Chapter 1: The Paper Cut Divorce
Layla's coffee mug slipped from her fingers. The white ceramic shattered against the kitchen floor, brown liquid spreading like a stain across her life.
"What do you mean divorce papers?" Her voice cracked.
Jason straightened his tie without looking at her. The same navy tie she'd bought him for their anniversary. "I filed yesterday. My lawyer will contact yours."
"Your lawyer?" She stared at the man she'd shared a bed with for three years. The man who still left dirty socks by the hamper. "Jason, what are you talking about?"
He finally met her eyes. Cold. Distant. Like looking at a stranger wearing her husband's face.
"I'm getting married, Layla."
The words hit harder than the divorce papers scattered across their granite countertop. She grabbed the edge of the island, knuckles white.
"Married? To who?"
"Victoria Harding." He said the name like it tasted expensive. "The senator's daughter."
Layla's laugh came out broken. "The senator's daughter? Jason, we just renewed our vows six months ago. We talked about kids last week."
"That was a mistake." He picked up his briefcase. "Victoria's father can help my business in ways you never could."
"Your business?" Heat rose in her chest. "I work sixty-hour weeks to help pay for your business. I gave up my promotion in New York for your business."
"And I appreciate that." His tone was the same one he used with difficult clients. Polite. Professional. "But this is bigger than us."
Layla stared at the divorce papers. Her name spelled wrong. Three years of marriage reduced to legal jargon and checkboxes.
"When?" The word barely came out.
"When what?"
"When did you stop loving me?"
Jason paused at the doorway. For a moment, she saw something flicker across his face. Guilt? Regret? Then it was gone.
"Love doesn't pay the bills, Layla."
The front door closed with a soft click. Layla stood alone in their kitchen, surrounded by broken ceramic and the smell of spilled coffee. Outside, Jason's car pulled away from the house they'd painted together last spring.
She sank to the floor, picking up pieces of the shattered mug. A sharp edge sliced her thumb. Blood mixed with coffee on the white tiles.
Three years. Gone with a signature.
Her phone buzzed. A text from her sister Emma: Lunch today? Need sister time.
Layla typed back with shaking fingers: Rain check. Life just exploded.
She looked around the kitchen. Their kitchen. His kitchen now, probably. The divorce papers stated he wanted the house. Of course he did. Victoria Harding wouldn't want to live in a middle-class neighborhood.
The landline rang. Layla ignored it. Then her cell. Then the landline again.
"Hello?" Her voice sounded hollow.
"Mrs. Morrison? This is Janet from Hartwell & Associates. We're representing your husband in the divorce proceedings."
Husband. Still her husband. For now.
"I don't have a lawyer yet."
"That's fine. We just need to inform you that all joint accounts have been frozen pending asset division. You'll want to retain counsel immediately."
The line went dead. Layla stared at her phone. Frozen accounts? She grabbed her wallet, pulled out her debit card. Their joint account had eight thousand dollars yesterday.
She called the bank.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Morrison. That account is currently under legal hold. I can't provide access until the matter is resolved."
Layla hung up and checked her purse. Forty-three dollars and some loose change. She had a separate savings account with maybe two hundred dollars. Enough for groceries, not enough for a lawyer.
Her phone rang again. Unknown number.
"Layla Morrison?"
"Yes."
"This is Detective Reynolds with the financial crimes unit. We need to speak with you immediately."
"Financial crimes?" Her heart hammered. "I think you have the wrong person."
"Ma'am, this concerns irregularities in your husband's business accounts. Accounts that list you as a signatory."
The room tilted. "I don't understand."
"We'll explain everything when you come in. Can you be here within the hour?"
Layla looked at the divorce papers, still scattered across the counter. At the broken mug pieces in her palm. At the life falling apart around her.
"I'll be there."
She drove to the police station with numb hands, Jason's words echoing in her head. Love doesn't pay the bills.
Maybe not. But apparently, neither did being married to him.
