Chapter Three
937 Words
By midday, I already picked Mia up from school, and packed my stuff and moved them into the car with tears sliding down my face.
He barely reacted when I asked for the divorce. Just a nod and an okay, no remorse for what he did.
The trunk is almost full even though I didn’t pack everything, just clothes, a few shoes, and Mia’s things. The rest is still inside, but I don’t go back for it yet.
I shut the trunk and stand there for a while, staring at the house, memories of when we first moved in replays in my mind.
The front door opens and Isabelle walks out.
“Do you need help?” Her voice is calm and polite. Maybe it’s in my head, but I can hear the sarcasm in her tone.
I let out a short breath before facing her. “No.”
She closes the door gently behind her, slowly walking towards me.
“I think it’s better if you take what you need now,” she says. “Coming back and forth might be… uncomfortable.”
I stare at her coldly but she doesn’t look away.
“Grant is inside if you want to speak to him again.”
“I’ve said everything I need to say to him,” I breathe out. “Don’t you have anything to do?”
She smiles then switches to a serious look immediately.
“If you need anything for Mia, just let me know,” she adds. “I’ll communicate with Grant and make sure she has it.”
I almost laugh, now irritated.
“I don’t need favors from someone like you. I’ll take care of my daughter.”
“Of course, of course.” she says quickly.
Grant doesn’t come out to say anything or stop me from leaving. He’s barely said anything to me after I asked for a divorce. That shouldn’t surprise me, but it does anyway. I turn away from her before I say something I can’t take back and walk to the passenger side. Mia is already strapped in, swinging her legs.
“Are we going somewhere?” she asks.
“Yes. We're going to Grandma’s for a bit.”
Her face lights up. “Can I take my pink bag?”
“I already did.”
She grins, satisfied.
I get into the driver’s seat, start the car, and pull out of the driveway without looking back again. Mia talks for the first few minutes, then eventually she falls asleep, her head tilting to the side.
Okay.
That’s all he said. Like he’d been waiting for me to ask for the divorce. Everything from last night plays back in pieces. The way he looked at her. I swallow, pushing the thought aside.
My parents’ house comes into view with the gates already open. By the time I park, my mother is at the door.
“Claire—”
I barely make it out of the car before she pulls me into a hug. I hold on for a moment before pulling away.
“I’m fine,” I say calmly. She doesn’t believe it, but she doesn’t say anything.
My father steps forward with a neutral expression on his face.
“Come on inside.”
He takes one look at Mia and his face softens. “Hey, princess.”
She wakes up and smiles as he lifts her out of the car.
“Did you bring your pink bag?” he asks.
“Yes,” she says sleepily.
“Good. Let’s get you inside.”
He carries her in, my mother following, already asking if she’s eaten, if she wants juice, if she’s tired. I grab my bag from the car and head in after them.
Mia settles quickly, distracted by the change and everything around her. She doesn’t ask any questions.
Or maybe she just doesn’t understand enough to ask anything yet. Either way, I’m grateful for it.
My mother keeps her busy in the living room while my father gestures for me to follow him into his study, closing the door behind us.
For a moment, neither of us speaks.
Then he looks at me.
“Tell me everything. Start from the beginning.”
I tell him about last night. About Grant bringing Isabelle home, how he called her his wife. About the bedroom situation and what I overheard. Surprisingly, I don’t cry.
When I finish, he nods calmly.
“What exactly did you sign over to him?” he asks.
“My company,” I say. “When things started going bad. He said he’d handle it until it stabilized.”
“That’s not what I asked,” he replies. “Did you transfer ownership or just management?”
I open my mouth, then close it again.
“I—he handled the paperwork,” I say. “I just signed what he gave me.”
My father watches me like I just said something stupid. The words actually sound dumb coming out of my mouth.
“Do you have copies?”
“Yes, I do. In my email,” I say. “I think.”
“Check.”
I pull out my phone, going straight to my mail. I search Grant’s name and there’s a list of attachments and documents.
“Take your time,” he says.
I open one. My eyes move over the words, trying to make sense of them. Something feels off.
“Claire?” my father says.
“Wait.”
There’s a section I don’t remember.
My stomach drops.
“Dad…”
I turn the screen toward him.
- Writer
