Chapter Two
1229 Words
I nod absent-mindedly as Mia talks about school and her friends while I wash her, my thoughts drifting back to what I overheard.
“Mama, you’re not listening,” Mia says, pulling at my hand.
“I am,” I reply softly. “I’m listening.”
“…and Mrs. Mauve said we have to bring colored pencils tomorrow. Not crayons. The long ones.”
“I’ll get them.”
She smiles at that and leans back when I tell her to, letting me rinse her hair.
“Mommy? The auntie downstairs is nice.”
“Hmm. Is she?” She nods, smiling.
My hand pauses for a second before I keep going.
“She talked to me,” Mia adds. “Daddy said she’s going to stay here. He said she’s part of the family now.”
I reach for the towel and wrap it around her.
“Did he say that?” She nods again.
I dry her hair, focusing on that instead of answering, and she soon starts talking about something else before we even leave the bathroom. By the time we enter the room, she’s already climbing into bed.
“Story,” she says.
I pick one and sit beside her and open it without paying attention to the title. She yawns, so I stop reading.
“That’s not the end,” she mumbles.
“I’ll finish it tomorrow.”
She sighs softly. “Fine.” I give her a small smile.
“Go to sleep.”
I leave the door slightly open behind me as I head downstairs, expecting to hear them, but I don’t. The lights are still on and for a moment, I just stand there, not sure what I’m even looking for.
Then I turn and head into the kitchen.
I open the cabinet and take out a bottle of wine I haven’t touched in years, pouring myself a glass. I down it in one go, the liquid burning my throat.
I let out a slow breath and lean back against the counter, standing and staring into space. I press my hand to my mouth trying to be quiet, but I can barely hold in the cry.
I think about everything that led to this point. The nights he said he’d be late, and I believed him without question. The weekends that turned into work trips. Until he stopped calling. I told myself to trust him.
I stopped asking where he was going and when he’d be back. At some point, I stopped waiting for him to come home at all. Because it was easier than hoping.
I wipe my face with the back of my hand, but the tears keep coming anyway.
How long has this been going on? For them to feel comfortable walking into this house and say it to my face. My mind drifts back to the way Isabelle’s hand rested on him and he didn’t pull away. How he listened when she spoke.
I can’t remember the last time he looked at me like that, or if he ever did.
What am I supposed to do now?
I haven’t worked in years. The business I built isn’t mine anymore, not really. I signed it over when things started going wrong, trusting him to fix it, or handle it better than I could at the time. Now I’m here trying to figure out how things got this far without me stopping it.
When the tears finally slow, I rinse my face before heading upstairs.
The bedroom door is slightly open and they’re in the bed.
Grant is on his back with Isabelle’s upper body resting on his. For a moment, I just stand there, taking it in.
They’re in my room, sleeping. Or pretending to. I feel the urge to scream at them and vent my frustrations. Then I think of Mia just down the hall, so I turn and walk out, closing the door behind me. I think I hear a sound, like a chuckle or low laugh.
I find the guest room open with my suitcase on the bed. I don’t remember packing this. Some of my clothes are already hanging in the closet. Not everything though.
I sit down slowly and reach for my phone to call my mother. She answers almost immediately.
“Claire?”
I try to speak, but my voice comes out as barely a whisper.
“Claire?” she says again.
“He brought someone home,” I manage to say. “He said she’s his wife. They’re in my room. My things are here. I didn’t even—he didn’t say anything.”
There’s a pause, then I hear my father in the background. About a minute later, his voice comes through.
“Are you safe?”
“Yes.”
“Is Mia okay?”
“She’s asleep.”
“Good,” he says. “Then you’re not staying there like this. Pack up what you need and come home.”
“I don’t want to leave her.”
“You’re not leaving her,” he says. “You can come with her if you fear for her safety. We’ll deal with the rest.”
I nod, even though he can’t see me. “Okay.”
When I walk into the kitchen come morning, Isabelle is already there pouring coffee into two mugs.
“Good morning,” she says, smiling sweetly at me. I feel like puking. I don’t respond. Instead, I walk towards Grant.
“I need to talk to you,” I say.
He looks up. “About what?”
“In private.”
Isabelle steps closer to him, resting her hand on his arm.
“Let’s all stay calm,” she says. “The day just started. There’s no need to argue over trivial matters.”
“I’m not talking to you,” I reply, annoyed.
She doesn’t react, just looks at Grant like she’s waiting for him to step in.
“Am I still your wife?” I ask.
He hesitates and Isabelle answers for him. “I am.”
He nods. That’s all the confirmation I need.
Mia’s footsteps sound on the stairs. “I’m taking her to school,” I say.
When I come back, all my things are in the guest room. I hear Grant behind me.
“It’s easier this way,” he says.
I turn to face him.
“Grant, it’s our bedroom. Our bed!” I say shakily. “You let a stranger push me out of it, and you say this is easier?”
He scoffs arrogantly. “It’s just a room, be happy there’s a spare and you don't have to sleep in the living room.”
The words land like a slap. He really thinks pushing me into the guest room is them doing me a favor.
“I gave you everything you have today, Grant,” I say. “I trusted you with mine and our daughter’s future.”
“I was comfortable when you met me, don’t act like you saved me from the streets or something,” he replies. “Besides, I revived your dead company.”
I let out a quiet breath, taking a good look at him before shaking my head.
“You know what?” I say. “I’m done.”
His face is expressionless.
“I want a divorce.”
- Writer
