Vows Dipped In Poison

Chapter2:The papers between us

Clara did not sleep that night.

She sat at the kitchen table of the apartment she had been renting since Raymond stopped coming home a year ago. It was a small place, one bedroom, peeling paint on the ceiling, a leak under the sink she kept a bucket beneath. The divorce papers lay spread in front of her.

She had printed them three months ago when Raymond first sent her the terms through his lawyer. Back then, she refused to even look at them. She had thrown them in a drawer and cried for two hours.

Now she read every line with dry eyes.

The terms were simple. She would leave the marriage with nothing. No property. No alimony. No share in any of his businesses. The only space left for negotiation was a small blank line beside "additional terms."

Clara picked up a pen and wrote in neat letters: Fifteen million.

Not for herself. For her father.

Samuel had been in the hospital for fourteen months now. A stroke had left him unable to walk or speak clearly. His medical bills cost more than Clara could earn from her three part-time jobs combined. She had already sold everything she owned, her books, her old laptop, her grandmother's earrings. The only thing of value she had left was the necklace Raymond gave her on their wedding day.

She signed her name at the bottom of the papers. The pen did not shake.

It was nearly six in the evening when she arrived at the house Raymond had bought when they first married. She had not been back in weeks. The garden was overgrown and the mailbox was stuffed with flyers no one had collected.

Inside, the house smelled stale. Clara opened a window to let the cold air in. She noticed the vase on the dining table still held the flowers she had arranged last month. They were brown and dry now. Dead.

She placed the papers on the table and sat down to wait.

At exactly seven, she heard a car pull into the driveway. The engine cut off. Footsteps on the porch. The front door opened without a knock because it was still his house, after all.

Raymond walked in wearing a charcoal suit. His jaw was set, his eyes scanning the dim room until they found her sitting at the table. He did not bother with the light switch.

"You look terrible," he said.

Clara looked up at him. "Good evening to you too."

He crossed the room in three strides and looked down at the papers. His eyebrow rose when he saw the number she had written. "Fifteen million?"

"For my father's medical care."

Raymond laughed. It was a short, ugly sound. "So this is what finally made you agree. Money."

Clara's fingers curled under the table. "By law, I could take half of everything you own. I am asking for less than one percent. I think that is fair."

"Fair?" He pulled out the chair across from her and sat down. The wood creaked under him. "What is fair is you walking out with nothing, the same way you walked in."

"I walked in with a future," Clara said softly. "I walked in with a medical degree I never finished because you told me I did not need it. I walked in with dreams. So no, Raymond, I did not walk in with nothing."

Something flickered in his eyes. It was gone before she could name it.

"Sign the papers," she said. "Give me the fifteen million. You will never see me again."

He leaned back in his chair and studied her. The light from the window caught the angles of his face. He was still handsome. That was the cruel part. Three years of being married to him and he still made her chest tight just by being in the same room.

"You have changed," he said.

"People do that when they stop hoping."

He pulled a pen from his jacket pocket and clicked it. Then he paused. "I will sign. But the money comes after the divorce is final. Not before."

"I need it now. My father's condition is getting worse and the hospital is asking for payment."

"That is not my problem."

Clara stood up so fast the chair scraped against the floor. "You made it your problem when you married me. When you made me give up everything. You owe me this much."

Raymond stood too. He was taller than her by almost a foot, and he used that height now, looking down at her with eyes that held nothing. No love. No guilt. Not even real anger. Just ice.

"I owe you nothing," he said. "But I will give you the money. After the divorce is registered. Tomorrow morning. Nine o'clock."

Clara's hands were shaking. She pressed them flat against the table to hide it. "Fine."

He signed the papers. Three quick strokes of the pen. He did not read them again. He had probably already memorized every word through his lawyer.

Then he straightened his jacket and walked toward the door.

"Raymond." Her voice stopped him. He turned halfway.

"Was any of it real?" she asked. "The first year. When you used to bring me flowers and cook for me on Sundays. When you said you wanted to grow old with me. Was any of that real?"

His back was to the light, so she could not see his face clearly. But his voice was perfectly clear when he answered.

"Does it matter now?"

He left. The door closed behind him with a quiet click that sounded louder than any slam.

Clara sank back into her chair. She pressed both hands over her mouth to keep the sound in. Her shoulders shook. Her vision blurred.

Eight months. Maybe twelve.

Fifteen million for her father.

Then she could rest.

She sat in the dark for a long time. Then she got up and walked down the hallway to the small room at the end. It was the room she had turned into a study during their first year of marriage. Her medical textbooks still lined the shelves. Her anatomy diagrams were still pinned to the cork board. Her stethoscope hung from a hook behind the door, still in its case.

She touched the spine of a textbook. Cardiovascular Medicine. She used to highlight passages in yellow and quiz herself before bed. Raymond would find her asleep with the book on her chest and carry her to bed.

That was before Felicia. Before everything turned to ash.

Clara pulled the stethoscope from its case and placed the earpieces in her ears. She pressed the chest piece against her own heart.

The rhythm was wrong. She could hear it. Irregular. Struggling. A heart that was working too hard and failing anyway.

Her phone rang. She pulled the stethoscope away and looked at the screen. It was the hospital.

"Ms. Clara, this is Grace from ward seven. Your father... he collapsed during his evening medication. The doctors are with him now but you should come quickly."

Clara grabbed her bag and ran.