Shattered Bonds

The divorce papers lay on the desk, staring back at me like a final, unrelenting judgment. I had drafted them myself, each word a blade cutting through my chest.

It wasn't just the loss of Dante Steele as my husband; it was the death of the dream I had held onto for so long.

Three years of marriage—three years of love, hope, and silent suffering. And now, I was letting it go.

The morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a pale glow on the room. The bed was empty, as always. Dante had left the night before without so much as a glance back. I had spent the night alone, grieving the life I had built around him.

But this morning, I felt… numb. The tears had dried, replaced by a cold determination.

I couldn't do this anymore.

---

I spent the next few hours packing what little I owned. Most of my clothes fit into a single suitcase. The house—his house—was filled with luxury, but none of it belonged to me.

I paused in the hallway, staring at the large wedding portrait that hung on the wall. It was a beautiful picture, but it was a lie.

In the photograph, Dante and I stood side by side, smiling as if we were madly in love. But I remembered that day all too well. The smile on my face was forced, hiding the ache in my chest as I realized he hadn't even looked at me during the vows.

I reached up and pulled the frame off the wall. It was heavier than I expected, but I carried it to the living room and set it on the floor. I didn't need it anymore.

---

By the time I finished packing, the sun was high in the sky. I glanced at my phone, half-hoping Dante would call, but there was nothing.

Not that I expected anything different. He was probably in Paris by now, wining and dining with Maria without a care in the world.

The thought made my stomach churn. I placed a hand over my abdomen, my heart breaking all over again.

"I'm sorry, baby," I whispered. "You deserved so much better than this."

---

I left the divorce papers on his desk, along with a handwritten note:

Dante,

I can't do this anymore. I've spent three years waiting for you to love me, but I've finally realized it's never going to happen. I'm letting you go, and I'm letting myself go, too.

By the time you read this, I'll be gone.

Elizabeth

---

I walked out of the house with my suitcase in one hand and my dignity in the other.

It was pouring again, the rain soaking through my coat as I stood at the edge of the driveway, waiting for the taxi I had called.

As the car pulled up, I glanced back at the house one last time. It looked as cold and unwelcoming as ever—a fitting reflection of my marriage.

I climbed into the taxi and gave the driver the address to a small apartment I had rented downtown. It wasn't much, but it was mine.

As the car pulled away, I felt a strange sense of relief. For the first time in years, I was free.

---

The days that followed were a blur of paperwork and doctor visits. The baby was gone, the stress and heartbreak taking its toll on my body.

It was the final blow. The one thing I had hoped would bring meaning to my marriage was ripped away, leaving me with nothing but emptiness.

But as painful as it was, it also gave me clarity. I had been clinging to a man who didn't care about me, hoping for a love that would never come.

Now, it was time to move on.

---

Two years later, I returned to the city that had once been my prison. But I wasn't the same woman who had left.