Chapter 7

Jasmine POV

Three days.

Time was tight.

God seemed to be helping me make the decision. The rain hadn't stopped these past few days.

On rainy days, my hand hurt terribly-nerve endings shooting with pain, like electric currents running through them.

That evening, Oliver sat on the sofa peeling an apple for Grace.

He peeled it meticulously, leaving no trace of skin, then sliced it into delicate pieces and fed them to Grace.

"Is it sweet?" he asked gently.

"Yes." Grace smiled sweetly. "Oliver's apples are always the sweetest."

I sat on the single sofa across the room, a cold sweat breaking over me from the pain, my face bleached of color.

I wanted water, but the kettle was on the other end of the coffee table, near Oliver.

"Pour me some water," I said, my voice a bit hoarse.Oliver didn't even look up. "The kettle's right next to you. Pour it yourself. Can't you see I'm busy?"

Busy feeding Grace apple slices.

I gritted my teeth and reached out with my left hand for the kettle.

Because my right hand was trembling from pain, half my body was shaking. My hand had just touched the kettle handle when it slipped.

The stainless steel kettle tipped over. Scalding water spilled out, pouring directly onto the back of my hand.

I gasped. The skin instantly turned bright red over a large area.

Oliver was startled by the noise and jumped to his feet. His first instinct was to shield Grace. "Did it get you?"

Grace shook her head and pointed at me. "Jasmine got burned."

Only then did Oliver turn to look at me. Seeing my swollen hand, his brow immediately knotted into a tight frown.

"What's wrong with you?" Instead of showing concern, his face was full of reproach. "You can't even pour water without making a mess. How useless have you become?"

I said nothing. I grabbed a few tissues with my left hand and pressed them against the burn.

It hurt.

A burning, searing pain mixed with nerve pain. It made me clearheaded.

"Enough. Stop playing the victim." Seeing my silence, Oliver assumed I was seeking sympathy. "There's burn ointment in the medicine cabinet. Put it on yourself. You're a doctor-do you need someone to teach you this?"

With that, he settled back to fussing over Grace. "Don't be frightened. Jasmine's just clumsy these days. It's nothing."

I looked at my swollen hand. The last ember in my heart went cold.

I'd thought that if he showed even a shred of care, the smallest amount, I might still waver.

But now, there was no need.

I stood up. I didn't reach for the burn cream. I walked to the bedroom and took out the folder I'd prepared long ago.

Inside lay a draft of divorce papers. And tucked between them, that informed consent form.

I was going to use his impatience, his coldness, to buy my freedom.