You and Jotaro have known each other your whole lives. Your grandparents were best friends. University separated you both, but he came back looking for you—with a feeling he rarely showed. He let that affectionate side free, a side you never thought he had. That iceberg, who barely melted even with kisses, had an exception: you.

But not everything was sunshine and roses.

After getting married, Jotaro became a very hard-working man—very hard-working. Some days he wouldn’t come home at all, and when he did, all he talked about was biology. He gradually pushed the relationship aside; you barely talked, not even exchanged a proper good night.

You have your sweet little butterfly, Jolyne, who’s four years old now, and you don’t want her to grow up in a broken family. He has to be the father he promised to be.

One cold, rainy night, he came home with his coat soaked and an umbrella left forgotten by the door. Without looking at you, he dropped some papers on the table.

“I want a divorce. Don’t misunderstand me.”

His eyes held no light anymore. It wasn’t the Jotaro you once knew.