My broken love

CHAPTER2

Chapter 2: Empire Crumbling

VIVIAN POV

It didn't seem right as the sun attempted to shine through the window. As in a joke. When my own world was dark and broken, how could the world be bright? Pancakes were supposed to be in my kitchen yesterday, but it seemed empty and chilly.

The divorce papers stared up at me like white monsters, still lying on the floor.

They weren't picked up by me. I was unable to. My hands were unsteady, like if they weren't mine. I have a headache. It seemed like a huge hole had been torn straight through my heart. John had left. Forever. It was also our anniversary.

Like a zombie, I walked to the living room and then to the large, comfortable couch. We used to cuddle and watch interesting movies on our couch. It felt large and empty now. I tucked my knees against my chest and snuggled up.

Once again, the tears streamed down my cheeks like a torrent, hot and rapid. My throat ached from holding back screaming.

"John, why? "Why?" To the silent chamber, I muttered. However, the room remained silent. Nobody was with me.

Hours went by. Or maybe it was only a few minutes. Time no longer made sense. I ignored the buzzing on my phone. I was unwilling to speak to anybody. All I wanted to do was vanish.

Then, a new type of terrible sensation began to seep in, chilly and piercing. John was no longer the only focus. It has to do with me. as well as my business. Fashion brand "Vivian’s Threads."

I had begun it joyfully, creating lovely garments that uplifted others. I had a great time selecting the materials, creating the patterns, and seeing them come to life. John had always been encouraging to me.

He stated I was incredibly talented, that my outfits were amazing. The part about money that made my head spin was something he helped me with. He was well aware of it.

He wasn't here now. And the business oh, the business.

I felt a knot of anxiety grow in my stomach. It has been difficult these last several months. Very difficult. The number of clothing purchases has decreased. The large stores were placing fewer orders. There they were, dusty, my creations that used to fly off the shelf.

John had also begun to worry about it. I recalled him frowning as he studied documents. Only a week before, he had said, "We need to figure this out, Viv,"

"The numbers aren't looking good." I just smiled and assured him that I would create a brand-new, amazing collection that would be adored by everybody. I always believed he would help me repair it, like he always solved everything.

But he's gone now. It was he who broke everything, not the other way around.

My laptop, which was resting on the coffee table, caught my attention. Despite its benign appearance, I knew it was terrible news. I was forced to confront it. I was forced to. Because what would I do if my business failed? Where would I go?

I took a trembling breath and grabbed the laptop carefully. My fingers felt numb when I opened it. As the screen illuminated, my typical work desktop appeared. Spreadsheets, pictures of contented models, and folders containing designs. Spreadsheets, eh? They were the terrifying part.

The "Finances" section caught my attention. Slowly, as if it were afraid to reveal the truth to me, it opened. My heart pounded. John had looked at the most recent report, which I located. Yesterday was the date.

I clicked it open. figures. So many figures. numerals in red. Red numbers are not good. They indicate that funds are leaving rather than entering. Red numerals, many of them.

In an attempt to make sense of everything, my eyes moved quicker and faster over the page. However, it was just a glow of black and crimson. Such terms as "debt," "overdue," and "bankruptcy."

bankruptcy. The phrase hit me like a kick to the stomach. It meant no more companionship. Vivian's Threads is no longer. No more exquisite clothing, no more designing. No more fantasies.

In search of the last number—the one that revealed the whole tale—I scrolled down. It sat like a huge, unsightly monster at the bottom of the page, bold and red.

Minus. A huge negative indicator. And a great deal of them.

We were losing money. Quick. More money than I could comprehend.

I let out a silent sob. My business. My darling. My fantasy. It was in danger of dying. Like my marriage, everything was in disarray.

Around me, everything I had created and everything I held dear was collapsing.

I thought back to Vivian's Threads' early years. In our spare room, I would labor through the night, manually cutting fabric and sewing garments.

John would sometimes assist me with sorting buttons while bringing me tea and snacks. When I got thread in my hair, he would chuckle. In my heart, those once-sweet memories now felt like jagged blades.

Bills needed to be paid now. Employees will pay. Rent for the large studio. And no cash.

Like fizzing soda, panic began to rise up inside of me. What if I was unable to compensate my employees? They were parents. Their occupations were necessary. What if the studio was lost? With all the light and large windows, this is my ideal room.

I had no idea how to resolve this. I had no knowledge of the numerical portion. That was always John's responsibility. He was the financially astute one. He knows how to make things grow. And now he is gone.

My phone buzzed again, this time with a name. Evelyn. My closest companion. My rock. She was unaware of John at the time. I hadn’t told anybody. I was unable to. How could I let anybody know? It seemed too large and embarrassing. As if I was solely to blame.

My eyes were fixed on the phone. It would be obvious to Evelyn. She was constantly aware. However, how was I going to inform her about John? What could I possibly say, "Oh, by the way, on our anniversary, my husband left me and gave me divorce papers, and also my company is about to die?" It sounded insane.

It had the sound of a lousy film.I pressed the quit button on the phone. Not right now. I was unable to discuss it. Not just yet.

In the hopes that I had misread the financial report, I skimmed through it once more. The red numbers might have been good numbers. Perhaps bankruptcy was a good thing.

No, even in the haze of grief, my rational mind recognized that wasn't the case. Red numbers were awful. The final step was bankruptcy.

Suddenly, I was reminded of something. John, speaking quietly on the phone in his study a few weeks ago. He abruptly hung up as I passed.

I asked him if everything was well since he seemed a bit anxious. "Just work stuff, Viv," he said with a brief, fake smile. There's nothing to be concerned about."

Was this what he was discussing? Concerning the company's failure? Was he already intending to depart then? Was this why he had been a bit distant recently, a little quieter? I had blamed it on work stress. I blamed it on my own fatigue. I never thought…

My chest constricted again. The treachery was like a new injury. He was aware. He knew the company was in trouble. And he just walked away. on the occasion of our anniversary. He left me on my own to handle it.

I yelled at him to go, and the fury that had flashed came back with a force. It was no longer simply agony. It was a raging rage. How could he do this? How could he abandon our love and our lives and leave me with this enormous, shattered mess?

I thumped the laptop gently shut. The screen became black, reflecting the gloom inside me. I was confused. So lost. I was alone. Alone, really.

I got up and walked over to the big window overlooking our garden.

The once-bright blossoms seemed to droop a little. notwithstanding their awareness that anything was amiss. Our house, our lovely, loving home, seemed like a prison.

How could I proceed? I didn't have any money set aside for myself. John handled everything else, and I invested all of my money back into the company. I had no notion how to pay the expenses. I didn't know how to keep Vivian's threads intact. I didn't have John anymore.

Even though the light was still doing its best to warm the space, I felt a chill. My marriage wasn't the only one that was failing. It was my entire existence. My whole world was collapsing.

In an attempt to halt the trembling, I gave myself a firm embrace. I had to take action. I couldn't sit here and let everything go to waste. However, what? How could I proceed?

My thoughts returned to the documents. The divorce decree. The vicious words. PETITION FOR MARRIAGE DISSOLUTION. And then, another word, just next to it, even smaller, but chillingly clear: ALIMONY WAIVED.

Alimony. Although I knew it was money, I wasn't really sure what that meant legally. funds that one party may get from the other after a divorce. And it stated "waived." That meant… I wouldn't receive any.

John didn't provide any money. Nothing from my fading business.

I slumped back onto the couch, staring at the blank laptop screen as my knees became limp. I was imprisoned. stuck. with nothing.

I felt something sharp, almost cold. This wasn’t just sad. This was a little frightening. Very frightening.

I looked at my trembling hands, the hands that once made exquisite dresses. They felt worthless.

Once again, the phone buzzed. This time, it wasn't Evelyn. That was an odd number. I choose to disregard it.

But then, it buzzed again. And once more. And once more. unrelenting.

My heart was racing. Who was it? Why did they keep calling? Was it… someone about the company?

When I finally glanced at the screen, my finger was shaking. The same number was used for all of the calls. And suddenly, a text message flashed up, freezing me to the bone.

"You have a day. You risk losing everything if you don't pay.

All of it? What was meant by that? What do you lose? My home? My business? What's left of my hope? After feeling gloomy, the world suddenly seemed like a huge, ravenous maw that was ready to eat me whole. I was in serious danger, very serious danger.