ChapterOne:The Divorce
1129 Words
Mia's POV
"What?"
The word came out smaller than I intended. I needed to hear it again. I needed to be sure I'd heard wrong the first time.
Zach sat across from me at the dining table, the same table where I'd served him breakfast every morning for three years. His expression was blank. Bored, almost. Like he was discussing a failed business venture instead of our marriage.
"You heard me, Mia. I want a divorce."
The room tilted. My fingers gripped the edge of the table, knuckles going white.
"That's not," I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly too tight. "That can't be serious. We can work through whatever"
"There's nothing to work through." He slid a stack of papers across the table. They stopped just in front of my plate, the dinner I'd made that he hadn't touched. His signature was already scrawled across the bottom in bold, careless strokes. "I'm done. With you. With this joke of a marriage."
Joke.
The word hit like a slap. My vision blurred at the edges, and for a moment I couldn't breathe. Three years. Three years of biting my tongue while his mother criticized everything I did. Three years of pretending I didn't see the lipstick stains on his collar or smell perfume that wasn't mine.
"No." My voice cracked. I hated how weak it sounded, how desperate. "No, Zach, you can't do this. I've…I've done everything you asked. I turned a blind eye to everything. Your affairs, the late nights, the way your family treats me like I'm…"
"Like you're what, Mia?" He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. "Worthless? Because let's be honest, that's exactly what you are now. Your family's bankrupt. You have nothing left to offer."
The words sliced clean through me.
My hands started trembling. I pressed them flat against my thighs, trying to stop it, but the shaking only got worse. Heat prickled behind my eyes, tears I refused to let fall. Not in front of him. Not when he was looking at me like I was something he'd scraped off his shoe.
"Where" I had to stop, force the words past the knot in my throat. "Where am I supposed to go? Your family controls my father's health insurance. If you do this, he'll…"
"Not my problem."
"He'll die, Zach!"
The sob I'd been holding back broke free. My chest heaved with it, and suddenly I couldn't stop. I couldn't control it. Tears spilled hot and fast down my cheeks.
"Please." I didn't recognize my own voice anymore. It sounded broken. Hollow. "Please, I know this was never a real marriage. I know you never loved me. I never expected you to. But I, I've been loyal. I've been "
"Convenient," he interrupted, standing. He didn't even look at me as he straightened his tie. "You were convenient. Past tense. Your stepsister was smart enough to get out before your family dragged her down. I should've done the same."
My stepsister.
Of course. She was supposed to marry him. But when my stepmother realized I was more easily controlled, more desperate to save my father, she'd shoved me into the arrangement instead. And I'd gone willingly. Because what choice did I have?
"I deserve to know why," I whispered, staring at the divorce papers through blurred vision. The letters swam together, unreadable. "Why now? What changed?"
Zach paused at the door. For a second, just a second, I thought I saw something almost like pity flicker across his face.
"You're not useful anymore, Mia. That's what changed. You have nothing to offer anymore.
"You're not useful anymore, Mia. That's what changed."
The voice came from behind him, feminine, smug, and sickeningly familiar.
I looked up, tears still streaming, and my heart stopped.
No.
My boss at the workshop, Anna, stepped out of the hallway. She wore a silk robe, Zach's silk robe, the one I'd given him last Christmas. Her hair was tousled, makeup smudged, and she had the audacity to smile at me.
"Anna," My voice barely worked. "What are you…"
"Oh, Mia." She sighed, like I was a child who couldn't grasp simple math. "Did you really think Zach would stay with you forever? You're so... boring." She trailed her fingers down Zach's arm as she moved to stand beside him. He didn't pull away. He didn't even flinch.
The room spun. I couldn't breathe. Couldn't process what I was seeing.
"How long?" The question scraped out of me, raw and broken.
"Does it matter?" Zach's expression was still blank, unbothered. Like this was just another business transaction.
"How long?" I demanded, my voice rising, cracking with rage. I didn't know I had left.
Anna tilted her head, pretending to think. "Oh, about... two years? Maybe longer. Honestly, it all blurs together."
Two years. The entire time I'd been playing the dutiful wife, she'd been…
"You were always so plain, Mia." Anna examined her nails, bored. "No style. No spark. Zach needs someone who can actually keep up with him. Someone exciting. Someone…" she pressed closer to him, her smile razor-sharp, "...spicy."
My hands curled into fists so tight my nails bit into my palms. Blood roared in my ears.
"You were supposed to be my boss and only confidant here," I whispered, staring at her. "You… You made me believe you were on my side."
"Oh please." She rolled her eyes. "You were so eager to play martyr. It was pathetic. You were pathetic. We just gave you what you wanted, a chance to be the hero." She air quotted the word, mocking.
Zach checked his watch. "Sign the papers, Mia. My lawyer will be here in the morning to finalize everything."
"And your father?" I barely recognized my own voice, cold, detached. "His insurance?"
"Canceled," Zach said like he was discussing the weather. "Effective immediately."
The world dropped out from under me.
"You can't, he'll die without his medication, without treatment."
"Then I suggest you figure something out." Zach turned toward the stairs, Anna already draped over his arm like an accessory. "You have until morning to vacate the premises."
They started up the stairs together. Anna’s laughter echoed through the house, my prison for three years.
I sat there, numb. Empty. The divorce papers stared up at me, Zach's signature mocking.
My phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
My hands shook as I opened the message:
Your stepmother sold the house. Took the money and ran. Thought you should know. —A Friend
Attached was a photo: my stepmother and Cara, my sister, boarding a plane. Luggage. Champagne. Smiling.
They'd planned this. All of it.
I was alone. Broke. About to be homeless.
And my father was dying.
The phone slipped from my fingers and clattered to the floor.
- Writer
