Divorce Countdown

Synopsis

My fork was poised over a piece of tender beef bourguignon when James Carter said, "Let's get a divorce." He set his cutlery down, his voice as unremarkable as a comment about working. The rich, wine-laced sauce coated the meat as I took the bite. Chewing slowly, I swallowed before answering, my face betraying nothing, "Alright." He stared, his fork suspended in mid-air. The silence stretched—five seconds, then another five—broken only by the sound of my continued meal. That beef bourguignon had turned out perfectly. The meat, having simmered for a good hour and a half, was fall-apart tender, the sauce a deep, glossy reduction of red wine and herbs. He didn't touch his food again. Finishing the last food on my plate, I stood to clear the table. As I passed his chair, his hand shot out, fingers closing around my wrist. "Claire, did you hear me? I'm saying we should get divorced," James said. My gaze dropped to his grip, then lifted to meet his eyes. "I heard you. I said alright." His hand fell away. In the kitchen, the roar of the faucet filled the space, washing over the quiet and drowning out everything else. Even the faint, fluttering kick beneath my palm as I rested a hand on my stomach.