Chapter 2

The silence at the breakfast table felt thick enough to choke on.

He kept starting to say something, then stopping. I could see it in the way his mouth opened, then closed again.

I focused on my soup, forcing myself to swallow each spoonful. Everything tasted like cardboard.

Finally, he couldn't hold it in anymore. He cleared his throat, and when he spoke, his tone was deliberately casual—too casual. "Joanna, there's something I need to tell you. Sophia—you remember her, right? She's coming back next Wednesday."

There it was. My fingers tightened around the spoon until my knuckles went white. My nails bit into my palm, but I kept my expression perfectly smooth. Nothing showed on my face.

"Oh?" I looked up at him, even managing to pull together the faintest smile. "That's great. She's been abroad for so long—it's about time she came home."

My calm reaction seemed to catch Edward completely off guard.

He studied my face, as if trying to figure out whether I was being sarcastic.

"She just got divorced. She's probably going through a rough time. Some old friends wanted to throw her a welcome-back dinner." He chose his words carefully, his tone almost tentative.

He continued, "It's at Cornerstone Café—you know, that place we used to go to. Next Wednesday night. So, would you want to come?"

Old friends? That place they used to go to? My heart felt like someone was carving into it with a dull blade.

That place—their place, his and Sophia's—when exactly had it become "ours"?

Was he testing me? Seeing how much I'd take? Or was this just a convenient cover for their big reunion—a way to make it look innocent?

I set down my spoon and reached for a napkin, taking my time wiping my mouth.

"I'll pass." My voice came out steady, even light. "You two have history. I'd just be the awkward third wheel."

"Joanna, you're not a third wheel!" Edward shot back, almost too quickly. "You're—"

"I'm what?" I cut him off, finally meeting his eyes. Something flickered there—guilt, maybe—before he could hide it. "Edward, we've been married five years. Sophia's your first love. The one you never got over. That's never been a secret."

His expression shifted. "Joanna, don't say it like that. It's all in the past—"

"Is it?" A laugh escaped me, brittle and harsh.

I asked, "Then why did you know about her divorce before I did? Why did you make sure to tell me the exact day she was flying back? And why are you inviting your wife to your little reunion at your special place—what, so I can sit there like a prop?"

The questions landed between us like stones dropping into ice-cold water.

Edward's face went from pale to livid, embarrassment and anger flashing across his features.

He said, "Joanna, do you have to be so passive-aggressive? Sophia and I are over—done! This is just friends getting together. Can you stop being so petty and just be reasonable for once?"

"Reasonable?"

The word hit me like a physical blow. Something inside me cracked wide open.

Five years. Five years of biting my tongue, giving everything I had, stepping aside again and again. And what did it get me?

A "understanding wife" label. An accusation of being petty. And him—walking out without a second thought to meet his first love, expecting me to smile and wave him off at the door like some perfect little housewife.

Cold fury crashed through me, dragging an endless wave of exhaustion in its wake. Blood rushed to my head, hot and blinding, then went ice-cold the next second.

I stared at him. At this man I'd loved for five years. This man I thought I'd spend my life with. Something in my chest crystallized, hardened, until there was nothing left but frozen stillness.

"Edward Grant." My voice came out eerily calm. The kind of calm that should've terrified him. "I want a divorce."

The world stopped.

The only sound in the dining room was the last whisper of steam rising from the soup bowls.

Edward stared at me like he hadn't heard right—or like he'd just heard something completely absurd. His eyes went wide, disbelief written across every inch of his face.

"You—what did you just say?" His voice shot up, edged with something between outrage and barely concealed panic. "Joanna, have you lost your mind? Over this? Because I mentioned Sophia's back in town? Because of a friends' get-together?"

"This?" I repeated the word slowly, my lips curving into a smile that held no warmth whatsoever. "That's what this is to you? 'This'?"

I let out a breath. "Edward, what exactly am I to you? Some on-call assistant who's always understanding, always cleaning up your messes, always waiting in the background?"

I pushed back from the table and stood, looking down at him. I didn't bother hiding the exhaustion or the ice in my eyes anymore.

I sneered, "Five years. I'm tired, Edward. I'm done being the understanding wife. I'm done with this marriage."

"Done?" Edward shot to his feet, his chair scraping violently across the floor. He stepped closer, anger flashing in his eyes—the kind of anger that came from being challenged.

"Joanna, put your hand on your heart and tell me—have I treated you badly these five years? Have I let you go without anything? Have I cheated on you? Hit you? I'm going to a friends' gathering and you want a divorce? Don't you think you're being a little dramatic?"

"A friends' gathering?" I looked at his face, twisted with indignation, and something bitter twisted in my chest. "Edward, stop lying to yourself."

I sneered, "The moment you liked Sophia's Instagram post last night, the second you got that text saying 'I'm divorced, meet me at our spot' and your first instinct was to hide it from me, the instant you suggested we go to that place dripping with your memories together—"

My voice steadied, even as something cold settled in my chest. "Your heart already left this house."