Reclaiming His Wife

Chapter Five: The Divorce Papers

“Jessica?”

Her name on his lips landed with unexpected force. It wasn’t the sound itself—it was the familiarity of it. The emptiness of it.

She tilted her head, her voice quiet but pointed. “Do you know something, Mark? You’ve always called me Jessica. Or Jess. Never anything else. Never an endearment. Not once.”

His brows drew together in bewilderment. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Everything.

She swallowed the lump in her throat.

She wanted to be sweetheart or baby or sweets once in a while.

Yeah, they had a marriage of convenience, but they were still married nevertheless. It would have been nice to be called something other than her name.

Even if it was only to lend credibility to their sham of a marriage.

She was tired of being Just Jessica.

Jessica—the orphan who clawed her way out of a broken system in a forgotten corner of the world. The girl who left Guyana with a scholarship and a suitcase and never looked back. The woman who had never been kissed—really kissed—except for that brief, perfunctory peck at their wedding.

Now that she thought about it, she was really pathetic. No wonder Mark never looked at her twice.

She was a sorry excuse of a human. What a total waste of life.

She laughed bitterly, though nothing was funny.

She was a twenty-six-year-old virgin.

What she needed was a one-night stand just to pop her cherry and get it over with.

Then she should have a purely physical affair with a man she admired, without ever risking her heart again.

That's the first thing she would do after her divorce was final.

She would no longer be simpering Mrs Mark Thomas, a devoted wife who kept the other women at bay and shielded him from his matchmaking mama.

Not that marrying her had stopped his mother from trying to set him up with an appropriate woman.

She couldn’t believe she’d actually thought she’d had a chance with him. If it were up to his mother, she wouldn't even be offered the position of maid in his household.

Just another reason to leave all this s**t behind and move on with her life. She was tired of having to deal with his racist-ass mother.

Jessica’s throat tightened.

She couldn’t tell him the truth—that she wanted to be more than just his convenient wife. That she had fallen in love with him. That she was breaking her own heart because staying was more painful than leaving.

“I have my reasons for wanting a divorce,” she said. “And I think that’s all you need to know.”

Mark took a sharp step forward. “Is someone giving you a hard time?” he asked. “Someone from my family? I’ll talk to them if they are. Tell me.”

Jessica flinched; her voice coated in sarcasm. She shook her head. “Oh, no. Your family’s lovely.”

Except for your mother. Your mother is a witch who treats me worse than s**t but everyone else is great. She treats me like garbage—but thanks for asking three years in. She wanted to add but held her tongue.

He stared at her, clearly sensing the unspoken.

She hesitated for a while, wishing she’d given herself time to come up with a suitable explanation.

Needless to say, she hadn’t expected to be here tonight packing to walk out on her marriage, or that her intuitive husband would even come upon her.

She’d assumed he’d remain in the living room until all his guests left. This was so out of character for him, it gave her pause.

“What did you even come upstairs for?” she asked, needing to shift the conversation. “Shouldn’t you be entertaining your guests?”

He exploded. “f**k the guests!” His voice thundered through the room. “My wife is trying to leave me, and you think I should be downstairs making small talk?”

Jessica's eyes widened in shock.

Mark never lost control.

Like never.

She was so surprised by his outburst; she blinked several times to make sense of it.

"Mark, please don't make this harder than it needs to be. All I'm asking for is a divorce. Not an end to our friendship. We can still remain friends."

"Friends?"

"Yes, friends. You know, the way we were before all of this".

"Let me get this straight: You want to divorce me two years before our agreed-upon timeframe but still remain friends? What the f**k Jessica?"

She blinked. “Jeez, what's with you tonight? Could you stop cussing at me?"

“I’ll stop cursing when you stop dodging my questions! Just tell me what the f**k is going on!”

"Me wanting to leave has nothing to do with you, okay? I simply want something more. This is about me.”

His face twisted, somewhere between anger and disbelief. “You want something more than this?” He gestured around them. “Luxury. Security. Access to everything?”

“Yes.” She had to tread carefully. “Mark, you know, I've never been impressed with money, only the security it provided. Besides, it's your money, not mine."

"What do you mean by my money? If I can recall, you are married to me without a prenup. So, what's mine is yours."

"That's not true and you know it. This was only and had always been nothing more than a business arrangement. One I've grown tired of. I simply want to return to my home for a little while,” she fibbed, then realized that wasn’t such a bad idea after all. “Just until I decide what I want to do next.”

"Home? What do you mean by returning home? You are home."

“No, I mean to return to Guyana, my home country. It was nice living in the fairy-tale for a while. But I'm ready to wake up now."

"So that's what you want? To visit Guyana? Will that really make you happy? I seem to remember you saying you’d prefer to stay in America and only visit Guyana if you could help it.”

She’d definitely said that—and at the time she'd meant it.

But now she'd realized she couldn't run from who she was.

She needed to face her past, figure out who she was before she could move forward with her life. And what better way to do that than to return to the country of her birth.

His eyes pierced the distance between them.

“Mark, I need something more,” she said finally. “This isn’t about you. It’s about me.”

“That’s not an answer,” he said, standing and taking a step toward her. “You seemed fine yesterday. What happened?”

Jessica swallowed hard, willing herself to hold firm. “It doesn’t matter how I felt yesterday. What matters is how I feel now.”

He held her gaze. “What are you going to do when you arrive in Guyana? It's been five years, and you don't know anyone there anymore.”

“I’m not sure. I’ll figure out something. It shouldn't be hard for me to find a job."

All she knew was that she wouldn’t stay married to Mark, nor would she remain living in the States.

She needed a clean break.

He eyed her. “Okay. You have millions of dollars at your disposal now. You won't have to worry about finding a job."

She ignored his assumption she was taking his money.

She was not.

During their three years together, she had saved the pocket money he gave her for her personal everyday use.

She'd had no need to spend it. After all, he'd provided for all her needs and then some.

All at once, she had an ache in her throat.

It sounded like he was beginning to accept her decision.

And that, more than anything, showed he really didn’t care about her.

He scanned her face. “You’re not telling me everything,” he said, sending her heart bumping against her ribs.

“There’s nothing else to tell you. I want more out of life than being a convenient wife, and I'll have it."

Mark’s eyes narrowed, his frustration growing. “You’re not telling me everything.”

“There’s nothing else to tell,” she lied. “I’m done with this arrangement. I want a divorce.”

She moved to the drawer near the bed and pulled out the divorce papers she’d prepared. Her hands trembled slightly as she held them out to him.

Mark didn’t take them.

“No,” he said simply.

Jessica’s heart sank. “What?”

“No,” he repeated. “I’m not signing these. We’re not getting divorced.”

“Mark—”

“I need you here, Jess,” he said, his voice firm but low.

Her breath hitched.

For a moment, she almost believed he cared, but the memory of him with Veronica tonight—the easy smiles, the lingering touches—shattered the fragile hope.

“I can’t stay,” she said, her voice breaking. “I need to leave.”

She placed the papers on the bed and grabbed her suitcase, her resolve hardening. She would not let him strip away what little pride she had left.

“You can’t just walk away from us,” Mark said, his tone more forceful now.

“There is no ‘us,’ Mark,” she replied. “This was a marriage of convenience. And now it’s no longer convenient.”

Without waiting for his response, Jessica slung her purse over her shoulder, gripped her suitcase, and walked out of the room, leaving her husband— and her heart—behind.

When the door clicked shut behind her, it felt like the first real choice she’d ever made.