Chapter 1
Signing the divorce agreement with Leonard took less than ten minutes.
He spent the whole time on a business call, barely paying attention, and when it came time to sign, he actually asked, "Which line do I sign on?"
His secretary looked more nervous than him, whispering, "Mr. Hayes, your wife is serious about this."
He just waved his hands dismissively and only looked at me after ending the call, speaking with the tone one might use to coax a child.
"Grace, are you done making a fuss? You do this every time, and you always come back to me in the end," Leonard said.
I said nothing. I slipped off my ring and placed it on the table.
He froze.
It was the ring he had slipped onto my finger when he proposed. I had worn it for three whole years without taking it off once.
"So this time is different?" he asked.
"It's different," I replied.
He frowned, studying me seriously as if for the first time.
"What's different? Tell me, I'll fix it." Leonard said.
I looked him in the eye. "Leonard, there's nothing left between us to fix," I said calmly.
For the first time in three years, he wasn't looking at his phone while I spoke.
Too bad, today wasn't the beginning. It was the end.
*****
After leaving the meeting room where we signed the papers, I didn't go home.
Mrs. Hayes had a follow-up appointment next Tuesday, and I'd always been the emergency contact on file at the hospital.
For the past three years, the hospital always called me first for everything—from appointments to payments to test results.
I went to the front desk and handed over my ID and the form to change the emergency contact.
After checking the information, the staff asked, "Who's the new contact?"
"Her son, Leonard Hayes," I replied.
"Do you want to completely remove the original contact?" the staff asked.
My fingertips paused for a moment.
After Mrs. Hayes's surgery, Leonard had been away on business for several days.
I stayed by her bedside and eventually fell asleep with my head resting beside her bed.
When Mrs. Hayes woke up, she draped a coat over me and said that from then on, I was like a daughter to her.
Back then, I believed family shouldn't keep score of who gave more.
Only later did I learn that the one who never keeps score is the one most easily taken for granted.
"Remove me entirely," I said.
The staff member stamped the form and reminded me, "After this change, all follow-up notices, schedule changes, and test results will be sent directly to Mr. Hayes."
"Got it," I replied.
That afternoon, I went back to the house where we used to live together.
I only took my ID, laptop, work files, and two suitcases packed with everyday stuff.
Most of the clothes in the walk-in closet were left untouched, along with the expensive handbags and jewelry.
Most of those things had been delivered by Leonard's assistant according to a brand list. He probably couldn't have told you what color any of them were.
The housekeeper saw the suitcases and froze in the doorway.
"Mrs. Hayes, are you going away?" she asked.
"Don't call me Mrs. Hayes anymore," I said.
She hesitated, then asked, "What about Mr. Hayes's clothes for his business trip tomorrow, and his mother's special meals?"
"He can contact his personal assistant about the clothes. I've already sent him the meal supplier's information and the list of his mother's dietary restrictions," I said.
I printed out a household handover checklist and left it on the entryway cabinet.
The cleaning schedule, relatives' birthdays, property management fees, dry cleaning, his mother's follow-up appointments, family dinner reservations, and even which drawer held Leonard's stomach medicine were all clearly listed.
I placed the door keycard on top of the list.
As I pulled my suitcases toward the door, the housekeeper hurried after me.
"You're coming back in a few days, aren't you?" she called out, hope lingering in her voice.
The elevator doors slowly closed.
I didn't answer.
At nine that night, Leonard called.
There was the sound of a cabinet door opening and closing in the background.
"Grace, my flight's at seven tomorrow morning. Where's my suitcase?"
"Check the third item on the handover list—your assistant's got it," I replied.
He was quiet for a couple of seconds.
"You didn't make dinner tonight?" Leonard asked, sounding a bit lost.
"You can ask the housekeeper to cook, or just order takeout," Grace replied.
"Why did the hospital call me about my mom's follow-up next week?" Leonard asked.
"I changed the contact to you. I sent you the confirmation this afternoon," Grace replied.
His voice dropped. "Are you really just going to walk away from everything?"
I stood in my new apartment, surrounded by unopened moving boxes, clutching my phone.
I almost reminded him that there was homemade soup in the fridge, that his shirts should be hung on the left after dry cleaning, and that his travel medicine case belonged in the outer compartment of his carry-on.
But I swallowed those words.
"Leonard, this isn't me walking away. It's me giving it all back," I said.
"Come back. Let's talk face to face," Leonard said.
"If it's not in the divorce agreement, talk to your secretary. Anything about the house or family, just check the list," I replied.
"What about us?" Leonard asked.
For the first time, he wasn't asking about luggage, dinner, or his mom's follow-up.
I looked out at the unfamiliar skyline beyond the window.
"We're done talking," Grace said quietly.
I hung up and removed his number from my pinned contacts.
The small apartment was barely 650 square feet, with one bedroom and a living room, simple furnishings, and a kitchen so cramped I could barely turn around.
But I paid the rent with my own savings, and the lease was in my name alone.
I checked my email and confirmed my interview at 10 a.m. the next day.
I put the divorce agreement in the bedroom drawer.
Next to it was a receipt from a legal consultation six months ago.