The 50th Goodbye

The 50th Goodbye “Gosh, she's here again.” “Don’t tell me you're here divorce application again Ms. Vance?” The courthouse clerk didn’t even glance up from her computer. Her tone was casual, but there was a note of amusement in it, like she already knew the answer. Dorian Ashworth had made her promises before. Once, when his cousin needed a rare blood transfusion, he’d told her he’d cancel the paperwork if she helped. She had but he didn’t. Elara’s lips curved faintly. “No. I’m here to pick up the divorce certificate.” The words tasted foreign. She’d said them before, forty-nine times, in fact but this was the first time she meant them. She wouldn’t beg this time. Not like before. From the moment they’d started dating, through their wedding, Isla Rowe had never left their lives. Isla was beautiful, poised, the kind of woman who belonged in glossy magazine spreads. She was also the woman who once cornered Elara at a gala, smiled sweetly, and told her that Dorian would always come back to her. And the worst part? Dorian never denied it. Even when Isla publicly humiliated her, nearly costing her a design contract, Dorian’s response was infuriatingly mild, “don’t take it so personally.” he said. Elara used to think Isla was the real problem. But after years of marriage, she’d realized the truth. Isla was just the knife. Dorian was the one holding it and the truth was that he liked cutting her, slowly. Unfortunately for him, the game was over. This time, the divorce would be real. The wind outside the courthouse was bitter, slicing through the thin wool of her coat. Elara stepped out, heels clicking sharply against the pavement, as she watched Dorian slide into his sleek black Aston Martin without a backward glance. Forty-nine filings. Forty-eight reconciliations. This wasn’t going to be another. Her legs carried her slowly down the steps, each movement weighted. It felt like something inside her had been ripped out, leaving nothing but cold air to pour in. She’d been here before. She knew the script. The clerk files the petition. The thirty-day waiting period begins. Dorian stays silent for two weeks, letting her stew. Then a gift, a visit, a reminder of the man she fell in love with. She caves, tears pours, there are promises, and then the papers are withdrawn but jeez, not this time. This time, she wanted her freedom more than she wanted him. The screech of tires tore her from her thoughts. A black SUV fishtailed to a stop beside her, the stench of burnt rubber in the air. Before she could react, someone shoved her hard from behind. She hit the ground, her palms burning against rough concrete, knees throbbing as she felt blood flow down her knees. “Damn it, we just hit Mrs. Ashworth!” one of the men shouted as he jumped out. “She’s not Mrs. Ashworth any longer,” another muttered. Elara pushed herself up, her head spinning. Through the messy curtain of her hair, she caught sight of the SUV’s rear window sliding halfway down. Dorian’s profile appeared, half in shadow. One of the men glanced back. “Should we take her to the hospital or head to the party?” There was a long pause and then Dorian’s voice sounded all cool, and detached. “To the party.” The SUV roared away, exhaust fumes curling into her face. She stared after it for a long moment, her chest became tight, before forcing herself to her feet. By the time she reached her apartment, her knees were screaming with every step. She barely noticed. She went straight to the bedroom, grabbed a suitcase, and started packing. The first time she’d seen Dorian was at their university’s opening ceremony; he was a senior and she was a fresher. He’d been onstage as the student representative. He had this sharp suit on, and sharper eyes. The kind of man people noticed without wanting to… she’d fallen instantly. She chased him for four years. Brought him breakfast he never touched, memorized his schedule so she could “accidentally” run into him, even scaled a wall to bring him medicine when he was injured during basketball practice breaking her wrist in the process. Three and a half years. Until he finally let her in. Even then, he’d been distant. It was Elara who proposed, Elara who planned their small but elegant wedding, Elara who believed they could make it work. Two years later, she’d learned that love with Dorian was conditional. Always on his terms. She was zipping her suitcase when her phone buzzed. It was a text from Lydia, her assistant. Lydia; I just saw Mr. Ashworth at the Boardman Hotel with Ms. Rowe. Thought you should know. Her grip tightened around the phone until her knuckles ached. Lydia didn’t mean harm, she thought Elara was still fighting for her marriage. Everyone did… because she always had before but not this time. She turned back to her closet and froze. Her mother’s silver pendant was missing. The only thing she had left from her. Elara tore the room apart. Checked under the bed, in the bathroom drawers, even in the pockets of coats she hadn’t worn in years. Nothing. Her mind flashed back to the last time she’d seen it, resting on her jewelry stand in the walk-in closet. The same closet Dorian had walked into that morning to retrieve a tie. Her chest tightened. If he’d given it to Isla… “f**k him!” She said and rushed out of the house. --- The Boardman Hotel’s private lounge was dim and buzzing with quiet conversation. The moment she stepped inside, she heard it. “I give it few days, in fact let's say three days,” a man laughed. “Elara will come crawling back before the ink dries.” “Three? I say one. She can’t live without him.” “Dorian, what’s your bet?” Another asked. Silence. Then, Dorian’s voice came, it was low and smooth, “We’ll see.” The words dug into her like a glass. She was now a piece on their chess board, wow! “Dorian.” Her voice was steady, but her hands were fists at her sides. “Where’s my mother’s necklace?” His expression flickered but it immediately changed again. “That’s what you came here for?” “What else?” Before he could answer, Isla leaned lazily against his arm, her lips curved in a sweet, poisonous smile. “I told Dorian I liked it. He gave it to me. But… I lost it.” Elara’s stomach dropped. “You what?” “It’s just a necklace,” Dorian said coolly. “I’ll buy you ten more.” “It’s the last thing I have of her,” she shot back. Her voice cracked. “You knew that.” The lounge went silent. Dorian didn’t answer. Elara turned and walked out before she broke in front of him. Now she knew how different they were. She probably wasn't good enough for him. He deserved someone of his level and that person wasn't