Old Ivy is dead
1694 Words
Ivy’s POV
The sheets smelled like expensive cologne and regret.
The hotel room was too bright, sunlight pouring through those massive windows like it had a personal vendetta against my hangover. My head was pounding, my mouth tasted like something had died in it, and my body ached in places that reminded me exactly what I had done last night.
I turned my head slowly, afraid of what I might find.
The other side of the bed was empty. Cold. Adrian was gone.
Of course he was. That’s what people did after one night stands, right? They left before things got awkward. Before the alcohol wore off and reality set in and you had to face the fact that you’d f****d a stranger to forget your husband.
Ex-husband, I corrected myself. Soon to be ex-husband.
I sat up, clutching the sheet to my chest even though there was no one there to see me naked. My clothes were scattered across the floor, a trail of bad decisions leading from the door to the bed.
My phone was on the nightstand, screen full of notifications. My stomach dropped.
Twelve missed calls from a number I didn’t recognize. Three voicemails. And a text from Ethan that just said: Come get your s**t.
I stared at those four words until they blurred.
Come get your s**t. Not “can we talk” or “I’m sorry” or even “I miss you.” Just come get your s**t, like I was some random girl he’d dated for a few weeks instead of his wife of five years.
The tears came before I could stop them. I was so tired of crying. My tear ducts should have been empty by now, completely dried up, but apparently I had an endless supply.
I got dressed quickly, not bothering with a shower. What was the point? I pulled on yesterday’s clothes that smelled like bar smoke and s*x, tied my hair back, and called an Uber.
The drive back to Brooklyn felt like traveling to my own execution.
When the car pulled up to our house, my house, the first thing I saw was my suitcases on the front lawn.
Not just suitcases. Boxes. Bags. My clothes spilling out onto the grass like garbage. My favorite lamp sitting on top of a box of books. Picture frames. My jewelry box. Everything I owned just thrown out like trash for the neighbors to see.
“You need help with those?” the Uber driver asked, eyeing the mess.
“No.” My voice came out flat. “Thanks.”
I got out and stood on the sidewalk, staring at the wreckage of my life spread across our perfectly manicured lawn. Mrs. Patterson from next door was watching from her window, not even pretending not to stare. Across the street, old Mr. Chen had stopped watering his plants.
Great. More witnesses to my humiliation.
The front door opened, and Ethan stepped out.
He looked terrible. Eyes red and swollen, hair sticking up like he’d been running his hands through it all night, wearing the same clothes from the party. For a second, just a second, I felt bad for him.
Then I remembered he was the one who did this. He was the one who threw me away without even listening.
“Ethan,” I started walking toward him. “Can we please talk about this?”
“There’s nothing to talk about.” He wouldn’t look at me, just stared at a spot somewhere over my shoulder. “I want you gone.”
“This is my home too.”
“Was.” Finally his eyes met mine, and they were cold. So cold. “It was your home. Not anymore.”
“You can’t just kick me out. I have rights.”
“Rights?” He laughed, bitter and sharp. “You want to talk about rights? You had the right to stay faithful. You had the right to not f**k some random guy and humiliate me in front of everyone I know.”
“I didn’t do that!”
“Stop lying!” His voice cracked, loud enough that I saw Mrs. Patterson’s curtain twitch. “Just stop lying, Ivy. I saw the pictures. We all did.”
“They were fake, Ethan. Someone set me up.”
“Sure. Someone spent all that time and money creating fake photos of you. Someone who hates you so much they’d go through all that trouble.” He shook his head. “You really think I’m that stupid?”
“I think you’re refusing to see the truth because you’ve already made up your mind.”
“My mind was made up the second I saw you with your legs spread for another man.”
The words hit me like a slap. Crude and cruel and designed to hurt. This wasn’t my Ethan. My Ethan was gentle, soft-spoken, the kind of man who cried at commercials and brought me soup when I was sick.
But maybe I never really knew him at all.
“I loved you,” I whispered. “I gave you everything.”
“Yeah, and you gave him everything too, apparently.” He turned to go back inside. “Take your stuff and go. If you’re not gone by tonight, I’m calling the cops and telling them you’re trespassing.”
“Ethan, please—”
The door slammed in my face.
I stood there on our front porch, the porch where we’d had our first kiss as homeowners, where we’d taken a million photos on holidays, where we’d planned our future together. And I felt something inside me crack wide open.
Not break. I was already broken. This was something else. Something harder and colder settling into the space where my heart used to be.
Fine. If he wanted me gone, I’d go.
I walked back to my pile of belongings and started going through boxes, looking for my phone charger. My hands were shaking so badly I could barely open them. Clothes I’d worn on our anniversary. Books he’d given me for birthdays. A coffee mug that said “Mrs. Carter” that I’d bought as a joke after our wedding.
All of it meant nothing now.
I found my phone at the bottom of my purse and scrolled through my contacts. Who could I even call? Not my parents. Not Natalie. I had some work friends, but not the kind you ask to help you move out after your husband throws you out.
Then I remembered Jessica. We’d gone to college together, lost touch after graduation, but she was a real estate agent. I’d seen her posts on social media about apartments in Queens.
I pulled up her number and hit call before I could overthink it.
“Hello?”
“Jessica? It’s Ivy. Ivy Carter.” My voice was shaking. “I know this is random, but I need help finding an apartment. Today. Right now if possible.”
There was a pause. She’d probably heard about the party. Probably seen the photos somehow. Everyone probably had.
“Okay,” she said finally. No questions. No judgment. Just okay. “What’s your budget?”
I did quick math in my head. I had about thirty thousand in my personal savings account that Ethan didn’t have access to. It was money I’d been putting away for years, my safety net.
Guess I was using it now.
“Something cheap,” I said. “I can’t afford much. Maybe a studio? Something in Queens?”
“I’ll send you some listings. Can you meet me at two?”
I looked at my phone. It was eleven thirty. “Yeah. Thank you, Jessica. Really.”
“Don’t mention it. We’ve all had bad breakups.”
Except this wasn’t a breakup. This was an execution.
She hung up, and I started loading my stuff into a pile on the curb, planning to call a moving service. That’s when my phone buzzed with an email notification.
FROM: Human Resources, Carter & Associates
My dad’s company. The company where I’d worked for the last six years in marketing. The company where I’d thought I was valued and respected.
I opened the email with trembling fingers.
Dear Ms. Carter,
Due to recent personal circumstances that have affected your professional reputation and the reputation of this company, we regret to inform you that your employment has been terminated effective immediately. Your final paycheck will be mailed to your address on file.
Best regards,
HR Department
I read it three times before the words actually sank in.
They fired me. My own father’s company fired me. He probably ordered it himself, too ashamed to have a “cheater” working there.
I sat down hard on one of my suitcases, right there on the lawn in front of all the neighbors, and laughed.
It wasn’t a happy laugh. It was the kind of laugh that came when you’d lost so much that losing more became funny. Absurd. Like the universe was playing some cosmic joke and I was the punchline.
Husband gone. Home gone. Family gone. Friends gone. Job gone.
Everything I’d built over thirty years, wiped out in less than twenty-four hours.
My phone buzzed with texts from Jessica, apartment listings popping up. Studios in Queens. One bedroom if I got lucky. Places that cost half my savings just for first month, last month, and security deposit.
This was my life now. Starting over from scratch in some tiny apartment, alone, with everyone I’d ever known thinking I was a cheating w***e.
I looked up at the house one more time. At the window of our bedroom where I could see Ethan’s shadow moving around.
“I hope you’re happy,” I said quietly.
Then the moving service i called arrived and i started loading my life into boxes, ready to disappear into a city that didn’t know my name or my shame.
Ready to become someone new, because the old Ivy was dead anyway.
- Writer
