Page 77 of Lost Room Lawyer
Viktoria covertly wiped a tear from her cheek.
“Listen, Vicky,” I said, standing up from my chair as well. “I want to fix this. For the kids and our family’s sake.”
Viktoria gawked at me across the table as if trying to decipher my words. “The thing with Nico Simeon wasn’t a one-time thing, was it? You didn’t just do it once a month.”
I shook my head, overwhelmed with guilt. Despite the complexity and mess of my situation, hearing Nico’s name triggered something in my mind—a warning signal telling me I was about to make a grave mistake.
But the thing with Nico meant nothing. This—my marriage, my family, my children—this mattered to me. They were important, and to prove it, I needed to pull out the big guns.
“He’s currently on sick leave. But maybe it’s best if I find him another internship position. And Nico …”—something chokedme up and I tried to swallow the lump in my throat—“I’m sure it’s in Nico’s interest as well.”
Viktoria stared at me in disbelief, but I was willing to do anything to keep things on track. I had built something meaningful. All these years, I had put so much energy into making everything perfect. I certainly wasn’t about to let it all go to waste now.
“What do you say, Vicky?”
Viktoria glared at me. “I want a divorce.”
“But … What?”
“You don’t really think I can accept this? How could I ever trust you again? Fourteen years, Hector! And with … What will people think?”
“They don’t have to know …”
“Are you kidding me? No! You will pay for this. I don’t want to see you here anymore.”
“Can’t we just …”
“Leave! Now.”
I stood there, completely stunned, trying to understand what just happened.
Viktoria had just thrown me out—of my own house—talked about divorce, and that I would pay for it. Such threats weren’t like her. On the other hand, I knew very well that she was resolute in certain matters and had every reason to be this time.
But on this matter?
No, this can’t be the end.
I will fight for this family.
No matter what I have to do.
24
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Nico
I closed my eyes and tried to center myself—probably for the 73rd time that day. A storm raged in my head, and everything about me resisted the task at hand. What Leo had sentenced me to do. It was something I wanted to do out of respect for my mother, but each fork, each glass, each plate that I packed into a cardboard box felt like another lash to my back. I wondered how I could still feel the pain; my body had been so numb and empty for days.
“Nico!”
Leo’s voice snapped me out of my daze, bringing me back to the kitchen. I blinked, disoriented, scanning the room. Boxes were scattered everywhere, packed and ready to be moved. The larger furniture—the bed, the couch, and the dining table—was set to be hauled away today, likely by some junk dealer.
“Are you done?” my father asked. My silence told him everything. He took the box and set it down with the others by the door.
“It’s just too early,” I replied with a choked voice.
“Please, we’ve been through this,” Leo said, sighing wearily. “Tenants are lining up. The waiting list is two pages long. Clearing space for them feels almost like an act of charity.”
