Chapter 1

The day I signed the divorce papers, I submitted my immigration application.

Cold leftovers on the table. Gifts rotting in the trash. A heart riddled with scars. That was everything I had to show for those years.

The housekeeper called to tell me I'd left my keys at home. He asked if I needed him to leave the door unlocked.

I hesitated for a moment. "No, that's alright. I'm not coming back."

My son, Michael Evans, was sick and kept mumbling about wanting chicken soup through his fever.

"His favorite new mommy can make him French onion soup. My chicken soup was never good enough for him anyway," I said.

My son was just like his father. They even loved the same woman.

There was a time when I would have raged, wondering how a child I carried for nine months could turn out this way.

A time when I resented Richard for betraying me after I'd nearly died to save him. But if love wasn't there, it simply wasn't there. Life had to go on.

I pressed my seal onto the application form. Through the roar of traffic, I spoke my final words.

"Tell them they don't need to test me anymore. I won't be disrupting their happy little family."

*****

The housekeeper had handed me the divorce papers while I was clumsily trying to put on makeup.

The pity and contempt in his eyes made my hand flinch. The lipstick dragged a long red streak across my chin, like an open wound.

I sat on the couch, staring blankly as the elaborate dinner I'd spent all day preparing went cold and stiff on the table. The aroma faded until nothing remained but a greasy, congealed mess.

I picked up the dishes one by one, calm and mechanical, and served myself. It wasn't the first time I'd eaten alone in this house, but this time the usual loneliness was gone. All I felt was a strange, hollow calm.

After I finished eating, I didn't bother clearing the table. I picked up the divorce papers instead.

His sharp, angular handwriting couldn't cut me anymore.

I'd lost count of how many times I'd received signed divorce papers like this. Was it the 98th time? Or the 99th?

I lowered my gaze, my voice flat. "So what's the reason this time?"

Before the housekeeper could answer, I stood up and headed for the bedroom.

What reason could there possibly be? It was always about Nina Monroe, the ex-girlfriend Richard kept on a pedestal. It was always about making her happy.

The last time, it was because Nina and I wore the same outfit. Richard flew into a rage and ordered the servants to strip the clothes off my back.

I stood there in my underwear, humiliated, while he threw divorce papers in my face just to make Nina smile.

The time before that, Nina had a nightmare. Richard panicked and abandoned me at my parents' memorial.

I had no money, my phone was dead, and rain was pouring down. By the time I dragged myself home, another set of divorce papers was waiting.

And the time before that? I couldn't even remember anymore.

Nina was the pristine cloud in the sky. I was nothing but a weed trampled into the mud.

At some point, receiving divorce papers had become routine. The moment Nina so much as frowned, a fresh set would land in my hands.

I pulled open the drawer and stared at the 45 sets of divorce papers stacked inside. With the one in my hand, that made 46.

In the beginning, I'd panic. I'd rage. I'd tear the papers to shreds and scream at Richard until my throat was raw.

But now, I didn't even have the energy to rip them apart. I didn't have the strength to keep count. It was time to let this end.

The moment I signed the first one, my heart went hollow. Not quite grief, not quite relief. Just empty.

I closed my eyes, and a single tear slipped free. It landed in my palm without a sound, soaking into the cut on my hand.

When I opened my eyes again, my mind was made up. I glanced at the familiar wrapping paper poking out of the trash can and let out a quiet, bitter laugh.

Then I signed Lauren Grant on every single one of those 46 divorce papers.