Erica Durance Divorce Novels & Stories

Why wouldn’t my marriage with Diane work that way? “Marcus, I’ve known you since we were ten.” He sighed. “What happened with Diane this time? You better start talking.” I sucked in a deep breath before dropping the bomb. “We sleep in different rooms.” “What?!” “We’ve not been intimate in months.” “You’ve got to be kidding me, man.”

I could tell she was jealous, but what right did she have to feel such emotions? “Darcy,” I called out tenderly, trying to appease her. Darcy was swamped by tons of reporters for several days after the video of us kissing went viral. She wasn’t happy about the leak and kept apologizing to me since the day it happened. She even suggested we stay away from each other for the time being, as she feared Elena may use such things against me when settling the divorce. How on earth was I to tell her Elena and I weren’t getting a divorce anymore? Darcy didn’t deserve any of this, but my Dad’s health was paramount in the end. I couldn’t aggravate him.

I couldn't risk that again. Classes resumed, but Eric was a ghost. He lectured mechanically, avoiding my gaze. I wanted to explain, to tell him it was a mistake, but how? "Hey, your daughter had a panic attack, so I fake-agreed to date her"? Weeks blurred. Darcy and I ‘dated,’ held hands, movie nights, chaste kisses that felt hollow. She was happy, her asthma stable. Eric? He looked like hell, thinner, distant. I overheard him canceling office hours, saw him staring at photos on his phone—probably family pics, including Darcy.

The assets were split evenly, and so were the company shares. The last time I saw her was at the courthouse, when we picked up our divorce certificates. "Do you really not love me anymore?" I was silent for a moment. Then, I nodded. I didn't want to waste any more energy, for I had already learned my lesson the hard way. This time, I just wanted to live for myself. When I walked out of the courthouse, Erica's car was already waiting at the entrance. Dressed in an all-white pantsuit and holding a bouquet of flowers, she turned every head the moment she appeared.

Eric asked coldly. Last night, he'd already uncovered Eunice's private offshore account, which contained evidence of all the embezzlement she'd committed over the past few years. But Eunice still insisted stubbornly, "Eric, you're the only one I love. Why else would I have wanted to marry you?" The moment Eric recalled the humiliation he'd suffered that day, he felt like ripping her apart. He cut her off harshly. "That's enough! If it weren't for you, Claudia never would have run out on the wedding. All of this is because of you! And you still have the nerve to stand here and say it was for me?"

Tonight, he couldn't bring himself to leave. His thoughts circled back to Amelia again and again. The way she had looked at him in that ballroom. The way she had carried herself with composure he didn't remember. The way she had walked away without a backward glance. It irritated him. The divorce was finalized. The marriage was over. He had pushed for it relentlessly. Yet somehow, she remained lodged in his mind like a splinter he couldn't extract. His phone buzzed, snapping him from his reverie. His assistant appeared in the doorway moments later, a thick folder in hand.

But he willed himself to pay more attention to the words that were being said, rather than what was in front of him. "Have you forgotten,” Ivory reminded. “I sent divorce papers to you. I told you I don't want this marriage anymore. So technically, I'm no longer your wife." "Technically," Gadreel began, mocking her words. "A divorce agreement is only finalized after signed by two people and sent to the court house for approval and last I checked," Ivory was caught off guard, to the point that she flinched, when he suddenly placed his hand on the wall beside her and leaned in.

“What condition?” “Lira, please,” I said, carefully. “Give me three months, Just three months.... Let me prove myself to you before the divorce, If I don’t meet your expectations, if I fail again, you can go. You can divorce me, hate me, forget me. I won’t stop you.” with this, she sat up slowly. Her eyes were wide and glistening under the dim room light. Then suddenly. Her voice rose, breaking. “Oh really? Now you want to make things right?” Her voice cracked. “Why does it take time for you, Damian Blackwood?”

"Mr. Harper, do you contest any of the terms outlined in this agreement?" Eric's lawyer stood. "Your honor, my client believes the division of assets is unfair—" "The division of what assets?" the judge interrupted. "According to the financial disclosures, Mr. Harper has no assets. He filed for personal bankruptcy last month." "Yes, but—" "And Mrs. Harper is asking for nothing except the dissolution of the marriage and return to her maiden name. There is nothing to contest here." The judge looked at Eric directly. "Mr. Harper, do you agree to the divorce as outlined?"

The woman everyone referred to as the one who got away. The white moonlight who never needed to raise her voice or lift a finger—because her existence alone was enough to cast a shadow over my marriage. “She’s back in the country now,” Mrs. Samuels said. “The board approves. The investors approve. Even his father agrees it’s time Sam corrected his mistake.” “And Anna?” Claire asked, gently. A pause. “She’ll understand,” my mother-in-law said. “She always does.” I stepped back quietly, heart pounding, plates trembling in my hands.