Chapter 7
Donna stared at Jackson in stunned silence,
her hand pressed against her burning cheek.
The sting wasn’t just physical–it bruised her
pride.
“You slapped me?” she hissed. “You slapped
me for her necklace?”
Jackson’s jaw tightened, his chest still
heaving with fury, but he wasn’t proud of
what he had done.
“You’re so damn stubborn. Donna!” he
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Let’s Divorce, My Husband
snapped, running a hand through his hair. “I
told you it wasn’t for you! I told you not to
touch it!”
Donna’s eyes narrowed, glossy with
humiliation. “Don’t tell me… are you missing
her?” she asked, voice low and accusing.
“Don’t tell me you love her, Jackson.”
His body stilled at the word.
Love.
He scoffed, but it was hollow. “No. Of course
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not.”
But even as the words left his lips, his chest
ached in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time.
Donna stepped forward, sensing his
hesitation. “You’re lying.” She tilted her head,
her tone sharper now. “You’ve been different
since that text. Distant. You think I didn’t
notice? You’re losing focus ever since we
came here. So tell me–do you want her
back?”
Jackson looked at her. The woman he once
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wanted more than anything. The woman he
had abandoned his marriage for.
And yet… all he could think about was Trina’s
last words. Her silence. The absence of her
presence haunting every corner of his mind.
Still, he forced a nod.
“I choose you, Donna,” he said flatly.
Donna studied him, her pride swelling again.
“Prove it.”
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He blinked. “What?”
“Kiss me,” she said, voice soft now, almost
triumphant. “Show me I’m the only one.”
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He didn’t argue. He leaned in, pulled her close, and kissed her. But even as his lips
moved with hers, his heart wasn’t in it. Her
perfume was too strong. Her touch too eager.
His mind drifted elsewhere.
He saw Trina’s quiet smile. The way her hand lingered on the back of his shirt when she hugged him. The soft hum she made when
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Let’s Divorce, My Husband
she cooked in the kitchen. The eyes that
looked at him—not for what he had–but for
who he used to be.
He pulled away before the kiss deepened,
mumbling something about needing to rest.
Donna didn’t question it. She felt victorious.
The next few days were a blur.
They went dogsledding. Sleigh rides. Spas.
Shopping. They smiled for photos and held
hands under the lights–but Jackson’s mind
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was not with them.
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While Donna and Tania admired fur coats
and tasted Finnish pastries, he slipped away
to shops and bought things for Trina. A silk
scarf. A music box. A book she once said she
wanted. Each item he chose carefully–each
a silent apology.
He even tried texting her.
“Hey… I bought you something. Thought of
you.”
”
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Let’s Divorce, My Husband
“Hope you’re doing okay.”
“I was wrong.”
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But nothing. No reply. No read receipts. Just a
cold, empty silence.
On the fifth day, Donna suggested they
extend their trip.
Jackson refused. “I have business. We need
to get back.”
Donna narrowed her eyes, arms crossed as
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Let’s Divorce, My Husband
they stood in the hotel lobby surrounded by
their packed luggage. “Business?” she
scoffed. “Or is this about her again?”
Jackson looked away, jaw tight. “Don’t start.”
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“Oh, I will start,” she snapped. “Ever since she
sent that damn message, you’ve been
somewhere else. Distracted. Quiet. Even
when you kiss me, I know you’re not really
here.” Her voice cracked slightly. “Just admit
it–you’re rushing home because of Trina.”
Jackson turned back to her sharply. “It’s not
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Let’s Divorce, My Husband
about her. I have things to take care of.”
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Donna stepped closer, challenging. “You
don’t think I see it? You’ve been buying
things secretly, stepping out during our trips,
barely touching me. You’re chasing a woman
who left you, Jackson.”
He exhaled slowly. “You’re wrong. This has
nothing to do with her.”
But even Donna could hear the lie in his
voice.
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Let’s Divorce, My Husband
By the time they landed, he was already
texting Trina again, telling her he was bringing home gifts and that he missed her
cooking, her laugh, her presence.
He expected her to be mad. Cold. Distant.
But he didn’t expect what greeted him when
they got home.
Jackson rushed toward the door, bags in
hand, the cold air nipping at his face. He
smiled for the first time in days—he was
home. He was going to fix things.
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But the keypad blinked red.
Incorrect password.
He tried again.
Red.
Again.
Still locked.
“What the hell?” he muttered, pressing his
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hand against the door.
Tania approached behind him, arms crossed.
“Is she seriously locking us out?”
Jackson frowned. “No. She wouldn’t…”
Then Tania snapped, “Where the hell is that
useless bitch?”
“Stop calling her that!” Jackson shouted. His
voice echoed through the yard. “She is your
mother!”
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Tania blinked. For the first time in her life, she
saw her father raise his voice–for Trina.
He pulled out his phone and called her.
Straight to voicemail.
He called again. And again.
Nothing.
He knocked. He banged on the door. Yelled
her name.
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Still nothing.
Finally, they had no choice but to call
someone from maintenance–someone who
helped him break the digital lock and get the
door open.
Inside, the house was quiet.
Dark.
Empty.
Jackson’s heart began to race. He stepped
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into the living room.
No shoes by the door.
No scent of home–cooked meals.
He bolted up the stairs, into the bedroom.
The closet was empty.
Drawers pulled open. Clothes gone. Jewelry
case cleaned. Even the scent of her perfume
-gone.
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“Tania!” he called. “Check the study. The
kitchen. Anywhere!”
Moments later, Tania’s voice echoed from
downstairs.
“Dad… she left something.”
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He stumbled down the stairs, nearly tripping
in his urgency.
She stood by the dining table, frozen.
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intel
CORE
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There, in the center, sat a perfectly decorated cake.
The frosting.spelled out: “Happy Divorce, My Husband!”
Next to it were the divorce papers–signed- and his wedding ring resting on top of the
stack.
Jackson fell to his knees.
He reached for the papers, his hands
trembling. The ring gleamed in the dim light.
Let’s Divorce, My Husband
He clutched it like it might somehow bring
her back.
“No…” he whispered. “No, no, no…”
