Better Without You

The courtroom was colder than she expected. Not in temperature, though the air-conditioning hummed with aggressive indifference—but in atmosphere. Marble floors echoed the click of expensive shoes and lawyerly murmurs. It should’ve felt like a battlefield. Instead, it was sterile. Lifeless. The perfect place to end something that had died a long time ago. Sienna Reyes sat still on the left side of the long wooden bench, hands folded neatly in her lap. She wore a navy-blue dress, modest but sharp. Her dark hair was tied in a low bun, her makeup barely-there. She didn’t want to look like she was trying too hard. She didn’t want to look like she cared. Across the aisle, her soon-to-be ex-husband scrolled through his phone. Nathaniel Cross. Tech mogul. CEO of CrossTech Solutions. Thirty-four years old. Disgustingly wealthy. And, once upon a time, devastatingly charming. Even now, dressed in a designer suit that probably cost more than her monthly rent, he looked like he belonged on a Forbes cover, sharp jaw, neatly styled dark hair, that calm, controlled face. No emotion. Not even a twitch. Not when the judge entered. Not when the final decree was read. Not even when their five-year marriage ended in twenty minutes. Sienna didn’t cry. She had already done all her crying months ago, in the bathroom, in her car, into her pillow. This wasn’t a tragedy. It was a release. “All matters have been resolved. You are now legally divorced,” the judge announced, her voice brisk and businesslike. That was it. No fireworks. No dramatic speeches. Just a signature and a stamp. Sienna stood. She didn’t look at him. Nathaniel’s lawyer offered a handshake, which she ignored. She didn’t owe them civility. Not after the silence. Not after the years of neglect disguised as “providing.” Not after being told, repeatedly, that her art, her dreams, her life, didn’t matter if it didn’t generate income. Outside, the Los Angeles sun was sharp and unrelenting. It should’ve been raining. That’s what movies did, sad endings always came with thunderclouds. But here she was, stepping into the bright sunlight, officially a divorcée at twenty-eight, the glare highlighting every inch of her freedom. “Sienna.” She knew that voice. Deep. Controlled. Always with an edge of command. She turned slowly. Nathaniel stood a few feet away, hands in his pockets like he wasn’t sure what to do with them. That was rare. Nathaniel was always sure. Always in control. But right now, he looked… off. “Yes?” she said flatly. “I…” He hesitated. “Do you want to talk? Maybe get coffee?” She stared at him, incredulous. “We just signed our divorce papers.” “I know. I just thought… we could talk.” “About what? How you didn’t show up to therapy? How I spent our anniversary alone? How I gave you five years and you gave me a mansion full of silence?” He flinched. It was small, almost imperceptible, but she saw it. “I made mistakes,” he said, quiet. “I know that now.” Sienna gave a small laugh, humorless and tired. “Now? Now that I’m walking away? Nathaniel, you had five years to know. I begged you to see me. You didn’t.” “I thought I was doing what was best. Providing for us.” “No,” she said. “You were providing for yourself. For your ego. You loved the idea of a wife who fit into your world, but you never tried to fit into mine.” Silence stretched between them. Busy people walked past them on the courthouse steps. Somewhere in the distance, a car alarm blared and then silenced. “I’m sorry,” he said finally. Sienna nodded once. “I hope you mean that. But I don’t want an apology. I want peace. And I’m finally getting that.” She turned away before he could say anything else. Each step away from him felt like a weight shedding off her shoulders, years of being unseen, unheard, unloved. The parking lot was hot and nearly full. She slid into her used Corolla, not sleek or luxurious, but hers. No driver, no tinted windows, no robotic voice asking her where she needed to go. Just silence. Her silence. She gripped the wheel, took a deep breath, and let it all go. This wasn’t a sad ending. It was a beginning. Sienna remembered everything about that night. Not because she wanted to, God, she’d spent so long trying to forget, but because pain, real pain, had a way of etching itself into the walls of your memory like fire to wood. And no matter how many times she’d painted over it, the scorch marks still bled through. It had been exactly eight months before the divorce. She had just returned from an artist’s retreat in Ojai, three days of quiet, watercolor, and shared bottles of wine with strangers who believed in feeling over finance. She had come home hopeful. Calm. Ready to talk to Nathaniel again. She thought, maybe this time, he’d listen. The house had been quiet when she walked in. Not the usual quiet, either, the sterile silence of marble floors and high ceilings, but tense. Alert. She felt it in her chest the moment she closed the door behind her. “Nathaniel?” she’d called, slipping off her shoes. No answer. It wasn’t until she heard laughter, a woman’s laugh, echoing from the direction of the guesthouse that her stomach dropped. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. Barefoot, she moved quietly past the long hallway, toward the back of the estate. The guesthouse was modern and sleek, meant to be her studio once upon a time. Instead, it had become Nathaniel’s little escape, where he hosted meetings or crashed on long nights when he didn’t want to “wake her.” That was the excuse, at least. But as she approached, she could hear voices. Hers was unmistakable. Sienna didn’t recognize the other one, light, breathy, a giggle that slithered under her skin like oil. She pressed herself against the wall beside the glass door, the curtain half-pulled, her heart thudding against her ribs. “…You said she’d be gone all weekend,” the woman purred. “She was supposed to be,” Nathaniel said. His voice sounded… relaxed. Softer than she’d heard in months. Sienna’s blood ran cold. “Didn’t you say you were gonna tell her?” the woman teased. There was silence. Then Nathaniel said, “It’s complicated. Sienna’s not like you. She’s… sensitive.” The woman laughed again. “You mean emotional?” “No,” he said. “I mean… she still thinks this can be fixed. And I don’t want to hurt her more than I already have.” Too late, Sienna thought, fists clenched at her sides. Way too late. She pushed the door open. The sound it made was quiet, but jarring. The kind of silence that cut like broken glass. The woman, tall, blonde, wearing one of Nathaniel’s crisp white shirts with nothing underneath, startled, backing a step away from the couch. Nathaniel stood, the blood draining from his face. “Sienna…” “How long?” she asked. Her voice was calm. Too calm. “Sienna, this…” “How long, Nathaniel?” The woman looked between them, the color rising to her cheeks. She grabbed her purse and slipped past Sienna without another word, heels tapping too loud on the tiles. The door closed behind her, and for a moment, the only sound was the faint buzz of the air-conditioning. Nathaniel rubbed the back of his neck. “It wasn’t serious.” “Oh,” she said, laughing bitterly. “Well, that makes me feel so much better.” He moved toward her. “Look, it wasn’t about love, Sienna. It was just… a mistake.” She stepped back. “No. Leaving a burner on is a mistake. Forgetting an anniversary is a mistake. You…” her voice cracked “...you made a choice.” He sighed. “You’ve been distant. You’ve been gone so much. The art stuff, the trips. It felt like you were pulling away.” “And you decided the solution was to sleep with someone else?” “I needed… something,” he said, weakly. She stared at him, searching his face for any shred of remorse. There was guilt, sure. But not regret. Not the kind that could sew the jagged edges of her heart back together. “That studio was supposed to be mine,” she whispered. “You said you built it for me. For my work.” He said nothing. She walked past him, slowly scanning the room. Two wine glasses on the coffee table. A red scarf she didn’t recognize. A faint smell of perfume, too sweet and cloying, so unlike hers. She turned back. “I gave you so many chances. I waited. I tried. I bent until I broke, Nathaniel. And you didn’t even notice.” “I was under pressure. The IPO—” “Don’t,” she snapped. “Don’t make this about your company. This is about us. Or whatever’s left of us.” He moved to touch her arm. She pulled back like he burned her. “I’m done,” she said. “I’m not going to fight for someone who won’t fight for me.” “Sienna…” “No. I’m done begging to be seen. I’m done living in a house where I feel like a shadow.” Her throat tightened, but she forced the next words out anyway. “I’ll have the papers drafted tomorrow.” The look on his face then, surprise, disbelief, maybe even fear, should’ve satisfied her. It didn’t. Because she had loved him. Stupidly. Deeply. She had once looked at this man and believed he was her forever. But now, all she saw was a stranger in a suit who let something beautiful rot just because he couldn’t be bothered to water it. She left that night with only a duffel bag, her sketchbook, and the certainty that she’d never come back. Now, months later, standing in her tiny new apartment with creaky floors and peeling paint, that memory still lived at the back of her mind like a wound that wouldn’t quite close. But it was also the reason she was free. And no matter how lonely freedom felt at times, it was still better than betrayal disguised as love.