The Wife He Never Deserved

The Divorce Papers

Isabella

On the morning of my twenty-sixth birthday, I woke with a strange weight pressing against my chest. It wasn't pain exactly, nor was it fear. It was the kind of uneasiness that arrived without warning, settling quietly into your bones until you could no longer convince yourself it didn't exist. Outside the bedroom windows, rain drummed steadily against the glass, wrapping the sprawling Ashford estate in a grey curtain that made the world seem distant and lifeless. The weather matched the silence inside the mansion, a silence so complete that I could hear the ticking of the antique clock on the wall and the soft hum of the central heating. I turned instinctively toward the other side of the bed, though I already knew what I would find. The sheets were perfectly smooth, untouched throughout the night. Adrian hadn't come home again.

For a long time, I remained lying there, staring at the empty space where my husband should have been. Three years. We had been married for three years, yet I could count on one hand the number of nights we had actually fallen asleep beside each other. Whenever anyone asked about our marriage, I smiled and told them Adrian was simply devoted to his company. He was the CEO of Ashford Group, after all. People expected him to work long hours, attend endless meetings, and travel around the world at a moment's notice. That explanation satisfied everyone else, but it had stopped satisfying me a long time ago. There was a difference between being busy and choosing not to come home, and somewhere along the way, I had finally begun to understand which one described my husband.

My eyes wandered to the digital clock on the bedside table before I reached for my phone. The screen lit up with dozens of notifications. Friends from university had sent birthday wishes shortly after midnight. Former classmates had tagged me in cheerful posts. Even distant acquaintances had remembered the date. My grandfather had called twice before leaving a voice message that simply said, Happy birthday, Bella. I hope today brings you the happiness you deserve. I listened to it twice, smiling despite the ache in my chest. Then my thumb moved almost unconsciously to Adrian's contact.

Nothing.

No missed call.

No message.

Not even two simple words.

Happy birthday.

I laughed quietly, though the sound felt hollow in the enormous bedroom. It was amazing how two ordinary words could become the thing I wanted most. I had spent weeks pretending this birthday didn't matter because I didn't want to disappoint myself, but deep down, I had still hoped Adrian would remember. I had imagined him coming home early with flowers or perhaps suggesting we have dinner together for the first time in months. The hope had been foolish, and now it lay broken before the day had even properly begun.

I climbed out of bed and walked slowly toward the floor-to-ceiling windows. Ashford Mansion looked magnificent in the rain. The fountains, marble pathways, and perfectly trimmed gardens were everything luxury magazines admired whenever they featured my husband's home. Women envied me because they thought I had married the perfect man. They saw the designer clothes, the expensive cars, the charity galas, and the photographs taken from carefully chosen angles. They never saw me eating dinner alone at a table designed for twelve people. They never saw me waiting until midnight with food that had long gone cold, convincing myself that one more hour wouldn't hurt. They never saw me celebrating anniversaries with nothing but silence for company.

Perhaps that was the cruelest thing about loneliness.

It could exist even inside the most beautiful home.

After showering, I chose a simple cream dress instead of anything extravagant. I had once loved beautiful jewellery and elegant gowns, but over the years those things had gradually lost their meaning. Adrian rarely looked at me anyway, so I had stopped dressing for his attention. As I tied my hair into a loose knot, I caught my reflection in the mirror. At twenty-six, I still looked young, though the woman staring back at me wasn't the cheerful girl who had fallen in love three years earlier. There was a quiet sadness in my eyes that no amount of expensive skincare could hide. Love had changed me, but not in the way fairy tales promised.

When I entered the dining room, Mrs. Wilson, the housekeeper who had worked for the Ashford family for over twenty years, greeted me with a warm smile that felt more genuine than anything I had received in months. "Happy birthday, Mrs. Ashford," she said softly before placing a plate of blueberry pancakes in front of me. "I remembered these were your favourite."

The simple gesture caught me off guard. I thanked her, forcing back the tears threatening to embarrass me. It was strange how the kindness of someone who wasn't even family could mean so much when the person who was supposed to love you couldn't spare a single message. I sat alone at the enormous dining table, staring at the untouched place opposite mine. Adrian's chair remained exactly where it always was, waiting for a man who was almost never there. The mansion employed dozens of servants, yet somehow it still felt empty.

I had barely taken two bites when the sound of a car echoed through the driveway.

My heart reacted before my mind did.

I looked toward the entrance as hurried footsteps approached the dining room. Adrian appeared a moment later, still dressed in yesterday's charcoal suit. His hair was slightly dishevelled, and there were dark circles beneath his eyes, suggesting he hadn't slept either. For one brief, foolish second, hope surged inside me. Maybe he had remembered. Maybe he had rushed home because today mattered after all.

He looked at me, nodded once, and walked toward the coffee machine.

"Morning."

That was all.

No smile.

No birthday wish.

No apology for staying away the entire night.

Just one ordinary word spoken with the same detached politeness he might have used with a colleague in the office.

I swallowed the disappointment before it reached my face. "Good morning," I replied, watching as one of the servants handed him a cup of black coffee.

"I had meetings," he said before I could ask where he had been. His voice was calm, almost mechanical. "I stayed at the office."

"I was worried."

"There was no need."

His answer wasn't rude.

It was worse.

It was indifferent.

The distance between us couldn't be measured in metres anymore. It had grown into something invisible yet impossible to cross, no matter how hard I tried. Once upon a time, I believed marriage meant facing life together. Somewhere along the way, our marriage had become two separate lives existing beneath the same roof.

Before I could think of something else to say, Adrian's phone rang.

He glanced at the screen, and something changed in his expression.

He smiled.

It wasn't a broad smile, but it was real.

It was also a smile I hadn't seen directed at me in longer than I cared to remember.

He answered immediately, his voice noticeably softer than it had been with me.

"I'll be there shortly."

The call lasted less than thirty seconds before he slipped the phone back into his pocket. He finished the last of his coffee and picked up his car keys as though he had only stopped by to change locations rather than come home.

"You're leaving already?" I asked quietly.

"Yes."

"You haven't eaten."

"I'm not hungry."

He turned toward the door, and every instinct inside me begged me to stop him. Today was my birthday. Surely I deserved at least one honest attempt.

"Adrian."

He paused but didn't look back.

I took a slow breath, hoping the words wouldn't sound as desperate as they felt.

"Is there... is there any chance you'll be home for dinner tonight?"

He checked his watch before answering.

"I don't know. Don't wait for me."

Then he walked away.

The front door closed with a soft click that somehow sounded louder than thunder.

I stood there for several seconds, staring at the empty doorway while the silence returned to claim the mansion once again. Mrs. Wilson looked at me sympathetically, but neither of us spoke. There was nothing left to say.

An hour later, just as I was arranging fresh flowers in the living room to distract myself from another forgotten birthday, a black luxury sedan stopped outside the mansion.

This time, it wasn't Adrian.

A middle-aged man in a tailored suit stepped out carrying a leather briefcase. I recognised him immediately as Adrian's personal lawyer. He greeted me politely, but there was an unmistakable stiffness in his expression that made my stomach tighten before he had spoken a single word.

"Mrs. Ashford," he began carefully, "I'm afraid Mr. Ashford instructed me to deliver these documents to you personally."

My fingers grew cold as I accepted the folder.

Somehow...

Before I even opened it...

I already knew my life was about to change forever.