Divorce Me, Look Who Wants Me Back Now

Hailey heard his car pull in just after midnight. She was standing by the bedroom window, her robe pulled tight, staring out at the dark like she’d been doing for the past hour. Down below, Floyd’s car curved into the circular drive. The headlights swept across the lawn for a second, then cut out, leaving everything quiet again. It was the fourth night this week. She’d stopped lying to herself about not keeping track. The front door opened. She heard his shoes on the marble, the same steady pace every time. He’d take off his watch. Drop his keys into the jade dish her mother gave them when they got married. He did it without thinking. She noticed every time. When he showed up in the doorway, his face was blank. Tired, maybe. Closed off, definitely. “Why are you still up, Hailey?” he asked. He used her name, not baby, not anything soft. “I was waiting for you,” she said. “Meeting ran late again?” “Yeah.” He didn’t look at her. “The merger’s dragging. You know how this stuff goes.” She did know. She’d known for five years—since the day they signed papers that turned a deal into a marriage. Somewhere along the way, she’d convinced herself his routines meant something more. That if she waited long enough, it would start to feel real. “I can have Chef heat something up,” she said, because offering was easier than asking. “I already ate.” His voice was flat. End of discussion. This was another first. He used to wait, no matter how late, insisting they shared at least one meal a day. It was one of his rules, part of the his rules that made their marriage feel almost real. He moved past her and headed towards the bathroom, and she caught the faintest trace of his perfume. It was expensive, vanilla, not the the one she brought for him. She told herself it was nothing, she tried not to overthink it. The changes came slowly, like winter slipping into autumn. So gradual she barely noticed them at first, the way you don’t notice the air getting colder day by day. Then one morning she realized she was always cold, and it felt like it had settled into her bones. He stopped reminding her about her pills. For years, he’d left the small white tablet beside her morning coffee, right on the saucer where she couldn’t miss it. He said he didn’t like the way she got dizzy when she forgot, didn’t like seeing her pale and nauseous. It had been his quiet way of looking out for her, never announced, never sentimental. Now the bottle just sat untouched in the cabinet. Days passed. Then weeks. She started setting reminders on her phone, hating the buzz of the alarm but hating even more that no one else remembered anymore. The meals changed too. The chef started serving dishes she would never have chosen. Desserts that were overly sweet, rich enough to make her stomach turn. Tuna, which she’d mentioned once, casually, that it made her sick. She pushed food around her plate, appetite gone, wondering if she was imagining it, wondering if she was becoming difficult. When she finally asked about it, the chef hesitated before answering. “Mr. Langford revised the weekly menu himself, ma’am,” he said carefully. “I assumed you’d changed your preferences.” But she hadn’t. Not even a little. When she mentioned it to Floyd, he apologized quickly, almost too quickly. His words were right, but his attention wasn’t there. His eyes kept drifting, his mind clearly somewhere else, and the apology landed hollow. “I’ve just been overwhelmed,” he said. “Work has been… complicated.” She wanted to believe him. She needed to. Their contract was ending in six months, and maybe that was sitting heavy on him. They’d agreed from the start to revisit the arrangement after three years—extend it, or walk away clean. No drama. No resentment. At least, that was the plan. She’d hoped they’d extend it. Somewhere along the line, the relationship had started to feel less like a deal and more like a real marriage. Or close enough that she let herself pretend. But lately, when she caught him watching her, there was something different in his gaze. Something weighed down, distant. Not love. Not concern. It felt more like calculation, like he was taking stock, measuring the cost of a choice he’d already made, and deciding how much longer he could live with it. The rumors started at her sister-in-law's garden party. Hailey had never really enjoyed these gatherings, they were too much champagne, fake smiles. But it was only right for her to attend, she had to play her role. She was near the rose garden when the two women at the next table began gossiping. "Kimberley Blackwood back in the city." The first lady spoke. "The violinist?" The second lady asked "Didn't she marry that conductor?" "She divorced him." The lady replied, lowering her tone. "Came home last month. Very quietly." The name floated past Hailey, she drank her wine and would have forgotten about it if not for her sister-in-law. Tiana cornered her near the dessert table, her smile sharp as cut crystal. "You look tired, Hailey." She said with a practiced smile. "I'm fine." Hailey said returning the fake smile. "Are you?" Tiana tilted her head, faking sympathy. "I suppose it must be exhausting, you know playing house with someone who's never really seen you." Hailey set down her plate. "I don't know what you mean." "Don't you?" Tiana leaned closer. "All those little... habits he does. The pills reminders. The way he orders your meals. You think those are for you?" Something cold went down Hailey's spine. " He learned all of that from her," Tiana continued. "From Kimberley. You see she had stomach issues. Needed pills every morning. Couldn't eat certain foods." She paused, letting the words sink in. "He took care of her completely that even after she left, he couldn't stop. Isn't that tragic?" "That's not..." "Then ask Chef," Tiana said lightly. "Or the house manager. They've been with him longer than you have. They remember what she liked. What she needed." Her smile widened. "And they'll tell you the truth, that everything you thought was yours was just borrowed from a woman who broke his heart." Hailey's breath froze. "I'm sorry," Tiana said, not sounding sorry at all. "I thought you knew." Hailey decided to go to Chef the next morning, asking casual questions about old menus, past preferences. "Oh, the medication routine? Mr. Langford started that years ago. Before you, ma'am. His… well, his previous partner had the same health issues." "And the food restrictions?" Hailey asked casually. "Same reason. She couldn't tolerate certain ingredients. He was very particular about it." Hailey's hands trembled. "And now?" The chef looked confused. "Now, ma'am?" "Does he… does he even care what I eat?" A long pause. "To be honest, ma'am, Mr. Langford has never been particular about food. He eats whatever is served. I've always taken direction from… well, from whoever needed accommodation." The floor seemed to tilt beneath her. Every gesture. Every kindness. Every routine she'd believed was theirs had been built for someone else. She was living in the structure of another woman's love story, a ghost haunting her own marriage. That night, she watched him move through their home, automatic, precise, a man following scripts written long ago. And when he looked at her, she finally understood the heaviness in his eyes. He wasn't seeing her at all. He was remembering someone else. And in that moment, Hailey understood: everything she thought she'd built had been a beautiful lie. A fake life, tender and meticulous and never, ever hers. The contract would end in six months. But her marriage, she realized, had ended long before she'd ever signed.