Chapter 4
759 Words
That night, I sat on the leather sofa in the living room, waiting for Nathan to come home as I had on countless other nights.
But this time, the table didn't hold the hangover remedy I had reheated again and again. It held the divorce agreement.
He had to sign it tonight. Otherwise, the rest of the plan couldn't move forward.
When Nathan came home with alcohol on his breath and naturally opened his arms for me to take off his coat, I simply placed the divorce agreement in his hands without a word.
He glanced at the document title, gave a derisive laugh, and tossed it onto the entryway cabinet.
"Claire, stop making a fuss." His voice was flat, carrying something I knew too well.
Over the past three years, Nathan had spoken to me in that tone far too many times.
I once thought it was indulgence. Now I knew exactly what it was: contempt from someone who couldn't be bothered to care.
"I'm not making a fuss," I said. "I want a divorce."
Nathan walked to the sofa and sat down. One hand rested on the armrest as he loosened his tie. Only after he had done all that did he grant me a glance. The corner of his mouth curved slightly.
"Claire, you're 30. If you leave me, are you going to sleep on the street?"
He stood and walked up to me, so close that I could smell Sienna's perfume on his suit.
"Look at yourself. If you walked down the street like this, who would give you a second look? Your only skill these past three years has been working in the kitchen. What else can you do? You can't even read a proper set of financial statements. What gives you the right to ask for a divorce?"
His voice lowered, as if he were coaxing a child who didn't know better.
"I know you feel upset. I understand that you're unhappy about Sienna moving in. But Sienna graduated from Whitmore School of Business. I need her. You only need to cook and clean at home. How easy is that? What more do you want?"
"Are you finished?" I gave a cold smile and looked up at him.
"No." Nathan stepped back and sat down on the sofa again. "Claire, I'm not discussing this with you. You can't afford this divorce."
He held out one hand and spread his fingers, counting each point for me.
"The house is under my name. I bought your car. Your phone is an extra line on my plan. Even the dress you're wearing was paid for by me. How exactly are you going to leave me? Once you walk out, you won't find a single person who dares to take you in. Who in all of Westbridge doesn't know you're Nathan Blackwell's woman? Who would dare go against the Blackwell family?"
Nathan leaned back against the sofa and looked me up and down with an assessing gaze. It wasn't the gaze of a man looking at his wife. It was the gaze of a man evaluating an object.
He had used this object for three years. It still worked well enough, though it had recently developed a small malfunction. With a little recalibration, it should keep working.
"I'll give you three days to think it over. In three days, take this document back, and I'll pretend none of this ever happened. You can go on being my wife. As for Sienna, look the other way, and life goes on. For you, that's already the best possible outcome."
Nathan stood, walked around the sofa, and headed toward the study.
"I don't need three days." My voice was firm.
He stopped at the study door.
I picked up the pen and signed my name on the final page of the divorce agreement. Every stroke carried the force I had suppressed for three years. By the time I wrote the last letter, the pen tip nearly pierced through the paper.
I placed the pen beside the agreement and straightened.
"I'm leaving. No need to see me out."
Nathan turned around. His eyes first fell on my signed name, then lifted to my face. The effortless composure on his face, the calm that said everything was under his control, finally cracked for a brief moment.
"Good. Very good. Claire Ashford, just wait. You'll regret this."
I turned and kept walking. The door closed in front of him.
'Just wait, Nathan Blackwell. I will return those exact words to you soon enough.'
- Writer
