The Divorce

The next afternoon came at me hard. The kind of daylight that doesn’t feel warm, just mean. I wished I could just roll over and vanish under the covers.

I’d barely slept. Every time I closed my eyes, I heard it, her moaning, him grunting, my own pathetic sobs. Like a loop I couldn’t shut off. By the time the sun pushed through the curtains I gave up.

I took a shower, scrubbing until my skin went red, trying to wash the shame off me like it was dirt. It didn’t work.

Jeans. Oversized sweater. Comfort clothes. I couldn’t even think about putting on makeup. I went downstairs, headed for coffee.

The kitchen staff looked right through me, like always. I was a ghost in that house unless Mateo wanted someone to humiliate.

Halfway through my second cup, I heard the front door.

My stomach dropped.

Footsteps in the foyer. Two sets. One heavy, familiar. The other lighter, clicking on the marble in high heels.

I set the mug down. My hands were already shaking.

Then they walked in.

Mateo looked exactly like he always did: tall, sharp-featured, handsome in a way that felt like a weapon. Expensive suit, dark hair perfect, watch gleaming.

And her.

Vanessa. His accountant. Mid-twenties, blonde, that gym-and-meal-plan body. Tight red dress. Designer heels that made her legs go on forever.

I’d been the idiot who told him to hire her. Back when I still thought being a good wife meant making his life easier.

Now she was the one chasing me out of my own marriage.

They were all over each other. His hand on her waist, her fingers in his tie. They kissed like I wasn’t even there. Her little moan turned my stomach.

When they finally broke apart, Mateo’s eyes landed on me.

No warmth. No guilt. Just that cold indifference.

“Sign this,” he said. He pulled a manila folder from his briefcase and tossed it onto the island.

It slid across the granite and stopped by my mug.

I stared at it. “What is it?”

“Divorce papers,” he said flat. “Sign them. Get the fuck out whenever you want.”

It hit like a slap. I knew this was coming. Of course I did. But hearing it, casual like he was talking about a deal, made something inside me crack.

Vanessa smirked, leaning into him. “I can’t believe you stayed with her this long, baby.”

Baby. She called him baby. Like it was normal.

Mateo’s hand slid down and grabbed her ass, hard enough she gasped. “Me neither.” He looked at me, his lip curling. “Look at this compared to that.”

This. He meant Vanessa. Tight, pretty, shiny.

That. He meant me. Worthless. Fat. Broken.

I couldn’t breathe.

Vanessa giggled, actually giggled, and tugged him toward the stairs. “Come on. I’m not done with you yet.”

“Patience, baby,” he murmured, but he followed her.

They disappeared upstairs. Within seconds I heard it again. Her moaning. His grunts. The headboard banging the wall.

They weren’t even trying to be quiet.

I stood there frozen, the sounds echoing through the house. A reminder. You’re nothing. You’ve always been nothing.

One of the maids, Rosa, I think, walked past, eyes averted. But I caught the smirk before she turned away.

She knew. They all knew.

Mateo had slept with half the staff. They’d all watched me pretend not to see, watched me play the dutiful wife while he humiliated me over and over.

But what did I do? Nothing.

And that was it, wasn’t it? I’d done nothing. Said nothing. Let him walk all over me because I was scared, ashamed, convinced I had nowhere else to go.

Well. Fuck that.

I moved like a robot. Up the stairs, past their room, Vanessa screaming his name so loud the neighbors probably heard, and into the guest room where I’d been sleeping for a year.

I pulled my old suitcase from the closet. Small. Battered. The same one I’d carried in when I married him.

I started packing.

Not the designer clothes. Not the jewelry or the shoes. None of the things meant to make me feel like I belonged.

Just my stuff. Worn jeans. Old sweaters. The books from my childhood. The few photos I had of my parents, whoever they were, because Clara and Robert never told me the truth.

It all fit in one small suitcase.

Three years of marriage, and that’s what I had to show for it.

I zipped the bag. My hands were steady now. Numb.

Back downstairs. Past their room, moaning finally stopped, and into the kitchen. Papers still on the island.

I didn’t read them. Didn’t care. Signed the highlighted lines and left them there.

Grabbed my suitcase. Walked out the front door.

The staff watched. Some with pity. Some with contempt. Rosa smirked again, whispering to another maid. They laughed.

I didn’t care.

Down the driveway, past the hedges and the fountain that cost more than most people make in a year. Past the gate that buzzed open automatically.

Out onto the street.

The air was warm, the sun too bright. My suitcase wheels scraped the pavement, loud in the quiet neighborhood.

I didn’t look back.

Not at the house. Not at the life I was leaving. Not at the man who spent three years tearing me down.

I just kept walking.

The bus stop was two blocks away. I sat on the bench, suitcase at my feet, and waited.

People passed, living their lives, not giving me a second look. Just another woman with a suitcase. Another nobody.

The bus came fifteen minutes later. I got on, paid cash from my wallet, and slid into a seat at the back.

As it pulled away, I finally looked out the window.

The mansion shrank in the distance. Vanessa’s car still in the driveway.

I wondered if Mateo even knew I was gone. If he cared.

Probably not.

The tears came then. Silent. Hot. Running down my face as the bus carried me away from the last three years.

I was heading back to Clara and Robert’s. Back to the people who sold me into this nightmare.

I had nowhere else to go.

But as the city blurred past the glass, something flickered inside me.

Anger.

Not at Mateo, though he deserved it. Not at Vanessa. Not at the maids.

At me.

For staying. For accepting. For believing I deserved it.

I wiped my tears and sat up straighter.

I didn’t know what came next. Didn’t know how I’d survive, where I’d go, what I’d do.

But I knew one thing.

I was done being invisible.

Done being broken.

I didn’t know who I was yet, or what waited outside this bus, but I knew Mateo.

And if there’s one thing he hates more than a wife he can ignore… it’s a woman who walks away.