My broken love

CHAPTER1

CHAPTER 1: THE BROKEN VOWS

VIVIAN POV

"Happy anniversary, my love!" My voice was heavy with happiness and sleep as I whispered. The wonderful promise of a lovely morning was beginning to waft from the kitchen in the form of the scent of pancakes.

John always cooked them precisely the way I wanted them, with additional berries and whipped cream, for our anniversary. Grinning at the warm area where he had been seconds before, I tucked myself further under the blankets.

It was a significant day. Five years. We stood under that large oak tree and made a lifelong promise five amazing years ago. I recalled how everything sparkled as the light shone through the leaves.

John's eyes were filled with all the love in the world, and his hand felt so warm in mine. After saying our "I do's," we danced beneath a starry sky until our feet hurt. At the same time, it seemed like yesterday and a lifetime.

I let out a contented sigh as I stretched. It was customary for us. I would set the table with the elegant plates—the ones with the little gold birds on the edges—while he prepared breakfast. We’d eat leisurely, simply chatting about anything and everything, reliving all the wonderful moments.

We would then unwrap our presents. I had spent hours choosing the ideal watch for him, one that looked powerful and elegant, just like him. On the reverse, there was a little inscription that said, "My forever." I was eager to see his face.

From the kitchen, the soft clinking of dishes ceased.

There was a silent silence. That was strange. John would often be cooking while singing a little song or making joyful noises. With a little concern nagging in the back of my mind, I scowled. Perhaps he was focused intently on flipping a challenging pancake.

With my favorite big T-shirt from last night still on, I kicked off the blankets and walked barefoot to the kitchen. My skin felt chilly against the breeze. The kitchen was bright and cheery when I entered because of the sunshine streaming in through the window. John, however, was not happy.

He had a stack of papers in his hands as he stood behind the counter with his back to me. Not a spatula or pancake batter. Only documents. He seemed to be carrying something quite heavy, as seen by his rigid shoulders. My grin became softer.

Perhaps he was considering a fresh concept for a project that was troubling him. He put in a lot of effort and was always looking for methods to improve our situation.

I said, "Morning, sleepyhead," in a lively tone. I approached him, prepared to embrace him and offer him a heartfelt anniversary hug. "Pancakes almost ready?"

He didn't look back. He didn't flinch at all. He didn't seem to have heard me. My heart skipped a beat. A weird sensation touched my skin, like a small, icy feather. What went wrong?

"John?" A bit gentler this time, I asked again. I extended my hand, lingering close to his arm.

With a trembling sound, he inhaled deeply. Then he turned slowly.

He had a vacant face. As if someone had removed all of the typical warmth from it. I adored his blue eyes, yet they seemed like icy stones. There were no soft crinkles at the edges, no grin. I had never seen such a harsh, flat appearance before.

I let my hand fall. I felt a sharp cold that made my arms twitch. They forgot about the pancakes. The joyful morning seemed to be dwindling, becoming colder and smaller by the moment.

He extended the documents. They were crisp and white and thick. I glanced at them and then back at his face. What was this? Was it a joke? Unexpected? His expression wasn't amusing, however.

"What's this?" My voice was little more than a whisper when I asked. I had a constricted throat.

He remained silent. He just thrust the documents into my grasp. When my fingers touched his, they felt icy and chilly. Not the reassuring, warm hand I clutched each night.

I glanced at the first page. I was struck by the large, strong characters. SUMMONS.

Smaller words yelled louder than everything else underneath it.

PETITION FOR MARRIAGE DISSOLUTION.

My breath caught. I quickly skimmed the paper, not wanting to comprehend, not understanding. Marriage dissolution? Divorce was the outcome.

No. No, that is not possible. Not right now. It's not our anniversary. Not from John.

The papers rustled and my palm trembled. My heart was beating against my ribs like a caged bird when I glanced up at him. "What is this, John?" I sounded like I was speaking in someone else's voice. "Is this… is this a joke?"

At last he spoke. His speech lacked emotion and sounded robotic and flat. "They're divorce papers, Vivian."

The world swayed. The light-filled kitchen whirled. A sudden, dense darkness appeared to engulf the joyful brightness. divorce documents. from John. on the occasion of our anniversary.

I clamped my eyes tight, thinking it was a dream. A nightmare. He would be laughing, embracing me, and assuring me it was all a dumb mistake when I woke up. However, he was still there when I opened my eyes, the papers still in my palm, and his expression still blank.

"Why?" I hardly got the word out of my mouth; it was a broken sound. "John, why? What… what did I do?"

He inhaled deeply and slowly once again. "It's not about what you did, Vivian." At last, his eyes—those icy, icy eyes—met mine. They had a little glimmer of something I couldn't quite put my finger on. Regret? pity? I had no idea. "It's… it's just over."

More than? Five years. Our assurances. Our aspirations. Everywhere? Like that?

My thoughts were racing, searching for any explanation. Has my art kept me too busy?

Had I not prepared enough of his favorite dish? Had I told him too many times that I loved him and forgotten? No, it wasn't that. Every day we said it. We were in love. Did we not?

"Over?" I repeated, the word tasting like ash in my tongue. "But… but we’re married. We’re happy. Are we not?

He averted his gaze to the window, where a little bird was joyfully singing from a branch. He didn’t respond.

My hands began to shake more violently. My eyes blurred as I glanced down at the papers once more.

I saw unfamiliar names and illogical legal terms. Then I saw our names written together and then apart. Vivian and John. There's no more "John and Vivian." Just John. Vivian, too.

My heart was at the center of a sudden, piercing agony in my chest. It seemed like it was being tightly squeezed by a gigantic hand. I felt like screaming. I felt like crying. I wanted to demand that he tell me this was a lie and hurl the papers across the room.

However, I was immobile. I just stood with the harsh, icy reality in my hands.

"I need you to sign them," he continued, his voice hushed. He picked up a pen from the counter, a black pen, and held it out.

Sign them? Put my life in writing? Will you sign away my forever?

My eyes stung with unexpected, hot tears. I returned the blinks. I would not weep. Not before him. Not when his expression was so blank.

"No," I murmured, my tone breaking. Despite being a little sound, it contained all of my heart's shattered fragments.

He let out a deep, weary sigh. "It's already finished, Vivian. They were supplied by my lawyer. It is really a formality.

Formality? Was our union only a formality? Our affection? Our five years of dating?

I looked over to the counter. There was a bowl of yellow mush, the pancake batter.

The blue and crimson berries remained in their little dish. Beside it was a can of whipped cream. Everything was prepared for an unfulfilled wish for a nice anniversary meal.

The pancakes' once-sweet promise was replaced by a scent of betrayal and scorched sugar.

"You… you planned this?" I said barely audible words in a whisper. In an attempt to find any trace of the man I loved and who had promised me eternity, my gaze shifted from the documents to his face. "Today? "On our anniversary?"

He clenched his jaw. He didn't respond. The quiet was overwhelming. More loud than words, it yelled. Indeed. This was his strategy.

My chest erupted with a piercing, scorching agony. Now it was a ripping, not simply a squeezing. I felt as if my heart was being torn from me.

I glanced at his face and then at the papers. No warmth. No affection. No acknowledgment of who I was, who I had been for the previous five years. He was unknown.

My spouse, closest friend, and everything had all changed to a stranger.

Then I noticed it. His left hand glinted a little. The location of his wedding ring. It had vanished.

My breath caught once again. Our lifelong emblem, the gold ring, was absent. He had removed it. When? Last night? This morning? Prior to his bringing these documents to me?

At that moment, my whole life fell apart. The colors blurred as the room began to spin faster. I felt like I was having trouble breathing because of the intense ache in my chest. He'd removed his ring. This was his strategy. And on this day, our anniversary, he was doing it.

I stutteringly said, "Get out," my voice raspy. My voice trembled, but the astonishment was beginning to be burned away by the rising, ferocious wrath. "Please leave my kitchen. Leave my home."

With the pen still in his hand, he just stood there staring at me. Something flickered in his eyes once again, but I couldn't identify it. However, it was insufficient. It wasn't affection.

A "Vivian—" he began.

"GET OUT!" My scream was a wounded, shattered sound that tore through the still kitchen. I threw the papers in his direction. They scattered on the spotless tile floor and fluttered like shattered birds. "I said get out!"

He made a little movement, a twitch, but remained silent. He just turned and left the kitchen, moving slowly. His footsteps trailed off, followed by the quiet click of the front door shutting.

Then there was quiet. Just my own heart thumping in my ears. Tears were now running down my cheeks as I stood there, trembling. The kitchen's intense brightness seemed like a cruel prank.

The white papers were strewn on the floor like fallen leaves, each one a painful, scathing reminder of a future that had just gone. My spouse had left. We had lost our marriage.

And on our anniversary, I found myself standing in the ruins, with nothing but broken promises and a frightful, silent question resonating in the void where his love had been.

Now what was I supposed to do?