Mimi sat on the floor of her best friend Aena's apartment, her back pressed against the cool wall. The late afternoon sun filtered through gauzy curtains, casting warm golden light across the room, but none of that warmth reached her. Her hands trembled as she turned the envelope over and over in her lap—pristine white paper that might as well have been dipped in poison.
Aena sat beside her, her expression worried, her hand resting gently on Mimi's shoulder. "Are you sure about this?" she asked softly. Her voice was careful, but there was no judgment in it—just concern. Just love.
Mimi didn't answer right away. Her throat felt tight, her lips raw from the tears she'd bitten back all night. She could still feel the ghost of Kijo's lips on her forehead, could still hear the empty promises that had once felt like lifelines.
"You're mine.""I'd never lie to you.""You're everything."
How many times had she believed those words? How many nights had she clung to them like a prayer, only to wake up in a cold bed, her heart bruised and aching?
Her mind replayed the scene at the office again and again: the assistant's smirk, the forced kiss, Kijo's panicked eyes. But it wasn't just that moment—it was every moment before. Every time Kijo's phone lit up late at night and she turned it face down. Every time Mimi's gentle questions were met with a cold smile and a quiet, "You don't need to worry about that, Mimika."
The lies. The half-truths. The way Kijo always pulled her close after every fight, kissing her tears away with sweet nothings that turned to dust the moment the sun rose.
"I can't do it anymore," Mimi whispered finally, her voice hoarse. She traced her finger along the edge of the divorce papers, the ink still fresh, the weight of it so heavy in her lap. "I can't keep letting her break me."
Aena squeezed her shoulder gently. "You don't have to. You deserve someone who would never make you feel this way."
"I thought… I thought she was that person," Mimi said, her voice cracking. She pressed her forehead to her knees, her pink bow slipping from her hair and landing softly on the floor. "She told me I was hers. Over and over. I wanted to believe it so badly. I wanted to believe she could be the woman I saw when we were alone, in the quiet, when she looked at me like I was the only thing that mattered."
Aena's eyes were sad but resolute. "But that woman doesn't exist, Mimi. Or if she does, she's buried under too many lies to ever find her way back."
Mimi lifted her head slowly, wiping at her red-rimmed eyes. Her heart was still so tender, still so full of the girl she'd been when she first fell in love—hopeful, starry-eyed, believing that love could fix anything. But love wasn't supposed to feel like this. It wasn't supposed to be a cycle of break and mend, over and over, until there was nothing left to give.
"I can't let her do this to me again," she said, her voice stronger now. "I deserve to be loved honestly. Completely. I deserve to be someone's only choice."
Aena nodded. "You're stronger than you think, Mimi. You always have been."
That evening, with her hair tied back and her pink lips set in a trembling line, Mimi made her way to Kijo's office. The halls felt colder than they ever had, each step echoing in the marble quiet. Her heart pounded so loud she wondered if everyone could hear it.
Kijo was at her desk, her hands buried in her hair, the neat bun she'd started the day with now a mess. She looked up when Mimi entered, her face pale, her eyes hollow.
"Mimika…" she breathed, rising to her feet like a woman seeing her salvation.
But Mimi didn't move closer. She didn't fold into Kijo's arms like she always had. Instead, she held up the envelope, her hands shaking but her gaze steady.
Kijo's eyes fell to it, her breath catching. "What's that?" she asked, though her voice betrayed that she already knew.
Mimi's throat worked as she swallowed the ache. "Divorce papers," she said, each word falling like a stone. "I… I can't keep doing this, Kijo."
Kijo took a step forward, her expression crumpling. "No. No, baby, please—"
"Don't," Mimi said softly, her voice breaking. "Please don't call me that. You don't get to anymore."
Kijo froze, her lips parting in silent protest. Her hands hovered in the air, as if she wanted to reach for Mimi but didn't know how. "Mimi, I love you," she said desperately. "You know I do. She—she kissed me. I didn't—"
"It doesn't matter," Mimi said, her voice shaking but sure. "It's not just about the kiss. It's… everything. The lies. The way you say I'm yours, and then you let someone else put their hands on you like I don't exist."
Kijo's eyes went glassy, her jaw tightening. "I swear to you, she means nothing—"
"But it's not just about her," Mimi whispered, tears slipping down her cheeks. "It's about you. How you keep saying I'm your everything, but your actions never match your words. How many times have you told me you'd never hurt me, Kijo? How many times have I believed you?"
Kijo opened her mouth, then closed it again, her shoulders sagging. The silence stretched between them like a chasm.
"I love you," Kijo said finally, her voice small, broken. "Please, Mimika. Don't leave me."
Mimi let out a shuddering breath. "I love you too," she said, her voice soft and aching. "I love you so much it hurts. But I can't keep loving you more than I love myself."
She set the envelope on the edge of Kijo's desk, the final weight of it crashing down on both of them. Kijo reached for it, her hands shaking so badly she nearly dropped it.
"Mimi," she said, her voice cracking. "We can fix this. I swear—"
Mimi shook her head, her tears falling freely now. "I've been telling myself that for so long. That we can fix it. That you'll change. But every time I think we're okay, it just happens again. And I… I can't keep breaking myself to make this work."
She stepped back, her fingers brushing against the doorframe. Her heart screamed at her to stay, to give in one more time, to let Kijo pull her back with soft kisses and whispered promises. But she couldn't. Not this time.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I can't."
When she walked out, Kijo didn't try to stop her.
The silence in the office was absolute as the door clicked shut, leaving Kijo alone with the weight of her own mistakes. She sank into her chair, her breath ragged, her hands clutching the envelope like it might somehow save her.
But there was no saving left to do. No words to fix what was already shattered.
That night, Mimi lay in Aena's guest bed, her pink bow lying forgotten on the nightstand. She pressed her face into the pillow, her tears silent but endless. For the first time in years, she wasn't waiting for a phone call. She wasn't waiting for a knock on the door. She wasn't waiting for Kijo's arms to pull her close and tell her it was all going to be okay.
Because she knew—finally, painfully—it wasn't.
To Be continued