Turning Heads After Divorce

It was January 15th in Everton. A bitter winter night brought heavy snowflakes that blanketed the ground, only to be trampled into a muddy slush by pedestrians and vehicles.

A blue Audi sat parked by the roadside. Bundled in a snow-white down coat and clutching a fresh bouquet of roses from the florist, Marisol Speight walked toward her car while dialing Lucian Muller's number.

Today marked their eighth wedding anniversary. She'd finished work early, hoping to surprise her husband with a romantic candlelit dinner to celebrate surviving the seven-year itch and stepping into their eighth year of marriage.

The first call went unanswered. After two more attempts, a cold voice finally answered. "What do you want?"

Marisol's smile faltered, but she pressed on. "We agreed to have dinner outside tonight. The reservation is at—"

"Working. Busy."

The line went dead before she could reply. Marisol stood frozen in the biting wind as she clutched her phone. The cold seeped into her bones, mirroring the hollow ache in her chest.

Did Lucian even remember what day it was? Promises kept crumbling into excuses, and now he couldn't spare even one evening for her.

Exhaustion washed over her. As she closed her eyes briefly, she rallied herself to call her son, Andre Muller.

Earlier, she'd arranged for her mother-in-law, Elizabeth Telson, to take Andre for the day to ensure they could have a quiet dinner by themselves. Now that the plan had fallen through, she needed to pick him up from the Muller family residence.

…

Meanwhile, in an opulent corner of the lavish restaurant sat a strikingly beautiful woman and a seven-year-old boy. The boy was engrossed in his brand-new gaming console. He was oblivious to the flashing call notification on the phone beside him.

The woman next to him glanced at the screen. When she saw "Mom" flashing on the caller ID, her almond-shaped eyes glinted slyly. She answered the call with a quick swipe, muted it, and flipped the phone face down on the table.

"Andy," she cooed sweetly, "do you like the game console I bought you?"

On the other end of the line, Marisol froze when she heard the unfamiliar woman's voice. A sudden chill ran down her spine.

It was Nevaeh Sorensen. She was Lucian's childhood friend and his so-called first love.

Wasn't she supposed to be pursuing her doctorate abroad? Why was she back? And why was she with Andre?

…

Inside the restaurant, Andre finally looked up from his game. He grinned as he nodded.

"I love it! You're the best, Nevaeh. Thank you!"

Nevaeh's red lips curved into a smile as she said, "That's surprising. Doesn't your family buy you games?"

With the vast wealth of the Muller Group, Lucian could easily buy entire gaming companies—let alone a single console.

Andre pouted. "It's not that. Dad and my grandparents let me play whatever I want. It's just Mom.

"She's always nagging me about everything. She even times my gaming and takes the console away when I play too long… You're just way better, Nevaeh."

Nevaeh ruffled his hair and gently said, "Don't say that. Your mom just worries about your eyes.

"She loves you. She'd be sad if she heard this."

"Nah, she wouldn't."

Andre went back to his game. He shrugged as he continued, "Mom's super nice. I've never even seen her mad."

Nevaeh chuckled softly and then glanced at the food. After a moment, she picked up a piece of spicy buffalo wings and fed it to Andre, who was too absorbed in his game to eat.

"I remember you once said your mom makes amazing spicy dishes? I love good spicy food myself."

Andre happily took the bite. "Yeah! Mom's cooking is the best—even better than restaurants!

"Dad and I both love it. If you like it too, you should come over sometime. I'll ask her to make it for you!"

Nevaeh's eyes sparkled with amusement. "Oh? Really?"

"Of course!" Andre said, as if it were obvious.

"You're Nevaeh! Dad and I both like you a lot. You can totally come over."

"So… You really like me, huh, Andy?" She asked while playfully poking his soft cheek.

Andre nodded while nuzzling against her finger. "I just wish Mom could be more like you. She's so annoying with all her rules."

…

The wind howled mercilessly as snow swirled violently through the air. Marisol stood motionless in the blizzard. Her hair and eyelashes were frosted over. As the words from her phone reached her ears, her eyes gradually reddened.

Of course, her spicy dishes were delicious.

Knowing that both her husband and son loved fiery flavors, she'd spent her free time training with professional chefs to master spicy cuisine. She'd cook for them on weekends when she wasn't busy, and her skills rivaled those of top-tier restaurant chefs.

Yet hearing Andre's words now made her chest tighten painfully. This was the son she'd cherished for seven years.

Seven years of devotion and care, only to be dismissed as "annoying and nagging" and inferior to Nevaeh.

She wanted to hang up when suddenly a familiar yet foreign voice came through the speaker, making her frozen fingers twitch involuntarily.

"Sorry, I was just handling something..."

It was Lucian's voice. Marisol's heart ached as a bitter laugh escaped her lips. So this was the "work" he'd been so busy with?

On their eighth wedding anniversary, he was dining with his childhood friend and first love, and he had even brought their son along?

At that moment, the call had already disconnected. Marisol laughed hysterically in the snowstorm. Her reddened eyes glistened with unshed tears. With sudden violence, she hurled the bouquet of roses to the ground and crushed the flowers beneath her heel.

The heart-shaped crimson rose petals lay scattered across the snow. Their vivid fragments were scattered like splashes of blood against the white expanse.

Marisol climbed into the car and allowed the blasting heater to slowly thaw her frozen limbs. Feeling gradually returned to her numb body as she sat motionless.

Just then, memories flashed through her mind like passing clouds.

She'd always known Lucian only married her because of that chaotic night—because she'd gotten pregnant and because of his mother's pressure.

He never loved her. If anything, he resented her.

He hated her for tearing apart his destined relationship with his first love. He despised her for what he saw as her scheming, underhanded ways.

But back then, she'd been naive. The fleeting warmth of touching someone untouchable had dazzled her. She'd believed that if she just loved him enough, stayed quiet and obedient, things would eventually work out.

And what had it gotten her? Seven years of marriage filled with retaliatory coldness.

Even their son had grown distant. He was rejecting her at every turn.

In this household, she might as well have been invisible—an appliance no one noticed or cared about.

Seven years was long enough. The ice around Lucian's heart would never melt, no matter how long she tried. It was time to end this.

The warm glow of car lights illuminated Marisol's pale, delicate features. Her elegantly straight nose was now tinged cherry red from the sudden temperature change.

Flexing fingers that still felt stiff from the cold, she sent a message to an old friend from her Everton University days, who was now a divorce lawyer.

They arranged to meet tomorrow to discuss divorce proceedings and asset division.