Chapter 11

Michael: [Still in Northgate? When are you coming back?]

[Had your fun yet? Shouldn't you have cooled off by now? Mom called, wondering why we didn't come back together.]

[Claire, that's enough. Lily and I are coming back tomorrow.]

I got that last one the night before I was about to leave Northgate.

I stared at the words "Lily and I" and just gave a wry smile. I didn't even bother with a cold laugh.

Since they left together, it was only natural they'd return together.

How typical.

I booked my flight back for the next afternoon.

Before I left, I stopped by St. Sophia Square to feed the pigeons. Those gray and white birds weren't afraid of people at all—they cooed and hopped around on the snow-covered square.

I bought a bag of corn kernels, held out my hand, and a pigeon fluttered over, landing gently in my palm to peck at the food.

The softness of their feathers and the warmth of their tiny bodies brought a small comfort, reminding me that life goes on.

Goodbye, Northgate.

Thank you for the biting cold that snapped me awake, and for the genuine warmth that brought me comfort.

The plane touched down, and I was back in the city I called home.

The air was warm and humid, nothing like Northgate's icy chill, but somehow, it felt stifling.

I powered up my phone, and just as expected, the message bombardment hit. Not just Michael and Lily, my mom and Kaiya had blown up my phone with missed calls.

I dragged my suitcase and headed straight for the place Michael and I called home after we got married.

It was a spacious apartment in a high-end downtown complex; his family covered the down payment, and we split the mortgage.

I watched over every step of the renovation myself, putting all my hopes for a real home into every corner.

When I unlocked the door, the place felt cold and deserted, with that stuffy, empty feeling you get when no one's been around for days.

Everything was just as I'd left it, maybe even a little tidier. Guess Michael hadn't come home these past few days, either.

Fine by me.

I dropped my suitcase in the living room, not in any rush to unpack.

Instead, I went straight to the study, fired up my laptop, and reached out to the divorce lawyer I'd talked to before.

On the call, I explained everything and made it clear: I wanted a fast divorce, the assets split fairly, just like the law says. I wasn't asking for anything extra, just what I deserved.

The lawyer was efficient; by that evening, the first draft of the divorce agreement was already in my inbox.

I read through it carefully; the terms were clear, and it covered everything I was entitled to.

I signed my name where it needed to be: Claire Stark.

My hand was steady as I signed, not a single tremor.

I set the pen down and stared at the agreement. My heart felt hollow, but I didn't regret it.

Some things, once broken, stay broken. Trying to glue them back together just leaves you with scars and even uglier cracks.

Just as I was putting the agreement away, I heard the lock turn.

Michael was back.

He was dressed in casual clothes, looking worn out, but mostly his expression was tense, impatience and anger written all over his face.

When he saw me sitting in the living room, he paused for a moment, then his brows furrowed. His eyes flicked to the suitcase by my feet, and his tone was harsh. "So you finally decided to come back?"

I looked up at Michael, but didn't say a word.

After a few days apart, he looked a bit thinner, with a shadow of stubble on his chin.