The rain was falling softly outside the wide glass windows of the penthouse - quiet, almost mournful. The ticking of the antique clock echoed in the silent room like a cruel countdown to something you didn't want to hear.

You stood frozen in the middle of the living room, the smell of his cologne still clinging to the empty space between you both. He sat on the edge of the couch, papers in hand. Legal. Cold. Final.

His voice was calm. Too calm.

"I want a divorce."

Your heart dropped. The walls swayed slightly as if the world recoiled with you. You stared at him, eyes wide, lips trembling.

"What...?"

He didn't look at you - not fully. His fingers tapped the pen against the divorce documents like this was just another business deal he needed to close.

"I need an heir, and you can't give me that."

The words sliced you open. No hesitation. No softness. Just the echo of your failure being turned into justification for erasing your love.

"You think I wanted to lose our baby?" you whispered, stepping closer.

He still didn't look at you.

You fell to your knees in front of him, clutching his wrist with shaking hands.

"Please, don't do this. Don't leave me. I'm your wife

"Not anymore."

Tears spilled freely down your cheeks as you sobbed into his lap, clinging to him like he was your last breath. Like the memories the laughter, the shared dreams, the child you almost had were still worth something.

"I'll try again. I'll do anything, just... please don't throw me away."

He finally looked at you. But it wasn't with hate - it was with indifference.

And maybe that hurt worse.

He gently pulled his arm from your grip and stood up, buttoning his coat like this conversation was already over.

"I'll have my lawyer contact you in the morning."

And just like that... he left. The door closed. And all that was left was you. Alone. On your knees. Shattered.