Her Condition

Ethan swallowed, his grip on Irene subconsciously tightening. “What is the condition?”

Zara slowly bit her inner cheek, trying to conceal the pain of betrayal with a physical pain, something she could handle better to prevent the tears from streaming out.

“I get full custody of the kids.” She announced, her voice was firm despite her shaky breath. “I don’t want another lady raising my children.”

Ethan was shocked by her condition, but his expression remained calm. Even though he had already been planning to divorce her, he somehow didn’t think about the custody of their kids– or maybe it was because he just didn’t think Zara would ever dare to make such a request. She has no way of raising two children on her own—or so she thought.

“W—we can talk about this another…”

“We are going to come to an agreement now!” Her voice was sharp, even the audience murmurs couldn’t stop her.

Ethan might need a break from his family but he did sincerely love his children so it wasn’t exactly something he could readily agree to. At the same time, he knew moving out of Chicago with them when his company wasn't even fully established would be a terrible idea.

Irene leaned in and whispered, “Babe, let her have them for now. You can get them back when you’re ready.”

Irene’s words were the right trigger he needed to give the answer Zara desired, “Fine. You can keep them.” He replied, forcing a fake calm that didn’t quite match his personality.

Zara will never leave Chicago. So it isn’t such a bad deal for him.

Zara didn’t utter another word—despite the audience murmur. Despite the frantic words of the hostess who was desperately trying to make sure they knew what they were doing before she signed the papers.

The thoughts of starting all over again at ‘a year to 30’ clouded her head, deafened her ears, and forced a tear trickling down her eye as she scribbled her signatures into the paper after quickly reading it through.

Ethan was generous enough to give her a good amount as her alimony and also agreed to pay for the children's upkeep monthly. And the custody papers were provided by the TV show.

The only thing she had to her name was a degree in architecture which had been laying at home for the past 6 years. Even that certificate wasn't her dream.

All the while Ethan’s gaze was fixed on the pen, expecting it to stop moving at some point in Zara attempts to resist the divorce. But when that didn't happen until the last page, he snapped, marching towards her and yanking her hand off the paper.

“What? You're just going to sign it without a fight— without begging me to stay back for the kids?” His voice rose, sharp with disbelief. “You— do you think you can survive with the kids without me?” his eyes narrowed, each word dripping with accusation.

He was the one asking for the divorce and yet, he was angry she was accepting it. Even when they went on a family trip five months ago to try to reignite the romance, divorce was the only thing that was on his mind—yet, his blood boiled seeing Zara finally take the bold step.

This made Irene writhe in her seat, squeezing the hem of her dress to suppress the anger.

Zara chuckled dryly, but by the time she raised her head to meet his eyes, they turned so cold that it sent chills running down his spine and he gently let go of her hand.

“I've begged, Ethan. Three years till today. I’m done trapping you with the kids.” She said as she scribbled her signature on the last page of the paper.

Once it was all done, Zara struggled to her feet. She was a few inches shorter than him and had to raise her sparkling ocean blue eyes to stare up at him.

“Thanks for the most wonderful birthday present, Ethan Campbell.” She smiled brightly. Handing the divorce papers, she added, “Here is my anniversary gift to you. I hope you cherish it for the rest of your life, because I will cherish mine.”

Her gaze darted to Irene who was now standing behind Ethan, eager to see the papers.

The smile in her eyes disappeared as she locked eyes with Zara.

“Irene, thank you. For being my friend while teaching me what it's like to live with the enemy.”

With that, she turned towards the studio exit, limping away while pushing her wheelchair in front of her. She gained some weight over the years, but just enough to show that she was more matured now, and had two kids. Her hourglass shape was still intact, because she didn't actually let herself go despite being a housewife.

She felt their stares boring into her back as she walked away.

Some audience booed, some clapped and some cheered but all Zara wanted at that moment was to disappear. From the studio. From their faces.

She wished. Begged. Hoped. That the ground would just open up and swallow her. But even that was a far fetched dream— just like her dream of being a Ballerina at ‘a year to 30’. That too with a ruptured achilles tendon.

It was only once she was out of the studio that she sat back and accelerated the speed on her electric wheelchair.

Even though it was barely past 9pm, most of the stalls were closed because of the heavy rain. They had been in the studio for too damn long not to know it was pouring heavily.

But none of that bothered Zara. She wanted to escape. To cry her heart out without being heard. Under the rain looks like the best option.

She ran toward the highway that led to the hills, her tears falling freely as she wailed at the top of her voice.

The rain felt cleansing as it soaked through her clothes, washing away the makeup she had carefully applied. For the first time in years, she wasn’t trying to look perfect. She wasn’t trying to be anyone but herself. Or live for anyone.

Although she wasn't disappointed in what she had become, this wasn’t exactly how she imagined her future.

She has always loved ballet and was naturally good at it. But her Dad didn't think it was a good idea.

“You are a Quinn! I will never let you become an exotic dancer.” He was adamant in his demand even after Zara’s desperate attempts to explain Ballet was different from exotic dancers.

He wanted her to be in the business world. To work alongside her brothers in running their Architectural and interior designing empire.

No one fully supported her, not even her Mom, so she decided to follow the path his father had chosen while building her career on the side.

Falling in love and getting pregnant wasn’t part of the plan but when it came, she embraced it, thinking Ethan would go on the forever journey with her. That he will let her pursue her dream once their kids are mature enough.

Zara snapped her eyes open when her chair suddenly stopped, and realized she was in the middle of a rocky bridge a few meters off the main road. She had height issues causing her to immediately panic, fear quickly overcoming her pain.

The wind whipped at her long brown hair as she gripped the wet railing, her knuckles turning white.

The roar of the river below was deafening, each surge of water sending fear through her body.

She pressed the buttons on the wheelchair again and again, but the battery stayed dead. The storm seemed to mock her, thunder rumbling in the distance as the rain blurred her vision.

“Please, not now,” She whispered in fear.

Zara's wheelchair remained still on the uneven bridge, shrouded in darkness. Memories of how she became confined to the chair washed over her like relentless waves.

Ethan's distant expression, little Ella wobbling on her scooter, and the desperate dash to rescue her.

She could still hear the sickening snap as her feet twisted, the sharp pain mixing with the relief of holding her daughter, unharmed except for a small scratch.

But now, in the quiet of the night, that moment of relief felt like a fading memory, overtaken by the heavy burden of loneliness.

Gathering all her courage, she pushed herself upright, the pain in her legs shooting through her like bolts of electricity. She winced but steadied herself, her trembling hands still clinging to the icy metal of the railing. The bridge creaked beneath her weight, the slick surface threatening to undo her every step.

Step by agonizing step, she began to limp toward the other side. Rain stung her face, blurring her vision, but she didn’t dare stop. Each movement was a fight against her own body, against the storm, against the river raging below.

Then her foot slipped.

The world tilted, and she let out a strangled cry as her hand lost its grip on the railing. Her legs buckled, and she tumbled backward, hitting the wet metal floor of the bridge before rolling to the edge. She clawed at the slippery surface, her fingers searching for anything to hold on to.

“NO!” she screamed as her body slid over the edge.