I Signed the Divorce and Cut Them All Off

Before us sat two identical stacks of papers, our divorce agreement. One set for Mark Wood. One set for me. My half included a 20% share of our assets and one villa. The twins and all the ancestral homes? They, along with everything else, belonged to him. Without a trace of the emotional storm I had been mired in lately, I skimmed the text and quietly signed my name at the bottom. No fanfare, just finality. Mark's pen faltered as he scrutinized me intently. "Aren't you going to contest anything? What about seeing the kids? After that, you know there's no going back." I returned the papers, my lips curving into the faintest hint of a smile. "Not necessary." There was a flicker of something unspoken in Mark's eyes, but it was of no consequence anymore. In mere hours, the identity of Mrs. Wood would vanish, along with the woman who bore that name and mothered his children. I would exist only as a cold, forgotten shell. ***** Post-signature, Mark did something he hadn't in a long time. He walked me to the door. With a courteous tone, he inquired, "Need a ride home?" I shook my head resolutely. It seemed to throw him off for a second. He clearly wasn't used to my sudden detachment. His eyes flickered briefly to the crown of my head before he flipped open the notepad on the desk, jotted down a string of digits, and handed it over. "My personal phone number." He grinned with a certain smugness, as though he was convinced I would eventually come crawling back. I only paused for a heartbeat. I accepted the slip of paper, gave him a curt nod, and then wasted no time in setting it alight with my lighter once I got to the car. That elusive number, a treasure previously denied despite my countless outbursts and schemes. And now, it fell into my hands, with nothing more than the prospect of a divorce. What a bitter twist of fate! Just as I cranked the engine, my phone buzzed to life. Harper, the event coordinator, sounded unusually tense, "Linda, Mark's got warm-up matches soon, and that recipe..." "Swing by my place. I'll have it ready for you." Hours later, Harper stood eyeing the towering pile of cookbooks with an unsure grin. "Linda, are you really ending your marriage all because you're mad?" Since I filed the papers, neither Mark, his mother Elizabeth Wood, nor the entire chess team took me seriously. They all thought this was just some elaborate bluff. They turned to deceptive tactics to coerce the youngest ever six-time chess champion into surrender. Yet I found myself utterly disenchanted with Mark. "He's got allergies to seafood and cilantro, suffers from winter rhinitis, insists on pure cotton underwear. His bath water must be precisely 100.4°F, with a touch of mint." I listed these peculiarities without pausing for breath. Harper's smile had shifted to a look of worry. She stuttered, "Linda, are you truly leaving?" I held my silence. Instead, I retrieved the marriage certificate Mark had written for me seven years ago from beneath my pillow. In her presence, I tore it apart with a decisive rip. As I watched the pieces drift lazily to the floor, I murmured, "With my father's passing, my journey with him has come to an end too." Tears that had long been absent now cascaded down. Harper seemed momentarily immobilized. She apologized, her eyes misty as she wiped my tears, then spoke again, her voice slightly breaking, "Linda, you two grew up together. How has it come to this?" True. Once, the youngest and most brilliant chess champion wed his childhood love in a grand event. He also placed his dying mentor in an outrageously expensive hospice. The next year, we welcomed twins into our lives. Mark feared I felt disregarded, enveloping me in gifts, from luxuries to tissue boxes decorated with designs he crafted himself. When inebriated, he would mutter my name repeatedly through the night. Later, he even etched my name into his palm. It had its fair share of attention and glamor. But in just a little over seven years. As his childhood sweetheart, I became obsolete. Meanwhile, the quiet Wendy Smith, who trailed behind him without title, captured his heart. Being childhood sweethearts was meaningless. Mark still betrayed me, even though I was his mentor's only daughter who once saved his life.