The Ninth Time I Took Off My Wedding Ring Chapter 02
As I wheeled my suitcase toward the door, Clifford’s words still echoed in my ears: “Are you really that pathetic? Can’t survive
without a man?”
He was right. For the past five years, I’d poured all my energy into watching his every move and fighting Brianna.
I remembered what happened on the third day of our third reconciliation, during the Montgomery Industries quarterly meeting.
That day I sat in the second chair to Clifford’s right, listening to
Brianna report her flower shop’s “losses.”
“Over the past three months, ‘Petal & Thorn ‘ flower shop reported losses of eighty thousand dollars.” I stood up, projecting the financial statements onto the screen. “But bank records show that during the same period, one hundred and twenty thousand dollars was transferred to Brianna’s personal
account. The discrepancy remains unexplained.”
Brianna’s face went white instantly, her fingers gripping the
back of Clifford’s chair: “That was… that was normal
operational transfer for the shop, I… I can explain…”
Clifford didn’t even look at the evidence, his eyes fixed on me:
Enough! Claire, get out!”
“Financial fraud violates the seventh rule-”
“I said enough!” He slapped me, his voice low but loud enough for everyone in the conference room to hear. “Playing games with me? You think I don’t know what you’re trying to pull?”
He turned to the stunned lieutenants, his voice returning to its
authoritative tone: “Effective immediately, Claire is no longer serving as financial advisor. The contents of this meeting involve family business–all recordings are to be destroyed
immediately. As for the flower shop’s accounting issues, I’ll handle it privately.”
That evening, an official announcement signed by Clifford himself appeared in the internal communications: [Statement
Regarding the Third Separation Agreement and Personnel Changes].
He acknowledged that our marriage had been suspended per our separation agreement, emphasizing that the separation was “by mutual agreement,” implying that my behavior at the meeting was “emotional” and “causing problems.” The postscript read: “Please respect the terms of our agreement and refrain from unnecessary speculation.”
Sitting on my bed reading the announcement, I finally understood his calculation. After each reconciliation, he’d issue
these statements–not for honesty, but to transform me from ” the betrayed wife” into “the partner who agreed to separate.”
And now, standing at the manor’s entrance, I told Clifford in the rain: “This time, I’ll go quietly.”
Then I got into the taxi.
Clifford clearly hadn’t expected such calm from me. He froze for a moment, then shouted: “July 16th, Brianna’s surgery
appointment. I’ll be waiting for you to come back that afternoon.
I glanced at my phone calendar. July 16th at 3 PM, my private jet was scheduled to take off.
I told the driver: “Let’s go.”
The window rolled up, cutting off his expression.
A week after moving out of the manor, I was staying at Flora’s
villa. Clifford was completely absorbed in Brianna trying to get pregnant and hadn’t contacted me once.
Unlike previous separations, I no longer had people watching
Clifford’s movements or deliberately showed up where he might be. Flora and I lived a genuinely relaxing vacation life— shopping and spa treatments during the day, wine and jazz at night.
Before I knew it, there were only two weeks left until my planned departure.
That day, Flora and I were trying on clothes at a downtown boutique when Clifford walked in with Brianna on his arm. I saw him pause at the entrance through the mirror–clearly he’d spotted me too.
“Claire! What a coincidence, you’re shopping too?” Brianna clung to Clifford’s arm, smiling particularly sweetly.
Clifford didn’t respond, just stood there, his gaze shifting between me and the clothes in the store, seemingly debating whether to turn and leave.
I ignored them and continued selecting clothes with Flora.
When I’d chosen three pieces and was ready to check out, Brianna gently tugged Clifford’s sleeve: “Clifford, those are exactly the styles I wanted… It’s hard for me to get around and shop like this. And the doctor said I need to stay in good spirits-
it’s important for my chances.”
Clifford glanced at me, then finally nodded to the sales clerk: ” Wrap them up, put it on my account.”
Six months ago, this scene would have destroyed me. Now I just found this predictable performance somewhat amusing.
Flora went white with anger, almost ready to confront them, but I gently pressed her arm. “It’s fine, Flora. Let’s try another
store.”
Before, this kind of thing would have kept me awake all night, replaying every detail until I drove myself crazy. But now, watching them was like watching a bad soap opera that had nothing to do with me.
I even felt a trace of pity–he actually thought I’d still get worked up over a few pieces of clothing, over this man who’d been rotten through for so long.
The sales clerk packaged the clothes while flattering Brianna: Miss, you’re so lucky to have such a thoughtful guy.”
Clifford listened to those words, but his eyes kept following me as I walked toward the door with Flora. He was waiting–waiting for me to turn around, to explode, for my familiar “Clifford, how dare you!”
But I simply carried my own bag, linking arms with Flora, and walked straight to the exit. No pause, no eye contact, no unnecessary words.
The shop door closed behind me. Through the glass, Clifford stood frozen in place, holding the clothes I had originally chosen,
his gaze locked on my retreating figure.