Chapter 7 - The Final Severance
The silence that followed my words was so heavy I could almost hear the wind rustling through the trees at the villa.
"Elena," Marcos’s voice cut through the line, shaky and desperate. "Please, Elena. Enough. Open the house. We can talk about this inside. Let's not make a scene."
"The scene has already been recorded, Marcos," I said, my voice devoid of any warmth. "The police and the paramedics had to break into my home to save my life while you were boarding a flight to Miami."
"We didn't know it was that serious!" Pilar chimed in, her tone shifting from rage to a defensive, whiny pitch. "You're always so dramatic, Elena. How were we supposed to know? Now open this door before I call the police on you!"
"Go ahead, Pilar," I said, a faint smile touching my lips. "Call them. In fact, Robert’s legal team is already standing at the local precinct with the video evidence of Marcos locking me inside a house during active labor. The police are actually looking for Marcos as we speak."
"What?" Marcos gasped, his voice cracking. "Elena, please... I’m sorry. I was stupid. I should have stayed. My mother... she insisted, and I just—"
"You chose, Marcos," I interrupted. "Every single day of our marriage, you chose your mother's greed over my dignity. And last Friday, you chose to lock your pregnant wife in a house so you could go spend seven thousand dollars of my money on a beach vacation."
"It’s our money!" Pilar screamed. "You're his wife!"
"Actually, Pilar, it’s not," I said. "The prenuptial agreement Marcos signed explicitly protects all of my pre-marital assets, including this house and my business. The credit card you used in Miami was a corporate account. We've already filed unauthorized transaction claims with the bank. By tomorrow, those charges will be flagged as corporate fraud."
"Elena, please," Marcos begged, his voice cracking with real tears now. "I am your husband. We have a son. Let me see my son."
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I looked down at Arthur, his beautiful, peaceful face. He was safe. He would never grow up watching his father treat his mother like a door mat. "You don't have a son, Marcos," I said, my voice as cold and final as the winter wind. "You have a child you abandoned. My lawyers will contact you regarding the divorce and custody. But let me make this very clear: you will never, ever set foot in my life again."
And before he could respond, I tapped the red button, ending the call.
