1: Let's Get A Divorce
Esmeralda
“Let’s get a divorce, Esme.”
My hand froze above the cutting board. For a second, I just stared at Preston, waiting for the punchline. When none came, a nervous laugh slipped out of me because this had to be a f*****g joke.
I looked at my husband, then down at the half-chopped vegetables scattered across the wooden board. The sharp smell of onions clung to my fingers, making my eyes sting even more than they already did.
I shook my head and continued chopping.
“I'm not joking, Esme.” Preston's voice was flat. “I can't continue looking at you without feeling this anger inside me every time.”
The knife slipped slightly against the board.
Anger?
My heart seemed to drop straight into my stomach. I stared at him, trying to understand how the man standing in front of me could be the same man who had held me together when everything else in my life had fallen apart.
Preston couldn't do this to me.
He had been my safety net for twelve years. The love of my life. The man I had chosen after losing everything else. I had left my pack and my family for him, believing that whatever happened, Preston would always be the one person I could come home to.
Now he was standing in our kitchen, asking me to leave the life we had built together as casually as if he were asking me to pass the salt.
The knife clattered against the cutting board, and I hurried around the kitchen island toward him.
“No, we can't.” My voice trembled despite my desperate attempt to steady it. “You can't just decide this out of the blue.”
I reached for his hands, but Preston gently pried my fingers away.
The warmth of his skin disappeared from mine, leaving my palms cold.
He looked at me then, and the disgust in his eyes made my stomach twist.
I swallowed hard.
God, what was happening?
This was Preston. My Preston.
The man who had stayed when my mate, Jasper Coldman, rejected me because he couldn't bear the thought of being with a fatso. The man who had looked past my body when Jasper had made me feel like I was something shameful. Preston had stepped into my life when I was broken and convinced me that I could still be loved.
He had been my anchor.
Even after we lost our angel baby, Heaven, he had been the person I clung to when grief threatened to swallow me whole.
He couldn't just decide that I was the reason he was unhappy.
“Is this about Heaven?” I whispered.
I reached for his hand again, but he pulled away so quickly that I flinched.
“Don't mention him.”
The bitterness in his voice made my chest tighten.
“Preston…”
“He was supposed to be my heir, Esme.”
I stared at him, my mind struggling to understand the words coming out of his mouth.
His jaw tightened as he looked at me.
“And you killed him.”
His words seemed to move farther and farther away from me, as if my mind was trying to hide from them before they could sink in. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. What could I possibly say to defend myself when I hadn't even known he felt this way?
I had spent years believing Preston was grieving beside me. Every time I woke from another nightmare about Heaven, he had been there. Whenever the emptiness in our home became too loud, he held me close and told me that we would get through it together. I had never once imagined that beneath all of that, he was blaming me.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, my throat tightening around the words. “I would never have killed our child intentionally, and you know that. Never, Pres.”
My fingers curled into the fabric of my dress as I fought the urge to reach for him again. I needed him to believe me, even though the coldness in his eyes told me that some part of him had already decided I was guilty.
“I loved Heaven too,” I said, my voice breaking. “You know I did.”
“I can’t look at you right now, Esme,” he finally said, rubbing a hand over his face. “You’re right. This was impulsive of me. I should think this through before making a stupid mistake. But I’ll be staying out for a few days until I figure out a way out.”
My legs gave out beneath me.
I hit the floor hard enough to feel the sting shoot through my knees, but I barely noticed it. My hands immediately wrapped around Preston’s legs as panic tore through me.
“No, please.” I clung to him, my fingers trembling against the fabric of his trousers. “Pres, please don’t leave.”
He didn't move.
I tightened my grip, pressing my cheek against his thigh as tears blurred my vision.
“We can fix this. Whatever you're feeling, we can fix it. Just don't leave me like this.”
I sounded like a desperate stranger begging for mercy, but I didn't care. My husband was walking away from me, and I couldn't understand how twelve years together could suddenly mean so little.
“Please, Preston.” I looked up at him, tears spilling freely down my cheeks. “I'm sorry. I'll do anything. Just don't go.”
He remained completely still.
Not even a hand on my head. Not even the small comfort of telling me everything would be okay.
The man who had once been my safe place was standing over me while I begged him not to abandon me, and he looked as though my tears were nothing more than an inconvenience.
Then he carefully pulled his leg from my grasp.
I reached for him again, but he stepped away before my fingers could touch him.
“I need space, Esme.”
The front door opened, and the cold air from outside swept through the house, carrying the faint smell of rain with it.
I watched Preston walk away without looking back.
The door slammed shut behind him.
For the first time in twelve years, I didn't know where I belonged.
