the wind 9

Chapter 9 

When our two families chose our names, they borrowed from a line of poetry: “The southern wind knows my heart, carrying my dreams to the western isles.” So it became Sophia Carter and Ethan Miller. 

Even our names were bound together, destined to sound like a perfect match. Anyone who heard them would sigh and say we were made for each other. I truly believed he would understand me-know what I wanted, what I valued. But eventually, I realized the truth: we were from two different worlds. 

And even if he loved me, that love couldn’t erase the gulf between us. 

My words seemed to stab at Ethan. 

Still, my voice stayed steady, merciless. 

‘You and Chloe-behind my back-you tried every position, did every shameless thing, in places sacred and not. 

You even brought her into our home, into our marriage bed.” 

met his eyes without flinching. 

Ethan, you disgust me.” 

And even if none of that had happened, we were never right for each other. Divorce.” 

This time, I had the divorce papers printed and laid them down in front of him. 

Ethan didn’t tear them apart like before. 

His hands trembled as he picked up the pen, eyes rimmed red, staring at the bold title for what elt like forever. 

Just before he signed, he lifted his head slowly, his smile bleak. 

Sophia… when did you stop loving me?” 

froze for a second. Then chose honesty. 

‘I never stopped. I’ve always loved you.” 

His eyes flickered-shock, then hope, then a flash of tenderness. 

‘Then we-” 

‘We still can’t be together.” 

I cut him off, cold as ice. 

“Because time and again, I’ve seen it clearly: we were never from the same world. 

Even if I love you-so what? Love isn’t enough. It can’t solve everything. 

“If being with you means I can never truly be myself, then that’s unbearable.” “Ethan, even after the divorce, I still want you to be well. I want you to find happiness.” 

“But I love myself more. 

“So you walk your road, and I’ll walk mine. Take care of yourself.” 

20 

I took the pen from his shaking hand and signed my name in bold, decisive strokes. 

The light in Ethan’s eyes dimmed, flicker by flicker, until it went out completely. 

“…Alright.” 

A single tear slid down his cheek as he let out a hollow laugh. 

‘Sophia, I admit it-I never truly understood you all these years. 

‘But whatever you say, I’ll do. If divorce is what you want, then I’ll give it to you.” 

He shut his eyes, inhaled sharply, then signed his name in one forceful motion. 

Pain throbbed dully in my chest, but I told myself to endure. Soon it would pass. 

As I walked away with the divorce papers in hand, memories flooded me. 

Ethan at ten, climbing trees like a mischievous monkey, bringing me the sweetest apples. 

than at twelve, playing house, insisting I be his “wife.” 

than at fourteen, already aware of the distance between boys and girls, 

eeping all others away while still reaching for my hand. 

than at sixteen, showing up each morning with breakfast and a carton of milk for me. 

than at eighteen, ignoring the dozens of girls calling him their “dream guy,” 

neeling in front of the whole school to confess his love to me. 

Our first half of life had been so beautiful, so poetic. 

From childhood sweethearts to lovers, to marriage-it had all been so seamless, so enviable. 

And yet, even the most perfect story could still unravel.