Chapter 6
Chelsea crouched in front of the drawer, lost in thought for what felt like ages.
There was no sadness, no anger, not even a single tear.
Just a kind of calm she'd never felt before, like someone had finally given her the answer to a question she'd kept bottled up for three years.
The question she never dared to ask finally got an answer.
Jeffery Newsom, did you ever care about me?
The answer was right there in that drawer, packed with all her feelings, yet tossed aside by him like a pair of worn-out shoes.
No.
Never.
Chelsea gently closed the drawer, stood up, and brushed the dust off her knees. She walked over to the desk, picked up a notebook, flipped to the first page, and wrote a single line.
"Today, I finally got my answer."
She closed the notebook, walked out of the study, and headed downstairs.
The little nightlight in the entryway was still on, its warm orange glow spilling over her feet.
She bent down and gently unplugged it.
She didn't need that light anymore.
From now on, she was going to live for herself, never again hoping for a bit of light in someone else's world.
The day Chelsea asked for a divorce was just an ordinary Tuesday.
Jeffery was actually home for dinner for once.
The housekeeper had prepared four dishes and a soup, a balanced spread of meat and vegetables, the table packed with food.
The six-foot-long dining table stretched between them like an invisible wall. Jeffery kept his head down, shoveling food into his mouth, his fingers occasionally swiping at his phone, his eyes glued to the screen.
Chelsea held her fork, but she had no appetite. She just poked at her food, not eating a single bite.
"Jeffery," Chelsea said.
Her voice was soft, but it was especially clear in the quiet dining room.
Jeffery finally looked up, raising an eyebrow with a casual, almost indifferent look, as if to ask what she wanted.
"Let's get a divorce," said Chelsea.
She looked at him, saying each word so calmly that it was like she was saying, "Nice weather today."
Jeffery's hand froze for a blink. It was so quick that one might've missed it. Then, acting as if nothing happened, he popped the food in his mouth, chewed slowly, and swallowed. Finally, he asked casually, "Why?"
Chelsea froze for a second, caught off guard.
She'd pictured every possible reaction: anger, coldness, not caring at all, even sarcasm. But she never thought he'd actually ask, "Why?"
It felt like their three-year marriage was some math problem, and he wanted her to show her work for every step.
She suddenly found it a little ironic, a wry smile pulling at her lips. "Because I don't want to do this anymore."
Jeffery set his fork down, leaned back in his chair, and laced his fingers together on the table. His expression didn't change at all, still that deep, bottomless calm.
She used to mistake it for maturity, but now she finally saw it for what it was. He just didn't care.
"Is this what you want?" he asked.
"I've made up my mind," Chelsea said, nodding without a second thought.
"Alright."
Just one word.
His answer was so casual, like he was signing off on a meaningless resignation or replying to some email he couldn't care less about. No attempt to stop her, no questions, no "let's talk it over", not even the slightest hint of regret.
Chelsea lowered her head, staring at the half-full bowl of untouched food. All the words she wanted to say were swallowed up by his single word, stuck in her throat.
She'd wanted to ask, "Do you even know what these three years have been like for me?" She wanted to say, "Did you ever love me, even for a second?" She wanted to tell him, "That drawer is full of all the love I left for you, untouched."
But now, there was nothing left to say.
She swallowed, pushed the half-full bowl aside, and said calmly, "Then I'll schedule it."
"Yeah." Jeffery picked up his fork again, as if their conversation had never even happened.
Chelsea stood up, carrying her bowl to the kitchen. The housekeeper was busy at the sink. When she saw Chelsea come in, she paused in surprise. "Mrs. Newsom, you're done eating already?"
"Yes." Chelsea set the bowl in the sink and turned to leave.
As she passed through the living room, Chelsea spotted a package on the coffee table with her name on it.
She opened it. It was the copy of The Great Gatsby she'd ordered online a few days ago. There was a line: "What you lost was never really yours in the first place."
Chelsea stared at those words for a while, her fingers gently tracing the page, then quietly slipped the book into her bag.
That night, Jeffery didn't go to the study.
He sat on the couch in the living room, watching TV. The news anchor was crisply reporting economic data, then he switched the channel to a boisterous variety show. The guests' laughter cut through the room, sounding extra harsh.
Chelsea went upstairs to gather her stuff.
She barely took anything with her, just some clothes to change into, her copy of The Great Gatsby, and the small nightlight from the hallway.