The Last Goodbye

Two days had gone by since that night, since everything broke open like glass under her feet, since the lies became too loud to ignore, since Dorian showed her the family he had built outside the one he promised her, and still, the house was quiet, like even the walls were holding their breath.

Leona sat in the kitchen, the light from the small window falling across her face, a cold cup of coffee sitting untouched in front of her, the surface dark, the steam long gone, just like the warmth that used to live in this home, she hadn’t touched it. 

Her cheek still aching from the slap Dorian gave her, but the pain didn’t sting the way it did before, now it sat there, dull and distant, like a reminder she had already learned to live with.

She hadn’t cried again. Not since that night.

She thought she would, she thought the tears would come and drown her, but they never did, something inside her had dried up, not like something dying, but like something preparing to burn, and all that was left now was silence.

Until it broke.

The front door slammed open, loud and hard, the noise bounced through the house, but Leona didn’t flinch, she didn’t even blink, her body didn’t move, because she already knew who it was.

Dorian

And right behind him, like a storm that never stops, came the sharp voice of the woman who had never wanted her there, who had always looked at her like she didn’t belong, who had smiled with tight lips and eyes full of judgment.

His mother

“You could’ve killed him,” the older woman yelled, heels clicking loud against the floor as she stormed into the kitchen, her purse swinging like a weapon at her side, her face twisted with rage, “my son could’ve died because of you”

Leona didn’t speak, she stood slowly, pushing the chair back with a soft scrape, her hands still resting by her sides.

“You attacked a mother,” the woman kept going, her voice sharper with every word, “a child’s mother, and for what, because she gave him something you couldn’t, because she gave him an heir, something you never could.”

Leona’s fingers curled slowly into fists, her nails pressing into her palms, but still, she said nothing, her mouth stayed closed, her jaw tight.

Dorian walked in a second later, moving slower than his mother, a small white bandage above his eyebrow where the glass from the lamp had cut him, the skin around it still red and swollen, he looked tired, but not weak, his eyes were cold, like all the warmth she once loved had been stripped away and replaced with stone.

He didn’t say hello. He didn’t ask how she was.

He just walked forward and placed a folder on the table in front of her, and it landed with a soft thud.

She looked down at it

Then at the pen he dropped beside it

“Divorce papers,” he said, his voice flat, like it was just business, like she was just another deal to finish, another file to close.

The air in the room changed, thick and tight, like something waiting to explode.

His mother kept talking, her voice rising like a siren, her words ugly, calling Leona ungrateful, calling her barren, calling her unfit to be a wife, a woman, a partner, acting like this was all her fault, like Dorian was a poor man caught in the mess of a woman who couldn’t give him what he needed.

Leona didn’t look at her, she didn’t shout. She didn’t defend herself

She just looked at the folder, her name printed neatly on the front, next to his, the name she had carried for ten years, the name she thought would be hers forever, and then she looked at the pen, so small, so light, but heavy in her hand when she picked it up.

Dorian stepped closer, pointing at the line where her signature was needed

“Just sign it,” he said, his voice sharp now, “You have nothing left here.”

Her eyes slowly rose to meet his, calm and silent.

She didn’t blink as she placed the pen on the paper, her hand didn’t shake, her breath didn’t waver, she wrote her name in one smooth motion, not because she agreed with him, not because she gave up, but because she had already decided.

She set the pen down gently, like it didn’t matter anymore. Because it didn't.

And then, finally, she looked at him.

“This house." She said, her voice even, strong and clear, “It's mine."

Dorian’s jaw tightened.

His mother made a sound like she was about to protest, but Leona turned to her before she could speak.

“That company he brags about." She said, her eyes steady, her voice never rising, “My money started it, my ideas helped shape it, I was there from the ground up, when there was nothing but borrowed dreams and a couch with springs sticking out!"

She turned back to Dorian, stepping closer, just enough to make him feel it.

“Everything you think you own." She said, her voice dropping low, sharper than ever, “Was built on me.”

He didn’t speak, neither did he deny it, because he couldn’t.

She leaned in just a little more, her words soft but like fire.

“And I’ll be back for all of it!"

She let the words hang in the air.

Then she turned around, her head held high, her steps slow but steady, and walked out of the kitchen without a second glance, her heart still beating fast, her hands still sore. She didn’t stop until she reached the stairs.

She didn’t stop when she heard his mother shouting after her. She didn’t stop when Dorian called her name.

Because none of them mattered now. She had signed the papers, yes. But that wasn’t the end

That was just the start of something new. And this time, she wouldn’t be the quiet one in the background. She wouldn’t be the girl behind the curtain.

She wouldn’t be the woman who gave everything and kept nothing.

No.

This time, she was going to take back every piece of herself they stole.

And make them watch her rise.