Divorcing Me Three Years After My Death Novels & Stories

"What do you mean?" "You said you didn't register his death. Which automatically means that according to the law, you two are still married. Do you get it now?" Jean pauses and then shakes her head. "Why? What does that have to do with anything?" Alfred shakes his head vigorously. "In the marriage law these days, once a statutorily married couple divorce, they can't remarry until one passes away. What I'm trying to say is that he wants you dead so he can comfortably get married to Angela. His pretty little angel. The same woman who was in his office that day."

*This whole time. Not just a husband who drifted. Not just a mother in law who never liked me. Two people. Working together. Having conversations I was never part of. Looking at my marriage from the outside and deciding it was already finished before I even knew it was in trouble. I thought about the hotel. Room 032. Sandra's face in the dark. That smile. I thought about every business trip. Every late night. Every distracted dinner where he looked straight through me. How many of those had Margaret known about?

And unlike me three years ago, my wedding dress was rented for five hundred dollars. They stood at the door to welcome the guests, and everyone beside them gave them their most sincere blessings. Every member of the expedition team that I went through fire and water with was present at the wedding. Three years after my death, they had all accepted Winston and Vivian. My intern, Blake Ferguson, handed over a delicate gift. "For Vivian and Winston, happy to see you getting married. "On the big day, you have to drink with me later." Vivian leaned into Winston's arms and said with a smile, "Winston and I are preparing for pregnancy, so he can't drink."

Her hand was resting against his chest, fingers splayed like she had every right to touch him, like she owned him, and it felt like I was living a nightmare. My stomach dropped so suddenly I thought I might actually collapse right here between strangers. Then someone raised a glass. “Alright, everyone. Let the lovebirds have their moment.” Everyone turned their attention toward them. I watched as Jean pulled Marie a little closer, his hand settling at her waist as a small smile curved his lips. I couldn't breathe. I was literally gasping for air, still holding onto the cake like a pathetic fool. “Three years,” someone said loudly, voice like a sharp knife digging into my chest. “That’s not e

I retorted, staring directly into her eyes. She should see that I'm not joking. She should understand that I don’t associate with people who think mistreating others is acceptable, and I certainly don’t keep memories of those who made my life miserable. She gave an awkward laugh. “I think you might have forgotten who I am, but no worries, I don’t mind bringing your memory back. Three years ago, you married my son and then things went wrong, leading to your divorce,” She paused and took a step forward, causing me to instinctively step back.

"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

Today is the day. The day that I am finally divorcing my husband. The thought should have hurt more. Three years ago, Genevieve Everhart would have cried at the idea of divorce. Two years ago, she would have begged for another chance. A year ago, she might have stayed awake all night wondering what she had done wrong. Today, in three hours, twenty-seven minutes, and fourteen seconds, my marriage will officially cease to exist. I’ve honestly waited thirty days for this moment.

"The nurse just called me. What's up with you? Don't be so…" He suddenly fell silent. His gaze swept past the empty bed and landed on the nightstand, where a document sat. "Divorce Settlement Agreement" were the words at the top of the first page. Beside the document lay the aftercare instructions for miscarriage. On top of the divorce papers was the wedding ring I had never once taken off. Beneath the ring was a note. Zachary stiffly pulled it out. I had written the sentence down with all my energy. The note read, "Zachary, your inability to let go of her killed our child."

I'm sure Nyla would be grateful to us for ending the treatment. I would always blame my parents for picking them up in the first place, a bunch of ungrateful brats. I was so happy Naya got what was coming to her now she had to spend the rest of her life with that creep, or at least three years. The contracts stated that divorce could only happen after three years of marriage and three years was a long time. “I can't wait to see how drained and disgusting she looks,” I said to myself smiling from ear to ear

"How did you…" "You signed this." I pushed the contract toward him. "Right here. Your signature, witnessed by pack elders. Do you remember what you agreed to?" He didn't answer. "Let me read it to you." I pulled out the relevant page. "'In the event of the death of one partner, the surviving spouse shall enter a period of mourning for no less than three and a half years. During this time, they shall not enter into a new romantic union or contract of marriage.'" I looked up at him. "My mother died in May 2004. You married Sabrina in September 2005. Seventeen months. Not three and a half years. Seventeen months."