My already unhealed incision, worsened by Julian's rough handling, throbbed with double the pain. I instinctively clutched my abdomen.

He froze, then roughly lifted the hem of my shirt, exposing the red, swollen surgical incisions on my abdomen.

"Julian Thorne, what the hell do you want?"

Furious, I slapped his hand away. Seeing him reach out again, I glared at him. "Don't touch me!"

"When did this happen? Why didn't you answer my calls?"

"Why didn't you tell me you were having surgery? I'm your husband, why were you hiding it from me?"

His angry expression made it unclear whether he was upset I was sick or angry I'd kept it from him.

I rearranged my clothes with a cold laugh, ignoring him. Remembering the colleagues I'd just encountered, going back to the office was out of the question for now.

This issue had been bothering me for over half a year. A few days prior, I felt so unwell that I went for a check-up and discovered an ovarian cyst and uterine fibroids. Following my doctor's advice, I had surgery.

I remembered the doctor saying I'd need family present, so I called Julian.

What did he say? He said he was a bit busy lately and told me not to call him for no reason.

My throat tightened. I wanted to tell him I was sick, that I needed surgery, that I needed family by my side.

But before I could speak, I suddenly heard Brooke's voice: "Julian, I'm perfectly fine, I don't want to go to the clinic!"

Julian's helplessly doting voice shattered the last shred of my composure.

"You have to go. You're the one who fainted on set, not me!"

Then he turned, his voice tinged with impatience, and told me: "Alright, I'll call you back."

With that, he hung up directly.

I stared at the disconnected call, an unprecedented wave of disappointment washing over me.

Right up until the day of my surgery, my husband was accompanying another woman to the hospital.

Julian Thorne, why am I always the one being overlooked? Why can't you turn around and truly see me?

Julian, I don't want to wait for you anymore.

After getting my incision redressed at the clinic, Julian drove me straight home.

His phone rang the entire way, but he ignored it.

I sat on the sofa, turned on the TV, and calmly said, "Go. It's not right to leave her alone at the company."

The concern I'd never received before, I didn't seem to need it now.

"It's fine. She'll get home on her own."

"...From now on, you have to tell me everything."

I remained silent. Julian poured me a glass of water, then turned and went to his study.

I was exhausted. I got up, went to the bedroom, and slept until very late.

When I woke up, Julian was still there.

He leaned casually on the balcony, smoking. Seeing me come out, he put out his cigarette and turned on the living room light.

"Want something to eat? I'll make you some noodles."

I looked at him, acting like nothing had happened, the picture of a good husband.

Then I said what I'd wanted to say for a long time: "Julian Thorne, let's get a divorce!"