4: It’s fine

SOPHIA

“Marcus, I want a divorce.”

The words came out steady. No shaking. No hesitation. But the silence after my declaration was louder than any scream. 

Marc’s expression didn’t twist with shock or pain the way I thought it might. Instead, he threw his head back and laughed. The sound was so low and cruel that it made my stomach turn.

“Are you listening to yourself?” he muttered when the laughter faded. His lips curled into something smug as he leveled me a glare. “A divorce?”

“Yes.” For once, I didn’t flinch. “I want a divorce.”

“You?” he spat. “A worthless housewife with no money, no job, and no backbone? Without me, Sophia, you’re nothing. You won’t survive two weeks on your own.”

His words hit me too hard, but I refused to let him see the effect they had on me. I stood still, fists trembling at my sides, refusing to give him the satisfaction of tears.

When his gaze trailed over me, it was with a mix of pity and disgust. Why did I think he was worth my career? 

Dismissing me with a wave of his hand, he shook his head. “You must have had a long day, so I’ll ignore your outburst today,” he told me. “But you’d better watch it.”

When he turned to Ollie, his whole face softened. “Let’s get out of here, buddy. Can’t stand this house right now.”

“Yay!” Ollie said, his tears forgotten as quickly as they’d come.

Marc led him down the hall, both of them happy to get rid of me. A few minutes later, Ollie reappeared in fresh clothes, with his hair combed neatly. He looked so much better, so much like Marc’s boy. Neither of them looked at me as they walked out the door. To meet Victoria. 

In their absence, the house fell silent. I looked down at myself. The milk stains on my blouse, the damp rag in my hand, and the hair frizzed around my face. 

The living room was still a wreck. Toys scattered. Milk pooling under the table. And me, standing in the middle of it, looking like the mess I’d become. My knees buckled, and I sank onto the couch. Seconds or minutes passed with me sitting there, staring at nothing as the sound of the door closing on Marc and Ollie continued to echo in my ears.

A worthless housewife with no money.

A worthless housewife with no job.

A worthless housewife with no backbone.

Without him, I was nothing. 

That was where he was wrong. Before him, I had a life. Even now, I could still get it back. Right? Right. I could start with the job. Be it a cleaning job. Anything. As long as it got me away from here. I couldn’t do this anymore. 

Shooting to my feet, I walked to the kitchen and pulled out my phone from the bag. My hands trembled as I tapped on Floral’s number. Instead of replying, I called.

The moment the call connected, her voice came through. “Hey, Sophia. I’ve been waiting for your reply.”

My mouth opened, but nothing came out. 

“Sophia?” Floral’s voice softened. “Are you okay?”

The question broke me. My throat felt thick, and my chest tight. “I regret quitting,” I whispered. More words tumbled out of me in a rush. “I hate being a housewife. I hate this life. I’m so tired, Floral. Tired of cooking and cleaning and giving and still being told it’s not enough. I feel stuck. Like I’ve wasted years, and I’ll never get out.”

There was silence on her end, and I thought maybe I’d said too much. But when she spoke, she was calm.  

“Come over. Right now,” she said. “I have a guest room. You can crash here until you figure out what’s next.”

“Floral,” I muttered, wiping at the tears that streamed down my cheeks. “I don’t want to inconvenience you.”

“Oh, stop it. We are friends,” she said firmly. “It’s not an inconvenience. Text me your address. I’ll send an Uber.”

The line went dead after we said our goodbyes. I typed my address quickly and slid the phone into my pocket before I could talk myself out of it. 

When I stepped into the living room, the mess was still there. For a split second, I almost rushed for the rag to clean the place, but I stopped myself at the last minute. 

That reflex was so ingrained, I felt guilty just looking at it, but no. It was their mess now. Let them deal with it.

After one last look at it, I turned and went to the room. The mirror showed a woman I barely recognized. Hair limp, clothes stained, and eyes rimmed red. I peeled everything off and let the shower wash away the stickiness, the smell of milk, and the day clinging to me.

When I stepped out, I wore a clean outfit, packed a few things, including the new dress, into an overnight bag. If there were really an opening, it would be perfect for the interview. A new beginning deserved something new.

The buzz of a horn outside pulled me to the present, and I grabbed the small bag with my essentials. Marc might notice a few things were missing, but I didn’t care. 

It was time to leave.

The Uber driver didn’t say much, and I was grateful for that. I watched the streets blur by, my heart pounding in my chest, half-afraid I’d see Marc’s car chasing us down. But nothing happened. We pulled into Floral’s driveway, and there she was on the porch, waving like old times. 

Why was she being so kind to me after all these years? 

The moment I stepped out, she pulled me into a hug.

“Welcome,” she said. “You look exhausted. Come in.”

Light from the open windows flooded her house. It was warm and filled with the scent of cinnamon. She led me to the kitchen and handed me a warm mug of tea and some cookies. I stared at it for too long, feeling strange.

“What?” she asked, smiling.

“This is the first time anyone has served me. I’m not used to it,” I admitted. “I’m always the one doing the serving.”

Her smile fell. “Not anymore. You’re my guest. Relax.”

While I settled onto a stool, she moved around, trying to set up dinner. I tried not to assist. She told me about her husband and their two kids. With the three of them out of town, their house was quiet for once. I didn’t ask many questions, but it was my reminder that I couldn’t stay here for too long. No matter what, I had to get that job.

Floral leaned across the table to tell me, “As I said in the text, there’s an opening at Glamour Galore. But the interview’s tomorrow. That might be too soon for you.”

“No,” I blurted out. “I’ll go. It’s fine.”

She grinned. “That’s the spirit. We’ll practice tonight. I can share some hints on what to expect. You’ll do great.”

“Are you sure you won’t get in trouble for it?”

“Trouble?” Floral scoffed, beaming with pride as she told me, “I’m the manager of this region. It will be fine.” 

Excitement bubbled in my chest, and my cheeks hurt too much from smiling hard. Once I was done eating, she showed me to the guestroom. We spent the night reviewing questions and discussing designs. It reminded me of the woman I once was. When I crawled into the bed much later, tired, I felt more alive than I had in years.

The next morning, I slipped into the new dress. It hugged me perfectly, making me feel strong and capable.

Floral ordered an Uber to take me to the store since she wouldn’t be coming until later. After a pep talk, I left. I was directed to an office where the interview would be held. My nerves were all over the place, but I kept my head high and opened the door. I took a step inside and froze. 

Sitting at the desk, reviewing papers, was the man from the store. The one who had given me this very dress.