Chapter 1

Randy's Pov

On the day of our fifth-year-anniversary, three days ago, I walked in on my wife, touching herself and moaning, until she orgasmed with another man's name on her lips and for the first time in my life, I cried.

My leg bounced repeatedly on the floor as my eyes darted towards the grandfather's antic clock on the wall for the umpteenth time.

“Where are you, Clara?” I wondered aloud as the clock read 2:00am. Even though the memory of my wife pining for another man while touching herself remained clear in my head, I still sat there like a fool, worried about her safety. Old habits die hard I guess. The words echoed in my head as I heard the front door being unlocked from outside.

“Hey, where have you been? it's two in the morning?” I asked, moving quickly to the door.

Clara walked in, her phone against her ears and a bright smile on her face as she totally ignored my entire presence.

“In your condition, you can't drink,” I began to say, but Clara dumped the black coat on my body and walked past me like I was just some immovable coat rack, "you know that,” I completed, turning towards her.

“Yes, I know Kyle,” she said into her phone, “I just got home,” she added with the bright smile still on her face.

That smile, she never smiled at me like that. The thoughts echoed in my head as I momentarily moved my eyes away from her face.

“So, are we still on for Spain next week? Because I found a really gorgeous beach resort,” she said, her words slurring slightly as she fixed her gaze on something imaginary on the floor.

Her posture was the exact way a girl would stand talking to a man she loved.

“Yeah, of course. It would be just us. And, uh, thank you for letting me wear your jacket,” she continued. The word ‘jacket’ snapped my eyes back to her face, “it smells just like you,” she added.

Without a single word, I threw the jacket to the floor, the wool material landing with an unceremonious thud to the floor. The action made Clara’s eyes widen with a flash of anger appearing on her face.

“What the hell is your problem?” she asked, pausing her call, “Pick that up,” she ordered, her tone sounding bossy.

“Why do you have Kyle's jacket?” I asked, ignoring her words.

“Oh my god,” she slurred slightly, rolling her eyes. “We were drinking and I spilled some wine on myself, so I showered and changed my clothes and I borrowed his jacket. What is the big deal?”

“You were at his hotel room, drinking alone, and…” I paused, wondering what the point was. “it doesn't matter,” I finished, my voice sounding dejected. “Look, I prepared you a meal and I fixed your room upstairs,” I said in the same tone.

“Oh my God, Randy. Can you stop pestering me?” She asked, making my forehead crease in confusion. “I mean, seriously. You remember I pay for everything, right? And you are just some useless stay-at-home husband,” she said as she walked closer to me and shoved me slightly. And despite the shove being not so hard, I felt the pain, nonetheless.

“Plus, if you have this much time on your hands to lecture me, why don't you try being useful, like Kyle,” she added, a small smile playing briefly on her lips as she mentioned his name before she walked away from me.

The comparison hit me like a slap in the face and it made my forehead crease further, not in confusion this time, but in pain. Clara, If I hadn't agreed to take care of you five years ago, I would still be the lead Physicist at the National Regenerative Medical Centre (NRMC), but here I was, constantly subjected to your ridicule and comparison.

As I went to bed that night I asked myself deep questions, questions that I had intentionally blocked from my mind until now. Was loving and staying with Clara Hall really worth it? Was falling in love with a “billionaire” heiress truly worth all the insults, degradation and everything else she had been dishing out to me for the past five years?

For the past five years, I've been taking care of you, preparing all your meals, putting your seizure medication in all your jackets, spraying diazepam on all your clothes, all in the bid keep you alive, and make sure you had immediate relief whenever you had any episodes, but you never even noticed these things.

***

The next morning came with clarity, much more than I had had in years. The answer to my question stared right in my face as I had woken up early in the morning to get the documents prepared.

Eight years loving you and five years of calling you my wife. Today, I, Randy White has finally decided to give you what you've always wanted—freedom, sealed in ink. Divorce papers.

“Oh yeah,” Clara giggled into her phone as she walked down the stairs, “yes, Kyle of course I have time tomorrow night,” she said as walked straight to the dining table and settled down, “Okay, yeah. I'll see you soon,” she said, giggling again at something he had said.

Tomorrow, both of us will be free, I said in my head as I carefully sat down on the chair next to hers and moved the divorce paper across the little space between us, dropping it right in front of her.

“Oh my gosh, Kyle, the photo you sent about the northern lights was perfect,” she said into her phone, giggling. A fresh frown coated my already down face as I looked up at Clara’s face, she was so closed up in her little bubble with Kyle that she hadn't even noticed the divorce paper I dropped in front of her.

Then the call ended, making her drop her phone on the table. As she did, her elbow brushed the surface of the divorce document, making it slide onto the floor.

I should have known all this while that I could never compare to Kyle, the thought swirled in my head as my gaze followed the paper to where it landed on the floor,

“Randy, where is my breakfast?” Clara asked, obviously oblivious to my line of thought.

Clara, yesterday was the last time I will ever cook for you, I said in my head as I slowly bent to the floor to pick up the document.

“I’m hungry,” she said again when I didn't answer. “Hello?” she called, snapping her fingers in front of my face. “Am I not talking to you or did you suddenly become deaf as well as mute?” she asked.

With the divorce paper now in my hand, I sat up and moved the papers in front of her again, “Clara, let's get a divorce.”