Chapter 3

Jonah showed up on time, and we hit the County Clerk's Office, wrapping up the divorce paperwork quickly.

I did not even want the assets.

However, he insisted on splitting everything down the middle, except he kept custody of Simon.

Not that I asked for it—I had been on my own before and was ready to breeze through life solo.

"Stay a few more days at home, for Simon's sake. He needs time to adjust, he's just a kid."

Walking out of the County Clerk's Office, Jonah gently grabbed my hand, his voice polite as ever.

I glanced back at him. He was the quintessential gentleman, his noble upbringing shining through every polished word and gesture.

For a decade, that's how he had been with me.

Not once did I feel like we were ever husband and wife.

However, with Tracy, it was a different story.

I had caught them once, speeding down the highway, laughing wildly.

He threw caution to the wind with her, pulling her into his arms for a fierce kiss, sharing street food, and talking like old friends.

That was the Jonah I never knew.

Throughout all those years, my heart was a room he never stepped into.

"He's gonna have to deal with this eventually. Maybe it's best to just rip off the band-aid."

"And it's not like he truly values me as his mom."

After that, I was gone, and Simon was probably thrilled: No more homework nagging, no enforced bedtime, and no more veggies on his plate.

Still, I had to return one last time for my documents and my bags.

So, back I went with Jonah.

I figured he had run off to Tracy as soon as he dropped me off. She was a celebrity then, and her every move was splashed across the internet.

However, Jonah stayed and even offered to help me pack.

I turned him down, and he ended up in the living room, watching TV with Simon, the two chatting in hushed tones.

I did not join in. I just headed upstairs to gather my few possessions.

Anything I ever saved went to making their lives comfortable, buying household items, and stocking the fridge.

I remember how determined I was back then, vowing never to be just a housewife.

For a decade, I was Jonah's devoted wife and the invisible caretaker of our boxy little home.

When it came time to pack up my life, all I had to show for those years was a single suitcase. I was ready to walk out the door when Jonah called out to me.

"Amelia, you're still weak from the miscarriage. Let me get a nanny to look after you for a bit, then you can go," he said.

Simon, my son, piped up too. "Mom, finals are almost here. You've got to help me cram!"

Their pleas bounced off me like pebbles off a steel wall.

My mind was stuck on the baby we had lost—the baby that was never meant to be.

Jonah came home drunk that night.

He staggered into the house, and I rushed to catch him.

His eyes were red, and he kept murmuring, "Tracy, I can't let you go."

It was the first time I had ever seen him so upset. Then, he forced himself on me.

I asked him if he knew who I was.

He stared at me for a long moment and finally said, "You're Amelia."

A month later, the pregnancy test turned positive, and Jonah's reaction was as indifferent as his comfort—nonexistent.

I was done searching through the wreckage for anything sweet.

"Your dad can help you study," I told Simon, my voice steady.

"Or better yet, let him find you a tutor. I won't be around to do it anymore. You'll have to learn to take care of yourself."

The shock on their faces was almost comical—they had never imagined I would say no.

Without another word, I turned my back on the life I had known for ten long years and did not look back.