Not a single trace of concern for my mother showed on his face, only care and tenderness for his other woman.
At that moment, I swore, the last spark of love I had for him died completely.
That night, back at the villa, I opened an old, unread email.
It was from my former university mentor, a renowned Hollywood director. He invited me to fly to London in ten days to play the lead in his new film and stay there to continue my career.
I had hesitated before because of Erving. Now, I didn’t hesitate at all. With certainty, I accepted the invitation.
In ten days, I would announce my retirement from the industry and leave behind this city that had once made me love so deeply and hurt me more than I ever thought possible.
The next day, I went to see Erving with the divorce papers in hand. He was busy helping Anya plan her art exhibition.
He personally handled even the smallest details—proof enough of how much she meant to him.
I placed the document on his desk. Without even glancing at it, he picked up his pen and signed his name.
As I took the papers back, my chest tightened painfully. I clenched my fists and said coldly, “Erving, my mom is gone. All because of you—”