Chapter 2

Aaliyah's POV

The kitchen smelled of vanilla and cinnamon with Henry’s favorite blueberry muffins cooling on the counter.

It’s our anniversary, a day after his birthday, and my heart ached from the scene I witnessed—Henry kissing that woman, vowing to divorce me. I should’ve confronted him last night, but I couldn’t, not with his icy glare silencing me.

Instead, I baked, pouring my pain into batter, clinging to the hope that he’s still the man who loved me.

I smoothed my dress, a soft blue that matches my eyes, and checked my reflection in the hallway mirror. My long blonde hair is pinned up.

The front door slams opened while I still stood in front of the mirror and my heart lurched. I was scared and prayed a silent prayer in my heart.

Henry’s voice, low and clipped, echoed from the foyer. “Aaliyah, we need to talk.”

I rushed down stairs forcing a smile, but it immediately faltered when I saw him.

He stood in the doorway, his dark brown hair tousled, his green eyes hard as jade. Behind him is a woman—blonde, blue-eyed, my mirror image but with shorter hair and sharper features.

The air thickened as I stared at her—”Aurora”, My voice had barely escaped my lips, a weak whisper swallowed by the silence that followed.

She stood there, framed by the morning light spilling through the open door, her blue eyes locked on mine with a glint I couldn’t decipher. Triumph, maybe. Or something darker.

It dawned on me suddenly. The woman Henry was with in his office, planning on his divorce with me, the very one I had caught him cheating with. The short blonde hair, It's been Aurora all this time?

“Aurora?” I said again, louder this time, “What are you doing here?”

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, her lips curled into a smirk. I hadn’t seen her since we were kids, seperated at the orphanage where we grew. But here she was, standing in my home, beside my husband.

“Aaliyah,” Henry called, his voice low and steady, cutting through the haze of my thoughts. He stepped forward, pulling a stack of papers from his jacket and tossing them onto the table beside me. They landed with a soft thud, the sound reverberating in the stillness.

“Sign this. We’re done.”

I blinked, my gaze dropping to the papers. The word Divorce stared up at me in bold, black letters, stark against the white page. I definitely was expecting it but yet my breath caught, a ragged gasp I couldn't stifle.

“Done?” I echoed, my voice trembling as I looked back at him.

“Henry, what are you talking about? This—this is our anniversary. I waited for you all day, I—”

“Stop it,” he snapped, his tone sharp enough to make me flinch. His eyes finally met mine, but there was no trace of the man who’d once traced my face with tender fingers.

“You don’t get it, do you? This—” he gestured between us, a dismissive flick of his hand—“was a mistake. From the beginning.”

A mistake. The words landed like blows, each one heavier than the last. I shook my head, stepping back until my hip bumped the table, the edge digging into me.

“But we were happy. Weren't we Henry?”

Henry’s jaw tightens. “I thought you were her,” he says, “When I met you, I was looking for Aurora. We were kids, runaways, sharing a tent by a creek. She was my first love, and I spent years searching for her. Then I found you, and I thought… but you’re not her.”

“I loved you, Henry. Doesn't that matter?”

He scoffs, his eyes cold. “Love? You let me believe you were her. This ends now. Sign the papers.”

I balled my fists, anger taking over my emotions.

“I let you? You're the one who deceived me all this time. You told me you loved me, if you weren't so sure, why drag me into this mess in the first place!?”

Aurora’s smirk widens, her sharp features gleaming with triumph. “You heard him, Sister. You’re nothing but a delusion of me to him. Can you put an end to all this drama now?”

I clutched the table, tears blurring the papers. My heart screamed to fight, to beg, but the kiss I watched them share, Henry’s icy distance, and Aurora’s presence choked me.

I grabbed a pen, my hand shaking as I scrawled my name, each stroke a surrender. With the papers signed, I shoved them back, my voice breaking.

“You’ll regret this, Henry.” and I meant every word.