I want a divorce

Stephanie’s pov

Both of them froze. Trent’s eyes met mine over the woman’s shoulder. For a second there was only the smell of sex and the sight of his cock still buried in someone else.

Then I turned, walked out of the bedroom, and closed the door behind me with a quiet, final click.

****

The lawyer’s office smelled like burnt coffee and old paper. I sat across from Trent in a stiff chair that dug into my lower back, still wearing the same blouse from yesterday because I couldn't bring myself to do anything after everything that had happened. Jude, my lawyer, flipped through a thin file beside me. Julio, Trent’s lawyer, already looked bored.

It started the way everything with Trent started—super loud.

“You cheated on me for six years,” I said, voice already climbing. “Six. Years. Different women, on our matrimonial bed with the same excuses.”

Trent leaned forward, jabbing a finger at the air between us. “You were never home, you’re always working, always tired and i wanna have sex with my wife, what did you expect me to do, wait around like some pathetic—”

“I expected you not to fuck other people in our bed!”

Both lawyers opened their mouths at the same time. We ignored them.

“You controlled every dollar I earned,” I kept going, words tumbling out faster. “You monitored my receipts. You hit me when I asked for money that was mine. You—”

“I provided for you!” Trent shouted over me, interrupting me. “I put a fucking roof over your head, you ate whatever you want didn’t you!” he said and I scoffed.

“You provided trauma and free rent for your side pieces!”

We both spun toward our lawyers at the exact same second and yelled, perfectly in sync:

“I want a divorce.”

Silence slammed into the room for half a heartbeat.

Then Trent’s face twisted. “I said it first.”

“No you didn’t.”

“I am the man. I speak first. You don’t get to say the words when I’m speaking.”

I laughed, sharp and ugly. “I am a human being, Trent. I have a mouth and I will use it. You do not get to shut me up anymore.”

“You will respect me—”

“I respected you for six years and look where that got me!”

Jude’s palm cracked against the table so hard the coffee cups jumped.

“Enough!”

We both froze mid-glare. Jude’s usually calm face had gone red, and Julio cleared his throat like he wanted to disappear into the carpet.

Jude exhaled slowly, turning to Julio. “Since both of our clients have now stated, loudly, that they want a divorce, I suggest we proceed with the actual paperwork instead of fighting over who said the magic words first.”

Julio nodded quickly. “Agreed, and you both can go with the standard path. Fifty-fifty split of assets, and go your ways.”

Trent’s laugh exploded out of him, loud enough to make the receptionist outside flinch. He leaned back in his chair, arms spread wide.

“That will never happen. She never contributed to a single thing I own. Not the cars. Not the apartment. Not even the investments. Nothing.”

I turned to him slowly. “You’ve been in possession of every paycheck I’ve earned since the day I started working. My salary funded the down payment on that apartment. My overtime paid for the second car. My bonuses kept the lights on while you ‘networked’ with women half my age.”

Trent’s smile turned mean. He reached into his leather folder and pulled out a thin stack of papers, sliding them across the table toward Jude like he was dealing cards.

“Mr Trent, what is this?” jude asked.

“Evidence,” he said. “Those are bank transfers, and cash withdrawals. Every single one of them. Your money went to the girls who actually knew how to keep a man satisfied. Nothing more.”

The room tilted. I stared at the papers—dates, amounts, names I didn’t recognize. Six years of my sweat reduced to receipts for other women’s pleasure.

Something hot and wet spilled over my lashes before I could stop it. I hated that the tears came now, in front of him, in front of the lawyers who were suddenly very interested in their own shoes.

“I want every dollar back,” I said, voice cracking but still clear. “Every single one you spent on them. And emotional damages. For the years of bruises. For the—” I swallowed the rest. “Just pay me what you took and keep your precious assets. I don’t want them. I don’t want anything that still smells like you.”

Jude and Julio exchanged a look that said they had both seen uglier rooms than this one. They stepped aside, murmuring numbers and timelines. Ten minutes later they returned with a single sheet.

Trent would repay the full documented amount of my salary he had spent, plus a fixed sum for emotional damages. He kept the apartment, the cars, the accounts in his name. I walked away with a check that looked like it would clear in three business days but somehow, my mind was at peace knowing that I now have the legal right to never see his face again.

I signed so fast the pen nearly tore the paper. Trent signed slower, still smirking like he’d won something.

We left the office without speaking. The elevator ride down felt longer than the entire marriage.

When we got back home, I moved like someone had set a timer on my life. I packed two suitcases. The good shoes, toiletries that were actually mine, and left the wedding photos face-down on the dresser and the shared toothbrush in the holder. Trent watched from the couch with the blonde’s perfume still lingering in the air, saying nothing. I didn’t give him the satisfaction of a goodbye.

I ordered a cab and left for the hotel that was miles away from him, cheap enough that the lobby smelled like industrial cleaner and the elevator made a grinding noise between floors. My room had a queen bed, a window that faced a brick wall, and a mini-fridge that hummed too loud. I dropped the suitcases, sat on the edge of the mattress, and did the math one time only.

Eleven days. That was how long the cash in my account would last if I ate simply until it cleared. Rowan & Vance was supposed to pay me for the last month's work I did but it’s not due until another two weeks and I really hoped that the bastard never sent the money even when I knew it could save me a lot of trouble. Eleven days of breathing room before I had to figure out the rest of my life.

I refused to let the number sit in my chest as I fought back tears from rolling down my face. I couldn’t stop thinking about the wasted years that made me doubt my existence.

I was starting to break down but I stood up, unzipped the smaller suitcase, and pulled out the one sexy dress I had packed that still made me feel like a person. Black. Short. Thin straps. The kind of dress that had spent years folded at the back of a drawer because Trent said it looked like I was asking for attention.

Tonight I wanted that attention.

I showered in water that never quite got hot, smoothed lotion over my skin, and slipped the dress on with no bra on. I grabbed my heels, painted my mouth the same deep red I used to save for nights he was in a good mood.

When I looked in the mirror, the woman staring back at me did not look like someone who had just signed away six years in a room that smelled like burnt coffee. She looked like someone who had eleven days and zero intention of spending them quietly.

I grabbed my purse, left the key card on the nightstand, and walked out into the Chicago night with the city lights reflecting off the wet pavement like they were waiting for me.