Chapter 5
The next morning, I opened every drawer,
every dusty cabinet, and every forgotten box.
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Let’s Divorce, My Husband
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One by one, I emptied the shelves. Jewelry
boxes, old perfume bottles, wrinkled love
letters, receipts from our anniversary dinners
that felt staged even back then. Every gift he
had ever given me–bracelets with half-
hearted engravings, heels he bought in the
wrong size, cheap perfumes wrapped in
ribbon.
Into the bin they went.
And the wedding album–the one Donna
insisted on designing for us with those gold
foil titles and scripted captions–sat last in
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Let’s Divorce, My Husband
my lap. My fingers hovered over it for a
second, almost uncertain. But then I
remembered the way Jackson had called me
nothing. How Donna had smirked with her
French–manicured claws, talking about
taking my place.
I tossed the album into the metal drum
behind the house.
Then I lit the match.
Jackson didn’t notice. He was too busy
laughing with Donna in the garden, sipping
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Let’s Divorce, My Husband
wine like we weren’t supposed to be broke. I
heard them talking about Finland. About fur
coats. About how Donna wanted to visit the
ice hotel “like the influencer she followed.”
Everyone else in the house was excited,
buzzing like bees high on sugar.
Even Zane, the little boy I once tucked in and
fed when no one else would, sneered as I
passed him a cup of juice.
“You don’t belong here,” he muttered under
his breath.
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Let’s Divorce, My Husband
I didn’t even look at him.
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I just kept stirring the pot on the stove. I set
the plates, folded the napkins, made sure
Donna’s steak was medium rare, and
reheated her espresso exactly how she liked
- it. Just one last time.
She didn’t say thank you.
No one did.
After dinner, Jackson surprised me. He came
into the kitchen–alone, for once–and
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Let’s Divorce, My Husband
handed me a small ice pack. For my back.
His voice was soft. Sickeningly so.
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“I’m sorry about the other day,” he said. “I just
didn’t want you acting jealous.”
I blinked.
Jealous? That was the word he chose?
He smiled faintly. “Don’t worry, I’ll get you a
keychain from Finland when we get back.”
10:59 AM Tue 24 Jun
Let’s Divorce, My Husband
A keychain. After everything.
He glanced around. “Just make sure we
didn’t forget anything, okay? Pack the
chargers, the coats, Donna’s pills, and her
backup heels.”
I kept my voice low. “I made sure you didn’t
forget anything.”
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He patted my arm. “Good. We’ll see you when
we get back.”
Then he turned and walked away. calling out.
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Let’s Divorce, My Husband
“Come on, Donna! Let’s not miss the flight!”
She waltzed and held her coat like she was
being crowned.
“Oh, Trina,” she cooed with mock sympathy.
“Don’t worry. I’ll bring you something. Maybe
even some of those fancy chocolates you
like.”
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Tania scoffed. “Don’t, Aunt Donna. She
doesn’t have the money to pay for it anyway.”
I faked a smile and ignored them. They all
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loaded up into the SUV out front. Zane ran
past me without a goodbye. Donna threw her
suitcase in like a queen heading off to
conquer the world. Jackson adjusted his
collar and barked a few last–minute
instructions I didn’t bother to listen to.
And then… they were gone.
The second their car turned out of the
driveway, something in the air changed.
I breathed again. I didn’t waste time.
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Let’s Divorce, My Husband
I pulled out the boxes I had hidden under the
bed weeks ago. I packed only what mattered
-my documents, old photo albums of my
parents, the leather–bound notebook I once
kept poems in, a few clothes, my passport,
my own dreams. I changed every lock on the
doors, reset the passcodes, and closed the
shutters.
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Then I took out the divorce papers. Stamped.
Official. Done.
I placed them carefully on the dining table—
where he would surely see them first when
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Let’s Divorce, My Husband
they returned.
I slipped off my wedding ring and left it on
top of the paper.
Beside it, I placed the chocolate cake I had
baked that morning.
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On the white frosting, I wrote in red icing:
“Happy Divorce, My Husband!”
I stepped out of the house with my suitcase
and didn’t look back. The limousine I had
scheduled pulled up to the curb right on time.
10:59 AM Tue 24 Jun
Let’s Divorce, My Husband
The driver greeted me with a soft nod. He
took my luggage and opened the door.
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I slid into the leather seat and watched as the
house faded from view.
The mansion I once thought would be a
home. Now just another expensive lie built on
betrayal.
Halfway to the airport, my phone buzzed.
I stared at the screen. It was him.
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Jackson: Don’t leave the house. If you leave
without telling me, I’ll be furious and you’ll get
a punishment from me. You hear me? Be a
good dog!
I didn’t reply. A second message arrived
seconds later.
Jackson: Where is Donna’s favorite scarf?
Didn’t she tell you to pack it? You ruined her
mood. Go get it and bring it to us. We’re at the
airport. Now.
My thumb hovered over the screen. I looked
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Let’s Divorce, My Husband
at the messages–like commands from a
master to a servant.
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And then, finally, I typed: “I don’t want to bring
it to you. I am no longer your maid. And if you
regret marrying me, then I too regret wasting
my life with you. Goodbye.”
I hit send. Then I blocked the number, took
the SIM card out, and tossed it from the
window.
By the time the car pulled up at the airport
terminal, the sky had already begun to turn
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Let’s Divorce, My Husband
pink. And there is my new beginning.
