began to stream down her face. She bowed repeatedly, her apologies tumbling out in a rush. “I’m so sorry, Ms. Lynn. I truly didn’t know which pieces were yours. If I had realized you were Mr. Watkins' wife, I would never have touched them.” “I’ll take the damaged sculptures and see to their restoration. Please, don’t make this any more difficult for me,” she pleaded, trembling as she knelt to collect the scattered remnants of the pieces. I stole a glance at Trenton; his expression was shadowed with anger, his fists were clenched tightly at his sides, and his bloodshot eyes dulled into me. Those tearful, manipulative words had clearly struck a chord deep within him. My gaze turned cold as I regarded Corinne, no longer able to mask the contempt swelling in my heart. “Ah—” Just as I opened my mouth to speak, her anguished cry pierced the air. I turned to see a jagged fragment had sliced her palm, blood cascading through her fingers and pooling onto the sculpture. “I’m so sorry, Ms. Lynn! I really didn’t intend for this to happen!” she implored, her eyes brimming with fear as she looked at me, trembling at the thought of my retaliation. “Enough, Sonia! How long are you going to keep up this nonsense?” Trenton quickly shed his jacket, wrapping it around her wounded palm. He shot me a look, his brows furrowed in anger. “Why are you making this difficult for a young girl? Didn’t we endure similar struggles? Are you really that narrow-minded?” Bitterness pricked at my nose, threatening to spill over. As a sculptor, I was accustomed to the sting of sharp stones cutting into my skin. If someone couldn’t endure this minor inconvenience, they might as well stay home. “Me, narrow-minded? You certainly have a knack for twisting things,” I replied, a bitter laugh escaping my lips at the absurdity of it all. In his eyes, it felt as if everything I did was wrong, even the simple act of breathing. “Unreasonable!” he shot back coldly, taking Corinne’s hand and striding away without a second glance. As I watched him leave with such determination, a surge of anger coursed through me. My vision blurred, and I quickly grasped the nearby railing for support. Gazing down at the blood-stained fragments scattered on the ground, I allowed a bitter smile to creep across my lips. A sense of grievance surged within me, wrapping around my chest like a vice, each breath filled with searing pain. I discreetly took out my depression medication, letting a pill dissolve on my tongue. It had been a month, and yet he had failed to see my quiet battle.

I shut the exhibition hall, transferring all my remaining works into the small studio where my journey had begun. It was a space filled with memories of countless days and sleepless nights, bearing witness to my struggles and heartaches. As I arranged my pieces, I couldn’t help but wonder, had Trenton truly changed? The love had long since withered, leaving that marriage certificate as the sole barrier between us. Leaning against the wall, I surveyed the sculptures that crowded the small room, each one a testament to my past. Among them stood a lifelike statue that we had once crafted together, a bittersweet reminder of what once was. In those days, he would softly clasp my hand, guiding my movements with the sculpting knife while patiently teaching me the art of carving. When I accidentally cut myself, he was always there; concern etched on his face as he disinfected and dressed my wound. “Sonia, we’ll become the greatest sculptors in the world someday. One day, I'll personally carve a statue of you, towering several meters high!” He had declared, his heart racing as I rested against his chest, my eyes closed in sweet contentment. Yet now, everything had transformed, veering into the absurd and theatrical. The sharp ring of my phone sliced through my thoughts. I dismissed Trenton’s call once more, turned off my phone, and allowed myself to drift off to sleep at my workbench. The next morning, I stirred to a flurry of messages, ending with a furious voice message from him. “Sonia, haven’t you had enough? If you’ve got the nerve, don’t ever come back!” With an impassive expression, I closed the message. He had only ever questioned why I hadn’t returned home, pinning the blame on me while conveniently ignoring his affair with Corinne. I exited the studio and headed back to the exhibition to collect the remaining pieces. Yet, just as I stepped out with the final box of sculptures, I was abruptly surrounded by a throng of reporters. Cameras flashed before me, offering no chance for escape. “Ms. Lynn, can you explain why the sculpture exhibition with Mr. Watkins was abruptly closed yesterday? Was there a specific reason behind it?” “Yes, we heard that a mysterious woman destroyed some of your works. Do you have any comments on that, or do you know who she was?” The questions bombarded me from all directions, leaving me dizzy. Over the years, Trenton and I had gained a certain level of fame, unwittingly stepping into the spotlight as public figures. With every bit of strength I could muster, I pushed through the crowd, only to find my way blocked by a girl who suddenly stood in my path. “Ms. Lynn, we’ve heard that Corinne is merely Mr. Watkins’s assistant, but apparently, you can’t stand even the tiniest irritation, keeping any woman away from him!” I paused, turning back to shoot her a chilling look. “Refuse to let any woman near him? If your definition of ‘near’ includes your husband kissing another woman, then I must confess, I’m not as forgiving as you are.” The girl faltered for a moment, then quickly blocked my path again, pressing forward. “But I heard you intentionally used a broken sculpture to hurt Corinne out of spite, causing her significant harm. Even when Mr. Watkins stepped in, you persisted in your actions. Don’t you think you’re bullying her for lacking your experience?” She spat the word “intentionally,” emphasizing it with a finger pointed straight at me as if she were the arbiter of justice for Corinne. Sensing a juicy story, the surrounding reporters swung their cameras in my direction. I managed a bitter smile, reached for a broken piece of sculpture, and held it up with calm determination. “Lacking tolerance? Corinne destroyed years of my work. These sculptures embody my every emotion, each painstaking hour, yet she shattered them without a second thought. And now she believes a mere ‘mistake’ can absolve her?” Anger bubbled within me as I stared her down, my fists clenched so tightly that my knuckles turned white. I stepped forward, locking my gaze on her work badge, my eyes cold as ice. “Did Corinne send you? Is she using you to tarnish my reputation? How cheap her tactics are.” The girl was taken aback, panic flickering in her eyes as she hastily tucked her badge into her shirt. “That’s just your assumption. I’m asking as a reporter, representing the public.” “I have a video of Mr. Watkins here; why don't you take a look first!,” she said, retrieving her phone to play a video. It was Trenton, smiling gently as if yesterday’s events had left no mark on him. “Hello, everyone,” he began, his voice warm and inviting. “First, I want to extend my apologies on behalf of my wife for her actions. Her unreasonable behavior caused harm to my assistant, leading to the unfortunate cancellation of our exhibition. Moving forward, Corinne and I will be collaborating on a new sculpture to share with all of you!”

I pressed my lower lip between my teeth, my eyes glued to Trenton in the video, unable to meet his gaze. How revolting! He certainly knew how to play his hand. With a few well-chosen words, he cast me as the villain, while Corinne emerged as the ultimate victim. The girl filming noticed my silence and, brimming with delight, turned the camera toward my pale face, her tone laced with disdain. “Mr. Watkins made it very clear: all of this stems from your selfish nature. You stifle newcomers. You’re nothing but a petty, narrow-minded, and dirty person!” Dirty? Narrow-minded? Her words crashed over me like a thunderclap, reverberating in my ears. My vision dimmed, and I stumbled, collapsing to the ground. The broken sculpture I had clutched rolled away, coming to a rest at her feet. She picked it up, raising it mockingly before the camera, her voice dripping with contempt. “So, this is one of your masterpieces? Looks like a mere broken stone. No wonder you feel threatened by newcomers, you’re just scared of being outshined!” “Lies! This is my blood and sweat!” My eyes blazed red, my face contorted with fury. I lunged forward, shoving her to the ground and reclaiming my piece. The sharp edge bit into my palm and blood oozed out, causing everyone to step back in alarm. Cradling my injured arm, I staggered down the street, blood trickling between my fingers. Perhaps from the loss, my vision darkened, and I crumpled to the ground. As I regained consciousness, I found Trenton sitting nearby, impatience written all over his face. “Was this really necessary, Sonia? Pulling a stunt like this just to get me to come home, how desperate can you be?” “Do you even realize how busy I’ve been? I’m balancing multiple projects while training Corinne. You refuse to come home, fine, but can’t you at least act decently?” “Seriously, what’s with the high-and-mighty attitude? Just because you’ve crafted a few pieces of junk doesn’t mean you’re something special. If you ask me, you’re miles behind Corinne!” His glare pierced through me as he unleashed a barrage of accusations like bullets, each one striking my temples with a dull throb. “Get out!” I shot back coldly, my voice stripped of emotion. How shameless he was, wielding flimsy excuses to justify his affair. “You—” “Fine, fine! Clearly, you’re not that sick if you have the energy to put on an act!” He spat the words, turned on his heel, and stormed away. After several days in the hospital, Trenton never came to visit. Upon my discharge, I noticed a few nurses sharing knowing looks. “Ms. Lynn, if you ever feel unwell again, please call me right away!” One of the younger nurses said, slipping her phone number into my palm. I blinked at her, bewildered, unable to grasp the implication behind her gesture. When I returned home, chaos greeted me. Broken fragments and discarded tools littered the floor while my belongings lay scattered in disarray. Clenching my fists, I reached for my phone, ready to confront Trenton. Just then, a notification flashed on the screen: [Sculpting Master Trenton and Assistant Corinne Unveil New Work After Days of Effort!] The headline piqued my interest, and I found myself clicking on it, unable to resist. Suddenly, it felt as if an invisible hand had tightened around my heart, each breath turning into a desperate struggle for air. There, before me, stood a nude sculpture of Corinne. My stomach churned violently. I stumbled to the bathroom, retching until only bile remained, leaving me weak and drained. "Lol." A bitter laugh escaped my lips as I slumped against the floor. I pulled the nurse’s phone number from my pocket and flung it into the toilet. Just let me die here. I lost track of time, feeling as if I were caught in a haze. When I finally emerged from my stupor, the house lay empty and silent, its stillness suffocating. Unable to bear it any longer, I drafted a divorce agreement without a moment’s hesitation and resolved to deliver it to him myself. When I arrived at the studio, a staff member spotted me and rushed over. “Ms. Lynn, Mr. Watkins isn’t here at the moment. Would you like to sit down and wait?” She looked uneasy, likely hoping I’d choose a different spot. Ignoring her concern, I marched straight to Trenton’s workspace and pushed open the door. "Ah?" “Ms. Lynn, you’re here? Are you worried about Mr. Watkins? Don’t fret; I’ve been taking excellent care of him these past few days. He’s even gained some weight!” Corinne declared, her head held high, eager for my reaction. In former days, I might have lashed out and raised my voice in defiance. But now, I felt nothing. Seeing my lack of response, a flicker of disappointment crossed her face, yet she pressed on, trying again. “Oh, right, Ms. Lynn, I wanted to clarify that the statue really wasn’t a big deal. I simply wanted to model it after classical Western art, so I pleaded with Mr. Watkins to help me…” I raised a hand, cutting her off mid-sentence. Classical Western art, what a shameless excuse. “Enough. Spare me your little games.” Her expression darkened, and she forced an awkward laugh before attempting to walk away. “Wait. Take this and give it to Trenton. Tell him to sign it and finalize the divorce!” I pulled the divorce papers from my bag and handed them over, determined to use her as my messenger since I couldn’t reach him. “Oh, I don’t know…” She feigned hesitation, yet the corner of her mouth twitched with smug satisfaction. I released a chilling laugh, lifting my cup and savoring a sip. “What? How do you plan to advance if I don’t get divorced? Are you prepared to keep wearing the label of the other woman?” Her expression darkened at my candor, yet she still accepted the papers and made her exit. A smirk of disdain curled at the corners of my mouth as I watched her leave. She was so young and impressionable; with just a few choice words, I had sent her reeling, unable to hide her feelings. How easily she was thrown off balance. That night, I succumbed to sleep on the sofa, completely unaware of Trenton’s return. Upon entering, he took in the disarray, littering the floor with hardly any space to step. His expression turned stormy with fury as he marched toward me, seizing my clothes and pressing me down as if I were a criminal in his grasp. “Sonia, can’t you manage to clean up this house? You’re lying there like a dead pig!” “I work myself to the bone every single day, only to come home to this mess! Do you feel no shame at all? How outrageously lazy!” In disgust, he kicked a chair, the sound echoing as it creaked beneath him. “Get your filthy hands off me!” I shot back, my voice laced with disdain, my gaze filled with unmistakable revulsion. Trenton was caught off guard by my icy tone, not expecting such determination from me. Rising, I seized a piece of broken sculpture from the floor and flung it at his face. He flinched, his gaze reddening with anger as he shot daggers at me. “You call me lazy? Yet you never consider what you’ve been up to with Corinne here at home!” “Nude art, inspired by classical Western themes, Trenton, you are completely shameless. You’ll say anything to excuse your little games!” I pressed myself against the wall, barely managing to stay upright as waves of nausea washed over me. Seven years of marriage had been a rollercoaster. We’d fought, clashed over differing opinions, and argued about finances. Even when I wasn’t at fault, I often found myself the first to apologize. But today marked a turning point; I was done. Trenton’s eyes flickered, but he stubbornly refused to back down, raising his voice to retort, “Art is art! Do you really have so little tolerance?”