Sean stood outside the door, eavesdropping on Clara's conversation with a few people inside the hospital room. He didn't go in.
He just stood in the hospital hallway, his back pressed against the cold wall, breathing heavily. The veins in his neck were taut. The word "divorce" kept ringing in his head, like a hammer striking over and over.
"No. I won't let that happen."
To Sean, Clara was his wife. His. Even if Sean had never loved her, that didn't mean Clara could just walk away.
Sean let out a short, bitter laugh.
"I'm the one who decides how this story ends," he muttered.
*
********
*
Inside the room, Clara lay with a weakened body, but her mind was far sharper than before. Something had changed since she signed that document. It was as if a wall had crumbled within her—and behind it stood a colder, calmer Clara.
Mrs. Diana sat beside the bed, holding her daughter's hand.
"You're sure about this decision, aren't you?" the mother asked once more, her voice soft but full of caution.
Clara turned her head.
Her face was still bruised. Her lips were chapped. But her eyes—those eyes were no longer empty.
"I don't want to die foolishly, Mom," she replied softly. "I've lived in fear for far too long."
Mrs. Diana nodded. Her chest felt tight, but there was a pride she couldn't hide.
"In that case, I'll stand behind you," she said firmly. "No matter what happens."
Clara closed her eyes for a moment. "I won't be enslaved by love again!"
*******
At Mr. Weasley's Residence
Mr. Weasley paced back and forth in his private study, his suit still neat, but his face creased with worry. His phone rang almost nonstop. One by one, he rejected the calls.
"Why is this chaos spreading everywhere?" he said finally, his voice heavy. "This isn't just a domestic issue anymore."
Mrs. Weasley sat on the sofa, her fingers clasped together. Her face was pale.
"Sean just lost control," she said, as if repeating the same defense. "He's stressed. All of this is happening too fast."
Mr. Weasley stopped pacing.
"Your son nearly killed his wife," he said coldly. "And you still call it stress?"
Mrs. Weasley fell silent. Her jaw tightened.
"I don't want Sean to go to jail," she said finally. "He's our only child."
Mr. Weasley stared at his wife for a long moment.
"And Clara?" he asked softly. "Isn't she a human being?"
Silence fell between them.
"Honey, do whatever it takes to make this all better. You can hire the best and most expensive lawyers to handle this. Shut the media up with our money!" Mrs. Weasley pleaded.
"Shut up! I know what I have to do!"
---
By late afternoon, the pressure was mounting.
Several reporters managed to sneak into the parking lot of Mr. Smith's office. Cameras were trained on every luxury car coming and going. Rumors turned into wild speculation.
"Domestic violence by a prominent businessman."
"Wife in intensive care, suspected miscarriage."
"Divorce on the horizon."
Those headlines began appearing on online news portals.
Sean watched it all on the tablet screen in his hands. His hands were shaking—not out of fear, but out of anger.
"They're treating me like a criminal," he said angrily.
"You've been acting like a criminal," Mr. Weasley replied coldly from across the room.
Sean turned sharply.
"Dad always blames me," he said bitterly. "As if I've never been a good son."
Mr. Weasley stepped closer, staring straight at his son.
"You're not a little boy anymore," he said softly. "And the world doesn't care whether you feel loved or not. The world only sees what you do."
Sean laughed bitterly.
"And now Clara wants to divorce me," he said. "After everything I've done for her—"
"You've done nothing but hurt her," Mr. Weasley cut in.
Sean clenched his fists.
"I won't let her go," he said quietly, but menacingly.
Mrs. Weasley tensed.
"Sean," she said quickly. "Don't do anything rash."
Sean gave a wry smile.
"I'm just going to talk to her," he said. "As her husband."
*
*********
*
That night, Sean finally stood in front of the door to the room where Clara was being treated. His hand rose, hesitating for a moment, then knocked.
There was no answer.
He knocked again.
The door opened—not by Clara, but by Mrs. Diana.
The woman's expression immediately turned cold upon seeing who stood before her.
"What do you want now?" she asked sharply.
"I want to talk to my wife," Sean replied, trying to sound calm.
"Your wife doesn't want to see you," Mrs. Diana replied without hesitation. "And I won't let you in."
Sean sighed, trying to hold back his emotions.
"This is our family matter," he said. "It's none of your business."
Mrs. Diana gave a short laugh—full of contempt.
"A family matter?" she said. "You tortured my daughter nearly to death, and you still dare to call it a family matter?"
Clara heard the voices from inside. She opened her eyes.
Slowly, she said, "Mom… let him in."
Mrs. Diana turned in surprise.
Clara stared at the door, then said more firmly, "I want to hear him."
Mrs. Diana stepped aside reluctantly.
Sean stepped inside.
When his eyes took in Clara's condition on the bed—bruises, bandages, and a pale face—his chest felt as if struck by something foreign.
Guilt.
Fear.
A sense of loss.
"I'm sorry," he finally said, his voice lower than usual. "I didn't mean to—"
"Enough," Clara cut him off. Her voice was soft, but firm.
Sean fell silent.
"I don't want to hear your excuses," Clara continued. "I just want one thing."
Sean swallowed.
"What?"
"I want you to let me go," Clara said flatly.
Sean stared at her, his eyes widening.
"No," he replied instinctively. "I won't sign the divorce papers."
Clara gave a faint smile.
"You don't have to," she said softly. "The law will do it for you."
Those words made Sean freeze.
"Clara! I know you love me so much and you couldn't possibly divorce me that easily! You must be acting on impulse!" Sean looked very confident.
"What? Love you?!" Clara laughed. "That was yesterday; it's not like that anymore. I don't love you anymore!"