Till Death Or Divorce

Anna Pov I signed the divorce papers on a Tuesday. That detail stuck with me for some reason while everything else about leaving Jimmy felt like a blur. The pen was blue and the paper was cream colored. My hand shook when I wrote my name for the last time as Anna Shawn. "You sure about this?" Jimmy asked from across the kitchen table. I nodded without looking at him because looking at him meant seeing the hurt in his deep blue eyes and I could not handle that on top of everything else. "There's someone else," I said quietly. "I'm sorry." He was silent for a long time. Then he pushed the papers toward the center of the table and stood up. "I hope he treats you better than I did." The thing was, Jimmy had always treated me well. He was calm and responsible and never raised his voice at me even when I probably deserved it. But he was boring and predictable. Safe in a way that made my skin itch for something more. Trevor Green was more. I met Trevor at a business conference six months before the divorce. He was giving a speech about innovation or leadership or something I stopped paying attention to the moment I saw him. Tall with bushy hair that fell to the right side and brown eyes that seemed to see right through people. He wore an expensive suit like it was a second skin. After his speech, he came straight to me. "You looked bored," he said. "I was," I admitted. "Good. Boredom means intelligence. Idiots are always entertained." He smiled and something in my chest flipped over. "I'm Trevor Green." "Anna Shawn." "Let me buy you a drink, Anna Shawn." That drink turned into dinner. Dinner turned into late night conversations in hotel lobbies. Late night conversations turned into stolen weekends at his penthouse in Manhattan. He sent me roses, red ones and pink ones. White ones with my name written on the cards in his sharp handwriting. He surprised me with trips to Paris and Milan and places I had only seen in magazines. He bought me dresses that cost more than my monthly rent with Jimmy. He made me feel like I was the only woman in the entire world worth his attention. "Leave him," Trevor said one night while we lay tangled in his silk sheets. "Leave your husband. Move in with me." "I can't just leave," I said. "Why not? Are you happy with him?" I thought about Jimmy, our small apartment in Brooklyn and how he kissed my forehead every morning before work. About how safe and boring and suffocating it all felt. "No," I whispered. "I'm not happy." "Then leave, be with me instead." He pulled me closer. "I can give you everything he can't. Everything you deserve." So I left. I packed my things while Jimmy was at work and moved into Trevor's penthouse the same day I signed the divorce papers. Trevor welcomed me with champagne and a view of Central Park from floor to ceiling windows. "To new beginnings," he said while we toasted. "To new beginnings," I repeated. The first month was perfect. Trevor came home from work and swept me into his arms like I was something precious. We ate at restaurants I could never afford before with Jimmy. He introduced me to his business partners as his girlfriend with pride in his voice. "You're beautiful," he told me constantly. "You're mine." Being his felt better than good. It felt like finally mattering to someone. The second month was still perfect. He bought me jewelry that sparkled under the lights. He took me to galas where everyone knew his name, made love to me like he was trying to prove something to the world. "I love you," he said one night. "I love you too," I said back. And I meant it or I thought I did. Love and obsession looked the same from the inside. The third month was when things started shifting. Small things at first. He got irritated when I wore certain dresses. He did not like when I talked too long to his male friends, he checked my phone while I was in the shower. "Who's Marcus?" he asked, holding up a text from my cousin. "My cousin. I told you about him." "You didn't tell me you were texting him." "I text a lot of people, Trevor." His jaw tightened. "I don't like you talking to other men." "He's my family." "I'm your family now." He set my phone down hard enough that it made me flinch. "Remember that." I laughed it off because successful men were supposed to be a little controlling, right? That just meant they cared. The fourth month was when he yelled at me for the first time. I had dinner ready late because I lost track of time while shopping with Samantha. "You had one job," he shouted. "One simple thing I asked you to do." "I'm sorry. I lost track of time." "Do you have any idea how hard I work? How stressful my day is? And I come home to this?" "I said I'm sorry." He slammed his hand on the counter and I jumped. "Sorry doesn't fix anything, Anna. Do better." That night he apologized with flowers and promises. "I'm under a lot of pressure at work. I shouldn't have taken it out on you." "It's okay," I said because I wanted it to be okay. "I understand." The fifth month was when he grabbed my arm hard enough to leave bruises. I had worn a dress he said was too revealing to a company party. "Everyone was staring at you," he hissed in the car ride home. His fingers dug into my skin. "You embarrassed me." "Trevor, you're hurting me." "Good. Maybe you'll remember next time." I wore long sleeves for two weeks after that. When Samantha asked about the marks, I lied and said I fell. By month seven, I stopped counting. The abuse just became part of our routine. Good days and bad days. Flowers and fists. Love and terror all mixed together until I could not tell them apart anymore. Samantha noticed eventually. "Anna, what's going on with you?" she asked during lunch one day. "You seem different." "I'm fine. Just tired." "You're not fine. You have circles under your eyes. You barely eat. You flinch when people touch you." She grabbed my hand. "Talk to me." I almost told her. Almost admitted that the man I left my husband for was slowly destroying me piece by piece. But shame kept my mouth shut. "Trevor and I are just going through a rough patch," I said instead. "All relationships have those." "Rough patches don't leave bruises, Anna." "I told you, I fell." She did not believe me but she let it go for the moment. "Just promise me you'll be careful. And if you need help, call me. Any time." "I promise." But I did not call. Not when he threw a glass at me and it shattered against the wall inches from my head, not when he locked me in the bedroom for a whole day because I talked back to him, not when he told me I was worthless and no one else would ever want me. I stayed because leaving meant admitting I had made a terrible mistake. Leaving meant facing Jimmy and all the choices I regretted. Leaving meant giving up the money, the lifestyle and the fantasy I had built in my head about who Trevor was supposed to be. So I endured. Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months. Months turned into two years of survival. Two years of learning how to read his moods. How to avoid his triggers. How to make myself small enough that maybe he would not notice me enough to hurt me. I didn't know that the man who carried me into his home would later teach me how to survive inside it.