Motherfucker

Vionne 's Pov.

I had barely slept. My head throbbed from the tears I refused to let fall, and my body felt heavy, like I’d aged years in one night. But I couldn’t hide in this house forever.

I had to face my family eventually.

And more importantly, I had to face her.

Nora.

My stepsister. My friend. The woman who smiled in my childhood pictures, who helped me with prom makeup, who cried during my wedding speech, pretending to be happy for me.

All a lie.

She didn’t just take my husband, she took my peace, my confidence, my sense of home. And today, I needed answers.

I rose to my feet slowly, ignoring the stiffness in my legs. I walked to the closet, standing there for a long time, just staring. Everything inside reminded me of the life I no longer had dresses Harrison complimented, shoes we picked out together, the scarf he bought me in Paris.

I reached for a long-sleeved navy-blue dress. It hugged my waist just enough, modest but flattering. I brushed out my hair, letting it fall softly over my shoulders, and applied light makeup to cover the puffiness under my eyes.

I wasn’t dressing up for him or for her. I needed to look like myself again, at least on the outside.

When I walked into the kitchen, my heels clicking against the tiles, I almost fooled myself into believing I was okay. The kettle was where it always sat. The sunlight hit the counter just right. Everything looked the same. But nothing felt the same.

My phone buzzed the moment I picked up my purse.

I glanced down, expecting maybe a message from my mother asking if I was still coming by. Instead, it was from an unknown number.

One single message.

No words.

Just a picture.

I froze as my eyes locked on the image.

It was Harrison and Nora. In the park. Holding hands.

She was in a flowy white dress, laughing at something he had said. He was gazing at her like she was the only person in the world. Like how he used to look at me. Her hand rested on his chest, their fingers intertwined like they belonged that way.

My stomach twisted.

Below the photo was a location pin. I recognized the park immediately. We used to walk there on Sundays. Feed the ducks. Talk about having kids.

A bitter laugh escaped my lips.

I should’ve ignored it. I should’ve gone to my parents’ house like I planned. Pretended like I was better than this.

But I wasn’t.

I grabbed my keys with shaking hands and walked straight to the car.

I didn’t even realize I was speeding until I hit the red light two blocks from the park. My fingers tightened around the steering wheel, my heart beating so loudly I could hear it echo in my ears.

What was I doing?

What was I hoping to see? To scream? To fight?

No. I wasn’t that woman. I didn’t want to be that woman.

Still, I turned into the park entrance, rolling slowly down the path until I found a spot to pull over. The picture wasn’t a lie. They were there. Just like the image had shown.

Only worse.

They were sitting on the bench, the one near the big oak tree we carved our initials into years ago. He had his arm around her. She leaned into him with a soft smile, one hand resting on her stomach like—

No.

No, please no.

Was she really pregnant not a lie made up?

I squinted through the windshield, trying to steady my breathing. Maybe it was just the way she sat, the dress, the angle. Or maybe it was nothing at all and my mind was playing cruel tricks on me.

But it felt like the final blow.

I wanted to scream. To run over there, pull her up by the arm and ask her how she could do this to me. How she could sleep in my bed, wear my ring, pretend to be my family and then steal everything I loved.

But I didn’t move.

I couldn’t.

I just sat there, hands gripping the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turned white.

Tears blurred my vision, but I blinked them away, refusing to let them fall. I wouldn’t cry in front of them. Not again.

From this angle, they looked perfect. Like a couple in a movie. Happy. Soft. Content. And for a moment, I hated how peaceful they looked. How untouched they seemed by the wreckage they left behind.

It wasn’t fair.

I had loved Harrison. Truly. With everything I had. I stood by him through job stress, family fights, infertility, loss after loss. I gave him every piece of me. I let him see the ugliest parts, and still, I stayed. I tried.

But it wasn’t enough.

I wasn’t enough.

I wiped my face with the back of my hand and reached for my purse. My fingers brushed against the divorce papers, still unsigned. I had planned to talk to Nora today, maybe hear her side, demand an explanation that might ease the pain even a little.

But now I knew better.

There was no explanation that would fix this.

No apology that could undo what I just saw.

I took one last look at them through the window. Nora leaned her head on his shoulder, and he kissed her forehead gently. That used to be my comfort. My safe place.

But not anymore.

It belonged to her now.

I pulled away from the curb and drove home in silence. No music. No noise. Just the hum of the engine and the sound of my heart breaking all over again.

By the time I stepped back into the house, the sun was lower in the sky. Shadows stretched across the floor, cold and quiet. My heels echoed on the hardwood as I walked straight to the table, divorce papers in hand.

I stared at them for a long time.

The lines, the spaces, the signatures.

Harrison had already signed. Neatly. Quickly. Like it was just another contract. Just another task to complete before moving on to a better life.

I pulled out a pen and signed my name at the bottom.

‘Vionne Wallace.’