Chapter 4
The grocery bags in my arms cut into my
wrists, and the handle of the dry–cleaning
bag kept slipping from my fingers. I balanced
the frozen meat in one hand, the pack of
imported facial masks Donna insisted on in
the other, and the crisp coats I had just
picked up from the shop swayed behind me
like lifeless passengers. The taxi didn’t even
wait for a tip.
When I stepped through the front gate, the
sun was already lowering. I pushed open the
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door quietly, out of habit. No one ever noticed
when I came and went–but it still felt better
to move in silence.
Inside, Donna was perched on the living room
couch, her feet up on a velvet stool,
sunglasses on despite the shade, while a nail
technician carefully buffed her toenails. Her
voice rang like a song I didn’t want to hear.
“Well, finally!” she said loudly, not even
turning her head. “The maid returns.”
I ignored her. I walked straight to the kitchen
–
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Let’s Divorce, My Husband
and placed the bags on the counter, my
fingers still tingling from the weight. I began
organizing things–labeling containers,
wrapping meat. It helped me think.
Then came her voice again, that mocking
sweetness that always made my stomach
tighten.
“Hey, what’s for dinner, dear maid–I mean,
my dear best friend?”
I didn’t respond.
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“Come on,” she said, louder. “Are you
ignoring me now?”
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Still, I stayed quiet. I didn’t even look her way. I
chopped onions slowly.
“You know,” she added, rising from the
couch, “we all know how Jackson gets. The
moment I say one word about you, he’s mad
all over again. Don’t push me.’
I clenched the knife tighter. Her footsteps
tapped closer.
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Let’s Divorce, My Husband
“What do you even want, Donna?” I sighed.
“Isn’t it enough that you have them all?”
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All I had were bruises in places no one saw,
years of silence, and a home that hadn’t felt
like mine since the day she moved in with her
perfume and lipstick–stained glasses.
“No,” she said softly. “Not enough. Because I
want you gone.”
The air left the room.
I looked at her like she was someone I didn’t
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know. Not the friend I once grew up with. Not
the woman I once shared secrets and lip
gloss with at sixteen. Just a stranger who had
worn my life like a coat and now wanted to
burn it too.
“I thought you were my best friend,” I
whispered. “But you betrayed me.”
And I walked away. I didn’t slam the door. I
didn’t cry. I just climbed the stairs, one step at
a time, holding onto the railing like I was
pulling myself out of a grave. I entered my
room, locked the door, and laid on the bed
fully clothed.
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Let’s Divorce, My Husband
I stared at the ceiling for hours.
The light faded slowly. I didn’t move.
Until Jackson entered.
He didn’t knock. He stepped in and slammed
the door behind him.
“Did you say something to Donna?”
I turned my head slowly. “What?”
“She doesn’t want to go to Finland anymore.
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She says you made her feel ashamed. That
she didn’t deserve it. Did you say something
to her?”
“Of course not,” I said, sitting up. “She was being dramatic. Donna provoked me. I didn’t
even say a word to her.”
Jackson scoffed. “Dramatic? You’re the one
who’s dramatic. You’re jealous-”
“Jealous?” My voice was still soft, but it had a
heat I hadn’t heard in myself in years.
“Jealous? Jackson, I am your wife. And yet
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Let’s Divorce, My Husband
you’ve been choosing her over me. Over and
over again. You left me behind a thousand
times in this house like a ghost, and now you
expect me to cheer while you take her to see
the aurora borealis?”
His face twisted with rage. Then came the
blow.
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It wasn’t the first time, but it was the last one
I’d remember. His hand hit my cheek so hard I
tasted blood. My head snapped to the side,
the room spun, but I didn’t fall.
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Let’s Divorce, My Husband
“Don’t you dare raise your voice at me!” he
shouted. “God, you’re such a bitch.”
I closed my eyes.
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“If I could turn back time,” he hissed, “I would
never have married you, Trina. Never.”
The room blurred. Not from tears. Just from
sheer weight.
He wasn’t done.
“I had no choice! Donna didn’t want to be tied
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down then. So I settled for you. But I regretted
it every damn day. You’re nothing. Not sexy.
Not good in bed. Not successful. You’ll
always be a shadow of Donna, no matter
what you do.”
I didn’t flinch. I didn’t yell back.
I just listened. Maybe for the first time, I really
heard him.
He had never loved me. He had chosen me
out of desperation. Out of timing. Not out of
love. Not out of loyalty. And now, twenty years
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later, he resented me for it.
He took one last breath and leaned close. “If
you hurt Donna again,” he growled, “you will
vanish from this house. You hear me?”
Then he slammed the door behind him.
Silence returned. I touched my cheek. My
skin throbbed, my ears rang–but I didn’t cry.
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Not this time. Instead, I stood. I walked to the mirror and looked at myself—not at the
bruise, but at the woman behind it. My eyes
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were tired, yes. But they weren’t afraid
anymore.
whispered, “I’ll leave before you can vanish
me.”
That evening, I stayed in my room. I didn’t
come down for dinner. I didn’t care if the
dishes weren’t washed or the coats were
unpacked.
I lit a candle beside my window and watched
it flicker until the wind carried it out.
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Then my phone buzzed. One message.
“Ms. Trinidad Dela Torre, this is to inform you
that your divorce has been finalized and
officially recorded. You are now legally free.”
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I whispered, this time with a voice more solid
than it had ever been: “You’re going to miss
me when I’m gone. Every one of you. I’ll make
sure of it.”
