Chapter 1
My wife earned 1.3 million dollars a year, while I stayed home and raised our daughter full-time for seven years. When she asked for a divorce, I didn't stop her.
After we left the divorce office, she said, "The house and the car are yours. I'll walk away with nothing."
Half a month later, she opened the door to our home and froze.
*****
On the day of the divorce, my wife Stella Lancaster generously left me the house and the car.
I'd been a stay-at-home dad for seven years.
Stella made 1.3 million dollars a year as the vice president of Everstone Properties.
To outsiders, we looked like the perfect family everyone envied.
But only I knew that our family had been for show for a long time.
Stella thought I was a loser, and I put up with it.
She'd stay out all night, and I put up with that, too.
Then, one night, our daughter Jessica had an asthma attack.
I rushed downstairs with her in my arms, my knuckles slamming into the doorframe and bruising.
On the phone, Stella's voice came through, layered over loud music in the background. "I'm with a client. I can't leave."
She paused, then added, "You handle it."
I stood at the ER entrance, staring at Jessica's pale face.
That was the moment I finally gave up on her.
On the day of the divorce, Stella was all business.
She slid the divorce papers across the table, her nails painted a fresh wine-red.
"The house is yours," she said. "The car, too. I'll take the savings. No objections, right?"
Her tone was flat, like she was just handing out office supplies.
I didn't say a word.
I took the pen and signed where my name was supposed to go.
The pen whispered softly as it moved across the paper.
*****
Two weeks later, Stella came home, unlocking the door with the spare key.
She still wore that tired, fed-up expression. Her brows were drawn tight, and her mouth pulled down at the corners.
I knew that look way too well. I saw it every day; it always made my heart go cold.
"Arturo?" Her voice bounced off the empty living room walls. "Why are you still here?"
Her words hit me cold and hard, like she was chucking a rock at me.
I was sitting on the only thing left in the living room, a folding chair. I held a cup of coffee in my hand, but it had gone cold ages ago.
"I was waiting for you," I said. My voice was flat.
Stella glanced around.
The couch was gone. The coffee table was gone. The curtains had been taken down. All that was left were the white walls and the gleaming floor.
Her frown deepened.
"Where's all the stuff?" she asked.
She took a couple of steps forward, her heels clicking sharply on the floor. "Are you out of your mind?"
I chuckled softly.
I set the cup down on the floor by my feet, stood up, and brushed off my pants.
"Which home are you talking about?" I asked.
"Our home." Stella's voice rose, her heels clicking rapidly on the floor.
Her voice rose, her heels clicking with urgency on the floor.
She pointed at the empty living room, her finger trembling.
"Arturo, I gave you this house so you could live in it, not so you could clear it out and sell everything for scraps," she said.
With my back to her, I was stuffing the last stack of old blueprints into a cardboard box. The sound of the tape ripping was sharp and grating.
"Did you hear me?" she demanded.
She strode over in her heels, planting herself right between me and the box.
"I'm talking to you," she said.
I looked up.
Her makeup was immaculate today, lipstick a vivid red, and the lines of her blazer sharp and precise.
She hadn't changed a bit, like everything and everyone was supposed to move according to her timetable.
"Stella," I said as I pressed the tape onto the box and slowly stood up.
"Two weeks ago, outside the courthouse," I said, looking right at her. "You told me you had a bidding to chase that afternoon, and you wanted me to hurry up and sign."
She frowned. "So what?"
"So this house is mine now," I said, meeting her eyes.
I brushed the dust off my hands. "It's my stuff. If I feel like tossing it, that's my call."
She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
Her always-calm facade finally broke.
*****
Two weeks ago, the steps outside the courthouse were blazing hot.
As the black Porsche rolled into the parking spot, the tires made a soft crunch over the gravel.
Stella stepped out, her sunglasses halfway off, pausing as she slid them down.
"Got all the paperwork?" Stella asked, her attention fixed on her phone, not even glancing my way.
"Yeah," I said.
"Good," she replied.
She took off her sunglasses and hooked them onto her shirt collar. "I need to be back at the office by 2:30, so let's make this quick."
The sunlight was so harsh that her earrings flashed and caught my eye.
I followed her through the glass doors. Her heels tapped out a quick rhythm, not pausing for a second.
We'd been married for seven years.
The last thing she said to me was about her 2:30 bid meeting at the office.
The whole thing was over in a flash. No arguments, no drama. She didn't even spare me a second glance.