Chapter 2

All my resolve, all my love, vanished in that moment.

"Andrew," I straightened up, smoothing out the sleeve he'd wrinkled, my voice as calm as a frozen lake. "We're getting a divorce."

With that, I walked toward the parking lot without a backward glance. The night wind was strong, blowing away Andrew's furious shouts and Emily's fake sobs behind me.

He barked, "Claire! Don't you dare come back. Who do you think you're threatening with this divorce? Fine, let's get divorced! Just don't regret it."

Regret?

I got into my car, the engine's roar drowning out everything else.

I drove aimlessly through the city, tears drying and falling again, until my cheeks felt tight and sore.

The neon lights flickered past the window, casting my disheveled reflection.

Finally, I stopped by the river.

It was late, and the riverbank was empty, only the murky water slapping against the shore, a dull but relentless sound.

The wind was strong, making my thin dress cling to me, the cold biting into my skin.

I leaned against the car, watching the flickering lights on the other side of the river. For the first time, the city I'd lived in for almost 30 years felt strangely unsettling.

My phone was vibrating like crazy in my bag, Andrew's name blinking on the screen. I turned it off.

Finally, the world was quiet.

*****

I had no idea how long I stood by the river, letting the wind freeze me until I couldn't feel my arms and legs anymore. Only when I was completely numb did I finally drag myself back into the car.

There was no way I was going home, not to that place reeking of Andrew, with Emily's invisible fingerprints everywhere. I didn't want to set foot in there ever again.

I found a 24-hour hotel near my office and checked in with my ID.

Swiping the keycard, I stepped into a cold, soulless room that instantly drained the last bit of strength from me.

I dropped onto the edge of the bed, exhaustion crashing over me like a tidal wave, but my mind was painfully clear.

Every single moment from the party replayed in my head: Andrew's smug grin with his arm around Emily, his flippant hand reaching for my cheek, Emily's fake panic hiding her satisfaction, and the crowd's laughter echoing in the background...

It all played out like a silent film on repeat, each scene stabbing at my heart.

This wasn't the first time.

But this time, he picked the one moment I cared about most, in front of everyone, and tore away the last shred of my dignity in the most humiliating way possible.

I walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower.

Warm water poured over me, but no matter how long I stood there, I couldn't wash off the sticky feeling of being put on display for everyone to judge.

Thirty years old. What a "brilliant" way to start.

After my shower, wrapped in the stiff hotel bathrobe, I opened my laptop.

The glow from the screen lit up the dark room.

Without a second thought, I typed "divorce agreement template" into the search bar.

I downloaded the file and opened it. The cursor blinked next to "Party A" and "Party B."

I typed out every word, one by one:

Party A: Andrew, male, ID number:

Party B: Claire Foster, female, ID number:

When the word "divorce" appeared at the top of the page, so cold and official, my hand still shook uncontrollably.

It wasn't regret, just a huge, hollow emptiness, like everything had finally settled into dust.

There was nothing complicated about our finances.

The house was Andrew's before we got married, the car we bought after, but he was the one who always drove it.

My savings weren't much, but enough to keep me afloat for a while.

I just wanted what was rightfully mine, and my eyes landed on the "Other Agreements" section.

My little apartment, the one I bought before marriage, had to be clearly listed as mine. No ties to Andrew.

I paid the down payment with my own hard-earned money after I started working. That was my last safety net, my only backup.

Once all the basic info was filled in, I kept the property division part short and to the point.

When I got to the reason for divorce, I hesitated for a long time, then finally typed just four words: "Irreconcilable differences."

I saved the file and connected to the hotel printer.

The hum of the printer sounded extra loud in the silent room.

The paper came out warm, the black font looking like a final verdict.

I picked up a pen and carefully signed "Claire Foster" in the Party B signature spot.

The scratch of the pen on paper sounded like the last note of some solemn ritual.

By the time I was done, the sky outside was already turning pale.

I wasn't sleepy at all. I sat by the window, watching the city slowly come alive.

Cars started filling the streets, breakfast stalls sent up clouds of steam, and another ordinary day began.

But my world had already been turned upside down the night before.

My phone stayed off.

I had no idea what Andrew was doing now， still comforting Emily, or maybe finally remembering his so-called "petty" wife? It didn't matter anymore.

At nine in the morning, I checked out and drove back to that so-called "home."

Standing downstairs, I looked up at the familiar window, feeling nothing at all.

I knew Andrew probably wasn't there.

After the humiliation he suffered last night, knowing him, he'd either be hiding out at the university or off explaining himself to Emily.

Just like I expected, the house was dead silent, still messy from last night's party.

Empty wine glasses everywhere, streamers scattered all around, and the air thick with leftover booze and perfume.

The bed in the master bedroom was perfectly made. He definitely didn't come home last night.

I put the printed divorce papers right in the middle of the coffee table, pinned under one of his fancy crystal paperweights.

Next, I started packing up my things.

Clothes, skincare, my favorite books, work folders, and a few sentimental little items.

I left behind anything connected to Andrew, gifts, photos, all of it.

Even the wedding photo on the nightstand: the bride grinning like she'd won the lottery. Now, she looked like a fool.

I didn't have much, everything fit in two big suitcases.

I gave the place where I'd lived for three years one last glance, not a hint of nostalgia, just pure relief.

I was dragging my suitcases to the door when my phone buzzed.

It wasn't Andrew. It was my mom.

I hesitated, then decided to pick up.

"Claire," Mom sounded cautious, "Did you have a nice birthday? Was Andrew's party fun?"

My throat caught, and for a second, I could barely speak.

"Mom," I drew in a deep breath. "I'm divorcing Andrew."

She was silent for nearly ten seconds, then rushed out, "Divorce? Claire, what are you talking about? Things were fine yesterday, weren't they? Did you two argue? Couples fight, that's normal. Don't be hasty"

I cut her off, making my voice as steady as I could. "It's not impulsive.

"Mom, yesterday at my birthday party, he wrapped his arm around another woman in front of all our friends, told everyone she was the one he really wanted to marry, and called me an old hag."

"He must have been joking, right?" Mom's voice was shaky.