Divorce Prescription Novels & Stories

"Do you not understand basic English or do you need me to spell it out for you? I am the one fucking your husband and I'm the one taking over your name once you're thrown out!" Shaking terribly, I turned to my husband, hoping all this is just a crazy joke. "Blake?" "It's over, Scarlett." Blake's voice was flat, like he was ending a business call. "Divorce papers are being finalized. You'll get the condo in Westside, a monthly allowance for two years. More than fair, considering the circumstances." I clutched the wilting flowers against my chest. "Circumstances?" "Don't be deliberately obtuse," Blake snapped, his patience visibly thinning. "Three years. Three wasted years waiting for you to d

He even remembered to remind her, "Oh, yes. If you successfully give birth to the child and agree to the divorce, I can give you alimony. If you insist on letting things turn ugly, I can promise you that you won't get a single cent." With that, Mr. Jennings walked into the lift, ignoring the shrieks and cries of the woman behind him. He had considered divorce in the past, but he never set his mind to it. When she subsequently became pregnant, the idea of divorce shifted to the back of his mind.

After the doctor's final checkup, he handed over the prescription. "Everything's healed up nicely. Have your husband handle the discharge paperwork and pick up the medication." Cora took it, her tone completely neutral. "He's not my husband. We're divorced." The next second, the hospital ward door swung open. George walked in, looking shocked. "Divorced? What do you mean, divorced?"

"In our generation, we used to call her the Queen of Smiles.” "Turns out, marriage can affect a woman this much!" People flooded my social media accounts asking: "Did you really get a divorce?" "This isn’t scripted, is it? You’re really going to divorce him, right?" I, rarely active on social platforms, responded for the first time: "Divorce involves many factors and is still being processed." The concerned comments didn’t stop there. They rushed over to Hector's company’s live stream, filling the comments with even more questions.

He picks up a stack of documents and lays them flat between us. “The divorce papers are ready.” My heart knocks once, hard, and then settles into a strange, slow thud. Cyrus continues. “Now, we’ve laid everything out according to Chicago law. Since there’s no prenuptial agreement, and you both accumulated assets during the marriage, there will be a fifty-fifty split unless one party contests. Your claim for irreconcilable differences is strong, especially with what you’ve told me, but if Julian chooses to challenge it…”

“And you won’t expect loyalty over truth?” “I expect discretion,” he said. “That’s not the same thing.” “No,” he agreed. Silence lingered. Yasmin flipped a page. “Divorce clause.” Charles nodded. “After five years, automatic eligibility for dissolution with pre-agreed settlement.” “And before five years?” Amara asked. “Penalty structure,” Charles replied. “Meaning?” Edward answered. “If either party exits early without breach, financial compensation applies.” “How much?” she asked. Charles named a number.

Maybe Marcus had finally decided to explain. My hands trembled as I opened it. My world stopped. The glass slipped from my fingers and shattered on the floor. My body felt as though ice water had been poured through my veins. My eyes blurred as I read the words again and again, praying they would change. It wasn’t a love letter. It wasn’t an apology. It was a divorce letter. I covered my mouth to stop myself from screaming. Tears streamed freely as I stumbled into the living room, fumbling through my bag for my phone. My hands shook so badly that I emptied everything onto the floor just to find it.

For eighteen years, my wife, Elizabeth Connerty, never once reached out to her first love, Lucas Ryder. She committed herself fully to me and cooked warm meals for me. She attended every parent-teacher conference for our daughter. She carefully planned our family trips year after year. That was how we lived—quietly, steadily, and happily—for eighteen years. But after our daughter celebrated her eighteenth birthday, I turned to Elizabeth and said, "Let's get a divorce." She stood in the doorway of our daughter's bedroom, staring at me in stunned silence. I added calmly, "When our daughter was born, you promised me that once she turned eighteen, we would divorce."

He pulled the documents out. PETITION FOR DISSOLUTION OF MARRIAGE. The language was formal and efficient — the way Claire did everything, he imagined, the way Sophia had selected her to do everything. He read through the first section without stopping. The legal address of both parties. The date of marriage. The jurisdiction. The grounds, which were listed with the same precision and absence of drama that characterized every decision Sophia had made in the past month: irreconcilable differences, separation of parties, breakdown of the marital relationship.

"I'll hand you the divorce agreement in a short while, so you'd better clear out and make room for Patrick as soon as possible, Henry." She handed me the divorce agreement ten minutes later. She tapped them and said, "It was drawn up the day I got married—you certainly didn't let it go to waste, Henry." I suppressed that ill-timed sorrow in the depths of my heart and carefully signed my name on the agreement. Jasmine leaned on Patrick and walked away, glancing at me with her usual indifference just before leaving. "I hope you hold out longer this time and don't come begging me again, Henry."