The divorced wife

chapter 2

Chapter 2: Breakfast for Two

Amelia POV

I barely slept. I kept hearing him say it, over and over, "I want a divorce," until the sun came up and I gave up trying.

His side of the bed was empty. I didn't sleep there. Might've stayed in the guest room, might've left the house completely, I don't know. And I remember lying there thinking, three years married and I don't even get to ask where my own husband slept last night. That's just where we landed, somehow.

I got up, wiped my face, there was still a dried tear on my cheek from the night before. Said "enough" out loud to nobody. No more crying, I told myself. It was a Tuesday or Wednesday, some regular workday, and the company doesn't care that your marriage just fell apart at 9pm the night before.

Showered. Got dressed. Look in the mirror and honestly you couldn't tell. Nobody would've guessed I spent an hour on the floor next to my bed crying with my hand over my mouth.

I picked up my ring off the dresser. I held it there a second, thinking about just leaving it. Didn't. Put it back on. Three years is long enough for some things you just do without deciding to.

The kitchen was already busy when I came down. Mrs. Wilson smiled at me like always.

"Morning, Mrs. Kingston."

"Morning."

"What do you want for breakfast?"

"Usually it's fine."

"And Mr. Kingston?"

I stopped for a second before answering. "His usual too."

Black coffee, two toast, scrambled eggs, no butter. I know that man's breakfast order better than I know my own birthday half the time. Funny how that works. You end up knowing everything about somebody who never bothered learning a single thing about you.

I brought the tray myself. The table sits twelve people and it's usually just me sitting there, sometimes him too if I'm lucky, mostly just me. Put his coffee down where it always goes. Mine across from it.

He walked in a few minutes later. Suit already pressed, tie matched his watch, whole thing. You'd never know this man asked his wife for a divorce twelve hours ago looking at him.

Stopped in the doorway. "Didn't expect you to be down here."

"I still live here," I said.

Awkward after that. He sat down, didn't really look at me. I broke off some toast just so my hands had something to do.

"Sleep okay?" I asked, mostly to fill the silence.

"Not really."

"Yeah."

And that was it. That was the whole conversation. Nothing else to say I guess, or nothing either of us wanted to say.

Then his phone buzzed on the table and I saw the name right there before he even flipped it over.

Victoria.

He looked at me quickly before he picked up, like he was checking if that was allowed.

"Morning," he said into the phone, and his voice did this thing, went soft, easy, something I never once heard him use while talking to me in three years.

I looked at my plate.

"I know," he said. "I'll see you later." A small laugh. "No, don't worry, it'll be sorted soon."

Soon meaning the divorce. Meaning me.

He hung up, set the phone back down next to his coffee, like nothing.

"Sorry," he said.

"Don't apologize."

"Didn't mean to be disrespectful."

I looked right at him. "You stopped being my husband the second you asked for a divorce, Chris."

He opened his mouth. Nothing came out. Closed it again.

I got up and started stacking plates.

"You don't have to do that," he said.

"I've always done it."

Carried everything to the kitchen. Mrs. Wilson took one look at my plate.

"Madam, you've barely eaten anything."

"Not hungry this morning."

"You haven't been eating much lately either, if I'm honest with you."

"I'll get something at the office," I said, smiled so she'd let it go.

Not totally a lie. Whether I could actually keep anything down was a different problem, one I wasn't dealing with right then.

Grabbed my bag, headed out. He was already outside in his car. Both drivers were standing there pretending really hard not to notice how weird the air was between us.

He looked at me a beat too long. "I'll have the lawyer send the papers in a few days."

"I'll sign them."

No fight in it. No begging. Just, fine, okay.

That seemed to get to him more than if I'd yelled, honestly. His face did something.

I turned, walked to my own car, and right before I got in, the dizziness hit again. Not as bad as the night before but bad enough I grabbed the door handle to keep from tipping.

"Mrs. Kingston?" My driver stepped up. "You alright?"

"I'm fine," I said. Wasn't. But I had a whole company waiting on me and no time to fall apart in the driveway.

The car pulled off. I looked back at the house one time. A weird feeling came over me, like it wasn't just the house I was leaving behind that morning. Like it was three years of trying, just, sitting there in the rearview.