Forever and Always | Max Verstappen *ੈ✩‧₊˚

It's over.

Present day

Max
A part of me thought that maybe this divorce discussion wouldn't last because it had been two days since she brought it up.

Maybe we'd take some time apart, and somehow, we'd make it work.

That's what I kept telling myself.

But the reality was sinking in, and it was crumbling around me.

She was right. Marriage wasn't supposed to be this hard.

In the last 2 months I couldn't remember a time when it had felt so impossible.

I couldn't remember a time when we hadn't been fighting.

When I woke up the next morning, I could hear movement from outside.

Emma had spent the entire night packing.

Boxes were stacked up around her, taped up, ready to go.

It hit me like a ton of bricks.

I tried to ignore the feeling in my chest, but it felt like I was suffocating.

She didn't look up as I entered.

Her fingers were stained with tape residue, and the cardboard box she was holding was almost too much to handle.

"Morning." She said.

"Morning." I said. "What's all this?"

"I've spoken to a lawyer. We've set a date for Tuesday. We'll sign the official papers then."

I stood frozen, unable to find the words.

She didn't even look at me when she spoke.

Her hands trembled slightly as she handed me the papers—divorce papers.

It hit me hard.

She had been thinking about this for a while.

No one could get the papers this fast unless they were sure.

Unless they had already made up their mind.

I tried to speak, but my voice was hoarse. What could I say? How could I even try to convince her?

"I've already spoken with my lawyer, Max," she said, "The papers are just formalities."

I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think.

"Emma," I started, but she cut me off.

"Don't. I don't want to hurt you anymore. This is the only way I know how to stop."

I couldn't argue with her.

I couldn't force her to stay if that's what she wanted.

I couldn't force her to feel something that wasn't there.

"Okay," I said, the word tasting like gravel on my tongue.

I took the papers without another word.

I looked at her, and the pain in her eyes made everything worse.

She nodded, and for a moment, there was silence between us.

The space felt colder, even though I was standing right in front of her.

She wasn't the woman I knew anymore—not the woman I fell in love with.

But she was still the woman I loved.

"I'm sorry," she said again, tears brimming in her eyes. "This is the hardest thing I've ever had to do."

I nodded, the lump in my throat growing. "I know. Me too."