Chapter 3

"Andrew's always joking around; maybe he just didn't think," Mom said.

"Mom!" I finally snapped, my voice breaking, not because I was sad, but because even the person closest to me was trying to excuse him.

"I've heard his 'jokes' for three years. I've swallowed them for three years. Yesterday was my 30th birthday. He made me look like an absolute joke in front of everyone."

Mom went quiet again, and this time I could hear her fighting back tears.

"Claire, my poor Claire, you've been through so much," she choked out.

"But divorce isn't something small. You're thirty; what will people say? What about your future? Andrew's got decent prospects, and he knows he messed up.

"Maybe just give him one more chance? Men, well, sometimes they're just clueless."

With Mom's teary pleading, I felt my heart sink way down, like it was dropping straight into a frozen abyss.

Even my parents, their first concern was my age, my 'future,' other people's opinions, not whether I'd been hurt beyond repair.

"Don't, Mom," I said, shutting my eyes in exhaustion. "I've already decided. The papers are done. He'll get them today."

"Claire..."

"I have to go. I'm busy."

Before she could say anything else, I hung up.

Leaning against the cold security door, I felt every ounce of strength drain out of me.

It felt like there wasn't a single corner in the world that could hold all my pain and determination.

Just then, I heard a key turning in the lock.

The door opened.

Andrew stood there, still in yesterday's shirt, the wine stains dried into ugly, dark patches.

His hair was a mess, dark circles under his eyes; he clearly hadn't slept all night.

When he saw the suitcases at my feet, he froze for a second, then his brows twisted into a deep scowl.

"You're really leaving?" His voice was hoarse, thick with hangover and annoyance.

I didn't say a word, just stepped aside so he could see the divorce papers sitting front and center on the coffee table.

His eyes landed on them, and his face instantly turned stormy.

He stormed over, snatched up the papers, and started flipping through them, his breathing getting heavier with every page.

"Claire!" He slammed the papers down on the table, sending them flying everywhere. "You're serious? You want a divorce over a stupid joke?"

"Read it. If you're fine with it, sign it," I said, grabbing the handle of my suitcase. "Once you've signed, call me. We'll file for divorce."

"Like hell I will." He completely lost it, snatching the papers and tearing them to shreds right in front of me, scattering pieces all over the floor.

He said, "Claire, don't take my kindness for granted! Divorce? No way. I admit I was wrong yesterday, okay? I was drunk; I said things I shouldn't have. I'm sorry. There, I apologized."

He took a couple steps toward me, trying to grab my arm, his eyes full of that familiar mix of irritation and his need to control everything.

"You've made your scene, slapped someone, and thrown your fit; haven't you had enough? Just put your stuff back. I'll book a restaurant tonight and make it up to you for your birthday, alright?"

If this were any other day, I would've probably accepted his apology and his so-called solution, swallowed all my grievances, and told myself, "He apologized. He still cares about this family."

But today, as I stared at his handsome face twisted in anger and listened to his half-hearted apology, all I felt was a cold, bitter sense of how ridiculous this was.

I avoided his hand, grabbed my suitcase, and walked straight out the door.

"Claire!" he roared behind me. "If you walk out that door today, don't even think about coming back! Divorce? Don't even dream about it. Let's see how long you can keep this up."

I didn't stop. I walked into the elevator.

I rented a one-bedroom apartment near my office.

It wasn't big, didn't get much sunlight, and definitely wasn't cheap.

Putting down one month's deposit and paying three months' rent upfront nearly drained my already thin savings.

But it was clean, independent, and most importantly, far enough away from that so-called home.

On the day I moved in, I dragged two large suitcases up the old, creaky stairs by myself.

Sweat soaked my back, my arms were trembling with exhaustion, but there was this strange, grounding sense of relief in my heart.

I slid the key into the new lock, turned it, and with a soft click, it felt like I was opening a whole new world that was mine alone.

After quickly unpacking, I collapsed onto the only old couch and turned on my phone.

As expected, my phone was flooded with missed calls and unread messages.

Andrew's messages topped the list, kicking off with angry texts like, "Where the hell are you?"

Then came, "Pick up the phone! Let's talk this out."

And just a few hours ago, "Claire, come back. I get it, I messed up. Stop with the drama."

His tone got softer, but every word still reeked of that condescending attitude, like he was granting me mercy or something.

Stone-faced, I swiped through them all and didn't reply to any of them.

Then came the so-called concern from friends and family.

My mom sent me a bunch of long voice messages. When I played them, she was still crying, trying to make me reconsider. "Claire, I know you're hurting, but divorce really isn't the answer Andrew called me, and he seemed genuine.

"He said he was just drunk and talking nonsense, and you're still the most important person to him. Can't you both just give each other a break, okay?"

My best friend, Sophie, sent a string of angry emojis and voice messages: "Andrew is such a jerk! I wasn't there yesterday, but just hearing about it made my blood boil! Claire, you did the right thing! Why keep that loser around?

"But are you really sure about this? Divorce isn't a small thing, and there's a ton of hassle ahead. Are you sure he'll go through with the divorce without making a scene?"

A college friend, who was also a mutual friend of Andrew and me, sent a message that sounded pretty neutral. [Claire, I heard from Andrew that you two are having some issues.

[He explained what happened yesterday, and yeah, he really said some stupid things. But divorce? Isn't that a bit much? You've been together for three years, and everyone can see how much Andrew cares about you.

[He doesn't know when to stop joking around. You know how it is with couples: fight one minute, make up the next. Don't do anything rash.]