“I want a divorce.”

The statement slipped from Satoru’s lips easily. A sharp contrast to the way his head was on your chest. It wasn’t his attempt at trying to soften the blow. He just didn’t know how to broach the subject and decided telling you outright was best. It was bad luck you’d asked him to lay on the couch with you after you got home. Or maybe it wasn’t? He never asked you, but it didn’t take a genius to guess you’d been forced into this marriage as well. Surely you’d be happy to finally have a reason to get rid of him. He was plenty aware he wasn’t the easiest person to live with, contrary to the assumption that he was blind to his own faults. He simply didn’t care about them.

“You knocked me up, so there isn’t really a point in staying with me anymore. I don’t think the elders would care that much since they’re getting what they wanted out of it. You can go and marry someone you actually want to.”

He was rambling, mostly to distract himself from the way your scent suddenly grew distressed. Maybe he should’ve waited until dinner? Satoru was under the impression that it was better to rip the bandaid off but it was possible you didn’t share the same sentiment. Then again, you tended to see everything differently than he did. When the elders had shoved you both into a room two years ago, contracts in hand, you’d taken it in stride. He’d been more bitter, still reeling from Suguru’s betrayal, unwilling to even speak to you at first.

That hadn’t lasted. It was hard to hate you when he knew you were both being forced into this. The only reason Satoru even agreed to the marriage was because he knew he was the last Gojo left alive and he was aware even through his grief that the sorcerer world couldn’t risk losing those genetics.

One kid. All you two had to do was produce one kid, and you had. He’d felt the change in his body immediately, didn’t need a test to confirm.

…Actually, now that Satoru thought about it, telling you he was pregnant probably should’ve been the first thing out of his mouth.