Chapter 2 : I Want a Divorce

Ella

"Why didn't you answer your phone?" I ask. Maybe it's the stress that has pushed my body to this point, or I feel uncomfortable, but whatever it is, I just rip his hand away from me.

Maybe it's from the cold at the police station or something, but my head is really hurting.

"What?" he asks arrogantly.

I try to speak up but my throat is scratchy and dry. "I called you multiple times."

He furrows his thin brows at me, turning his head to the side.

"I was unaware of your calls, Ella. And anyway, I don't have to explain myself to you," he snaps back.

I struggle to speak, unable to shake myself of the words he'd spat into the phone while at the hospital: "You should be ashamed of yourself. You're an adult. Act like it."

I hold back a little moan at the cool touch of his palm, trying not to lean into it.

Despite everything, even though George cheated on me with Charlotte, even after three years of neglect I still love him. It's stupid.

It's a bit pathetic how hopeless I am, but I want him to love me the way I love him, to see something between us besides a marriage that he treats like a burden.

These moments are sweet and torturous, making me believe that his moments with Charlotte were just a mistake, that we can go back to being happy and in love. Those moments never last, though.

I pick up my phone and dial his number by heart. No need to search for it.

His phone begins to ring from beside him, but no name or contact comes up. My number appears as if I am a stranger to my husband.

He grabs the phone and stares at it, and something tells me he can't lie about whatever this is.

"Someone must have wiped my contact info."

"Okay, George," I sigh, hanging up and tossing the phone aside.

Even with my head spinning around me from the agonizing headache I've been unable to lose, I get out of bed. Now, I'm in more pain than the pounding in my skull. My heart breaks at his lies.

I stagger away toward the bay window, wanting nothing more than to lose myself in the city lights.

"Ella," he scoffs, loosening his tie. "You are my wife. If I'd known you were angry with me, I'd have contacted you immediately, no questions. We would have dealt with this straight away."

I flounder for words, hurt at his tone that feels like both an accusation and a vindication.

I can't help it. I let out a slight chuckle. His perfunctory attitude breaks my heart again since he's clearly unable to get what I'm implying. This obstruction in our marriage started many years ago.

Is this where we realize we're at an impasse? Where can we never see eye-to-eye again?

My breath hitches as I try not to cry at his cold indifference, not that it matters to George as he just sighs, striding across the room, back to the door.

Three years of love and devotion, and it means nothing to him. For George, I would never be Charlotte. And like hell, I want to be Charlotte, who never gives a damn how miserable she makes me, even taking pride in such a thing.

And yet, despite everything I still love George. I still want him to love me. I want so desperately for this marriage to work, for us to work that I stay and endure, but this is what enduring gets me.

Somehow, during my crying, I manage to fall asleep. In the morning, my headache is significantly better but I also feel significantly worse.

***

I groan as I stand up, making my way into the kitchen and stifling a yawn. I grab cereal from the pantry, too tired and irritated to assemble anything else.

The unpleasant conversation from last night left the atmosphere tense. After finishing his meal, George goes upstairs. I can hear the sound of water from the bathroom; he must be taking a shower.

His phone is lying on the table.

I see a message coming through.

Charlotte Deluca.

Charlotte looks sweetly happy in the photo, standing beside a beach. Do they often share moments of their lives like this? I painfully try to ignore the existence of that woman, but reality keeps reminding me that I can't deceive myself.

Before I can really grasp what she said in her message, my husband is walking to me and snatching up his phone from my view.

No embarrassment sticks to his cheeks or any part of him. He just straightens out his suit jacket. His confidence in the financial world has always been his strength.

Yes, I was a renowned surgeon back before we married. I'd spent years educating myself and putting myself through school to do something that I always believed was good for the world. And instead, I'm standing in this man's kitchen, having spent three years as his full-time housewife.

It is time for me to give up George, to let go of this one-sided love and marriage, before I truly sacrifice everything for someone who loves someone else and can't return even a shred of the affection or devotion I have given.

Before I can chicken out or talk myself out of it, I take a seat at the dining table, staring at the papers I have printed out. That's how George finds me before he leaves for work, just staring at the table in the early hours of the morning.

"What's that?"

I take a breath before sliding the papers over for him to see. This is it.

"They're divorce papers."

"Excuse me?" he asks incredulously, picking up the papers and giving them a look-over before shaking his head. "Ella, I understand that last night was rough for you, but this is just ridiculous."

Oh. He still thinks I'm trying to cause trouble.

"I'm serious," I say, trying to keep my tone level instead of crying again. This isn't some bid for attention, nor can I let him convince me to just drop the matter. "I want a divorce. It's–it's obvious that you've been unhappy with this marriage for some time and I–I tried to make it work, I put up with–with Charlotte and I–I'm done, George. I'm done. I'm divorcing you."

"You want a divorce. You," George said, looking unconvinced. "Well, that's not going to happen."

"Yes it is," I speak, for the first time going against him. I surprise even myself. "You and I both know there's more out there waiting for you." I exhale out of my nose.

"Then why are you throwing this tantrum? Why are you being irrational?"

"You wanna know what's irrational? Why don't you want to have a child with me? Hm?" The words tumble out before I realize they've been said. I never wanted to have this conversation in this manner. I always wanted this conversation to be calm, to be something we'd both speak about.

"A child?" George gasps, throwing out his arms. "You REALLY want to worry about being urged by our parents into producing heirs? Or what about losing your position to have a child?"

"Do you not want a child? Or do you not want a child... with me?"

Now it's George's turn to sneer. "Does it make a difference?"

Like an arrow to the chest, I recoil at his words. I feel vulnerable, yet stronger than I've ever attempted to be.

"Then I guess it's time to put an end to this marriage," I state calmly.

"Because I've been busy and because of Charlotte. That's why you want a divorce? Ella, just... stop. You're obviously not thinking straight. Go back."

"I am serious. I want a divorce."

He throws the papers back down on the table before moving toward the door, sliding his shoes on and grabbing his keys.

"Fine. If you're that desperate, then fine. We'll talk about this later. For now, I have work."

"But what about–"

"Talk to Miss Cates. My secretary will get back to you."

And that's it. He walks out of the house without so much as a second glance. He doesn't even want to argue with me, making me feel even more worthless.

I need some help in that department.

After about fifteen minutes, I finally get a hold of George's mother, Barbara.

"Ella, how are you this morning?" Barbara speaks into the phone as though already bored with our conversation. I want to speak to her above anyone else, hoping she'll know how to help.

"Barbara, it's not going well, to be honest. I feel like George is very distant."

"Ella," she starts. "You two are a partnership. You must understand that my son would never neglect you. He knows what's good for him."

Except that isn't true and hasn't been in a long time. George cares about me as much as he cares about what tie to wear for the day. Sometimes I think I'm nothing more than his wife on paper, but nowhere else.

"You must have seen that media circus with Charlotte. He's been constantly at her side, and he hasn't said a kind word to me."

This makes her pause, but she seems to rally. "This must be a misunderstanding. I'm sure if you talk it out with him, you'll see that he loves you."

Persuaded by the words of George's mother, I decide to find George again anyway.

I arrive at the lobby of his office building, but the female secretary stops me.

"Do you have an appointment?"

"I don't, but I have an urgent need to see George."

"Who are you?" the female secretary asks with a sneer.

"I'm George's wife," I reply.

The secretary looks at my outfit and clearly doesn't believe me: "You must be one of the maids from George's house, right?"

Having been by George's side for a long time, she knows he doesn't care much about his wife, and besides, George has never introduced me in public.

"You need an appointment to see the president. Please leave now!" Her tone is aggressive.

I don't bother to explain; it's too sad, being the wife and yet treated like a servant and driven out of my own husband's company.

With no other options left, I have to sell my ring in order to be able to afford a divorce lawyer. This ring is the only token of the love George and I shared.

After stepping out of the jewelry shop, I hang my head, catching a glimpse of my reflection in the glass... I gently lift my hand.

The slender ring finger is bare, devoid of its wedding diamond.

It feels as though something in my marriage to George has been lost too. As I slowly turn around, rain begins to fall from the sky. I walk alone on the street, each step echoing my solitude and melancholy. After a few paces, a message comes through on my phone, causing me to stop in my tracks.

Charlotte has sent me a picture. And not just any picture.

A positive pregnancy test report.

I used to think when people said their heart was breaking that it was just melodramatic exaggeration. But in this moment, as I truly feel it for myself, I understand that the pain really does pierce through the heart, making it hard to even breathe deeply.

It hurts when I inhale, and it still hurts when I exhale. So I hold my breath, trying to convince myself that I'm okay.

But then, why are the tears still falling?

It is time to end everything. No more self-deception. George doesn't love me at all.

I have never felt as awake as I do at this moment.

After a long walk back home, I finally make it to the foyer of the apartment. I pick up the divorce papers from the table.

This is not at all how I wanted it to go or how I hoped it would, but I don't know why I was expecting anything different.

Still, I pick up a pen and drag the papers closer to me. For a moment, my hand shakes before I close my eyes and force myself to sign and–there it is. Slightly off the line but signed.

I signed.