Chapter 3
The message came early in the morning.
“Dear Ms. Trinidad Dela Torre, this is to
confirm your one–way ticket to Finland for
June 20. We’re excited to have you on board.
Your father has arranged everything and
looking forward to your reunion.”
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For a second, I couldn’t even breathe. I stared
at the screen, rereading the words, as if they
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might change. But they didn’t. My father had
arranged everything. Finally! He accepted me
back.
I wrapped my arms around myself, biting
back the emotion that surged too fast.
Finland. In five days. It felt like the universe
had opened a tiny door, one final chance to
reclaim the version of me I’d buried long ago.
I didn’t even care that I was sick. I’d been sick
for years–just not always in the body.
Five days. I could do five days.
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Let’s Divorce, My Husband
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“I can endure this,” I whispered to the silence.
“Just five more.”
I told myself I’d be kind. I’d cook their favorite
meals. I’d clean, prepare what they needed. I
would leave this house in order, like a good
little ghost–polite, invisible, forgotten.
That thought almost made me laugh.
I was still standing by the window when the
knock came. Sharp, impatient.
I opened the gate to find a delivery auv, his
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hat too big for his head, holding a medium-
sized box.
“Package for Dela Torre?” he asked, tilting his
head.
I nodded.
“No sender listed. Just… enjoy your trip?” He
shrugged and handed it over.
C
I stood there holding the box for a second,
heart thudding like it already knew
something I didn’t. It wasn’t heavy, just firm.
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Let’s Divorce, My Husband
Tightly taped. Clean edges.
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Inside, I found five glossy travel pouches-
first–class plane tickets, hotel confirmations,
thick winter coats still smelling like new, and a
set of itinerary brochures. They were all
clearly labeled: Helsinki. Aurora Borealis.
December Sky Tour. For five guests.
My knees nearly gave out. Five tickets. The
dream I’d kept tucked away for so long… it
was here. Tangible. Cold weather, foreign
stars, snow–covered forests—it was all
printed there in color.
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Let’s Divorce, My Husband
I clutched one of the coats, brushing my
hands across its soft lining. My size.
Had Jackson done this?
He’d lashed out at me before–God knows
how many times. But afterward, there were
always gifts. Expensive apologies wrapped in
gold paper and guilt. Maybe this time, the trip
was his way of making peace. He knew how
long I’d wanted to see the Northern Lights
My chest burned with something fragile and
dangerous: hope.
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Let’s Divorce, My Husband
Just then, the front door opened.
Jackson. He paused mid–step when he saw
me with the box.
“What the hell are you doing?” he barked, his
eyes narrowing.
I turned to him slowly, still holding one of the
tickets. “I saw the package. I didn’t know you
were planning something. But… thank you,
Jackson. Really. I’m not mad anymore. You
got the Finland trip I always wanted.”
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Let’s Divorce, My Husband
He blinked, then scoffed, walking over to
yank the ticket from my hand.
“Who the hell said these are for you?”
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My stomach twisted. “But… there are five
tickets-‘
“They’re for Donna and me. Tania and her
family. Business trip.”
C
I tried to smile, tried to make sense of it.
“Without me? But… I could go. Maybe just help with-”
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Let’s Divorce, My Husband
He cut me off with a laugh so sharp it nearly
sliced through me.
“Why would you come? What the hell would
you do there, Trina? You gonna negotiate
contracts with CEOS? You can’t even handle
an online banking app.”
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I opened my mouth, but no words came. Just
air and pain.
He sneered. “We need someone to watch the
house, anyway. Since you’re not doing
anything useful.”
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Let’s Divorce, My Husband
And that was it. That was when the final
thread inside me snapped.
As I stood there frozen, the stairs creaked.
“What’s going on?” Tania asked, barely
glancing up while looking at her phone.
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“She saw the tickets,” Jackson muttered.
C
“Oh, that? That was my gift to Aunt Donna. I
ordered it weeks ago.”
Gift. My ears rang.
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Let’s Divorce, My Husband
ร 50%
What about me? I’d spent my life giving. And
all I got was silence, blame, and a job title no
one respected.
“And you,” my own daughter added, “can you
get this list done? We’re bringing all of this to
Finland. Don’t screw it up.”
She walked out as quickly as she came. And I
just stood there, swallowing the bitterness,
trying not to cry.
Jackson’s phone rang. I moved to leave, but
his voice caught my attention.
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Let’s Divorce, My Husband
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“Hey, baby,” he said smoothly. “Yeah, she saw
- it. Don’t worry, everything’s fine here. I’ll keep
her busy… I can’t wait to see the aurora
borealis with you.”
That was it.
I walked away before he could notice the way
I crumpled. My hands shook, my teeth
clenched so tightly I felt my jaw ache.
I had never felt so completely replaced in my
life.
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Let’s Divorce, My Husband
Not loved. Not even seen.
That night, I didn’t cry.
I packed their clothes. Ironed Donna’s coats.
Crossed off everything on their precious list.
But I didn’t do it for them.
I did it so they couldn’t say I left them with a
mess.
€
The next morning, I dressed differently. A
beige blouse, slacks I hadn’t worn in years,
my old brown handbag. A touch of lipstick.
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Something about the routine gave me back a
sliver of control.
I walked to the lawyer’s office, alone.
The waiting room was quiet. The receptionist
offered me tea. I declined. When it was my
turn, I sat across from a young man in a dark
suit.
“I want to file for divorce,” I said. “And erase
every connection with the Dela Torre family.”
