The divorce

Did I say that’s how it started? The truth is far worse.

It was dated back to when I was three and had unfortunately gone missing. For 18 long years, I lived away from my home and family. Growing older. As I grew older from being a child to a teenager and then to a young adult, I kept trying to trace my origins.

The day I finally met my family—the dream I had waited for—turned out to be nothing like I expected; there were no joyful embraces, no tears of happiness.

Rather, I met with something close to apathy.

It felt like I was a nobody who had drifted into their lives. My parents seemed to have moved on from me long ago; all the love they had was for Anita, and barely any remained for me.

I guessed there was nothing left. In fact, if there was, I would at least have been pitied enough to be told that Anita had returned from abroad and had somehow found her way into my husband's arms.

Almost immediately, my phone buzzed with an incoming video call from Anita.

picked it up but ended up swiping green. Anita's face popped up on the screen; she was sitting in the same room from the video with a towel wrapped around her body.

"Hi, I hope you are having a nice day over there.” Anita chirped with a smug smile.

She moves her phone's camera around to show more of the room, and in the background I caught a faint glimpse of Daniel walking into the bathroom.

“Guess who's going to die a pathetic old virgin? Not me! , she laughed callously.

I silently clenched my teeth. I was reeling with annoyance from the insult.

“He doesn't deserve you,” she added. “He deserves someone way better than you.” And I'm what's perfect for him, darling.

There was no way I was going to listen to any more of that. I furiously ended the call and flung my phone on the bed, then I buried my head in my hand.

I'd had enough. I wasn't going to sit still and watch myself being dragged through the mud like a rag any longer.

By the time Daniel returned to the house, it was already well into the night. I sat on the cold tiles of the living room, hanging my chin on my palm, nearly dozing off when I heard the sound of the front door clicking; that familiar musky scent of his followed him inside. And I could swear I smelled Anita on him too.

My eyes blinked open, and I raised my head, locking a blank gaze with his face. There was that brick-hard look on his face, which was always there when I was around.

To think of how he had been grinning from ear to ear earlier with Anita.

After our marriage, everything I'd been told by my parents to do, I did, taking care of his food, his daily life, and several other things too many to count, all for four years. It happened so frequently it became a ritual, like a dance ingrained in my daily routine; Daniel accepted it without question. But not for one day did Daniel spare me even a second glance.

Daniel shut the door behind him and began walking into his room, treating me as usual like I was invisible. For the first time, I spoke.

“I want a divorce.”

He turned to face me, an incredulous look on his face.

“What are you talking about?” he asked.

“I don't want this title of wife anymore.”

I answered without mincing words.

That faithful day, four years ago, when I stood in that white dress and he in his tuxedo, a congregation behind us and a preacher in front, I saw a calm look of restrained anger in his eyes when he realized it wasn't Anita behind the veil but me.

I remembered my chest tightened behind the diamond necklace I was wearing. The way his stares burned. How stupid and helpless I felt in that dress. How my parents smiled as if they'd not just push me out there against my will, and the congregation cheered, probably with no idea of what was happening.

“You may now kiss the bride,” the pastor announced.

Daniel leaned toward me, but instead of kissing, he merely brushed his face past my cheek and spoke into my ear. “The only thing you can get is the title of wife.”

And that's exactly the title I was giving back to him. I didn't want it anymore. I wish I had never let myself take it in the first place. I'd let go of too much of them, and I had endured more than I needed to. It was the height of everything.

I want to get a divorce, Daniel. I repeated it in case he didn't hear me the first time, even though I knew he'd heard me clearly.

He stared at me with a frown before answering me coldly. “It's not up to you! "I'm very busy; don't waste my time with such boring topics or try to attract my attention.” How typical of him to believe that I'm trying to get his attention. I hadn't attracted his so-called attention for over four years, and now when I mentioned divorce, he remembered it.

The last thing I wanted to do was argue or bicker with him.

“I will have the lawyer send you the divorce agreement,” was all I said, as calmly as I could muster.

He didn't say anything after that; he just walked through the door he'd been standing in front of, slamming it harshly behind him.

My eye lingered absentmindedly on the doorknob before I took the wedding ring off my finger and placed it on the table. Don't even ask why I had it on in the first place.

I grabbed my suitcase, which I had already packed, and headed out of the house. The wind outside felt different afterward, like a heavy burden was being lifted off my shoulders for the first time in a very long while. The feeling of the night blowing through my hair strands was immaculate.

Grabbing my phone from my purse and swiping quickly across the screen, I put the phone in my ear, hearing it ring.

“I'm divorcing; come, pick me up.”