The 99th Divorce Novels & Stories

Lysander's arm tightens around me, just a little. "And on the thousandth time, I walked away. I walked away and I did not look back. I signed the divorce papers and I terminated the pregnancy and I got on a plane and I came home." I feel tears prick my eyes but I do not let them fall. I have cried enough over Kier Thornwell. I have shed enough tears to fill an ocean. I am done crying.

I tap the first article with shaking hands, and there it is—my entire life, dissected and displayed for public consumption. Daniel Sterling, CEO of Sterling Holdings, has finalized his divorce from wife Amelia Hart Sterling after three years of marriage. The divorce, filed six weeks ago citing irreconcilable differences, became public record today. Little is known about Hart, who maintained an extremely low profile during the marriage… There’s a photo. God, there’s a photo. Me leaving a grocery store, hair in a messy bun, wearing yoga pants and an oversized sweater. I look tired. I look poor. I look exactly like someone who doesn’t belong in Daniel Sterling’s world.

The man handed her the envelope and left. She closed the door. The envelope felt heavy. She already knew. Her fingers trembled as she opened it. Divorce Petition. Her vision blurred. She flipped through the pages quickly. Grounds: Adultery, fraud, emotional manipulation, and custody request. Her chest tightened. He had really done it. He hadn’t threatened. He hadn’t warned. He had acted. She sank into the nearest chair. Nine years. Nine years of building something. And now it was reduced to printed paper.

For eight years, I quietly funneled cash into Donna Marina's wedding business, no questions asked. Two days left on our contract, and I'm white-knuckling it, wondering if I should keep the money flowing. She's asked for a divorce ninety-nine times. Ninety-nine. And I was dumb enough to think it was because I worked too much, because I wasn't around. Turns out? Nah. She's been wiring $500K a year—every year—to some guy named Alec Humbert. Slapped an "ILU" on every transfer.

“I’ve been calling Lena for days and she hasn’t answered me once. What the hell is going on.” “She’s not here,” I reply. Beth turns slowly, arms crossing. “What does that mean, she’s not here.” “It means we are divorced,” I snap. “She left.” Beth just stares at me for a second, like she’s trying to decide if I’m joking. “What the fuck do you mean, you are divorced,” she says finally. “I mean exactly what I said,” I reply. “It’s done we are over.” She lets out a sharp laugh that has no humor in it. “You are full of shit.”

Rylen stayed silent for a long time. Finally, he looked up at me and spoke each word slowly. "Clare, don't regret this." I scoffed. "Regret? The only regret I have right now is meeting all of you scumbags." With those words, Rylen lowered his head, picked up the pen, and signed the divorce papers. The moment the pen touched the paper, a sense of relief washed over me like never before. This nearly decade-long farce had finally come to an end.

My eyes shut tightly. Hold on tight, Jodie. I can’t fall apart just yet. Once the divorce is finalized, we will break free from this pathological relationship—this relationship that labels me nothing but a nuisance. So Calden and Enid can live as happily as they want. I sigh deeply, throwing the phone into my bag. The strap presses tightly around my shoulder, the weight steadying me. I pick up the divorce papers and finally shut the door behind me, realizing how lonely this house has been.

Mandy's hands trembled as she tore open the envelope. Her heart pounded in her chest, a sickening mixture of dread and curiosity swirling in her stomach. The paper felt heavy between her fingers as she unfolded it, revealing a neatly folded newspaper inside. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to open it and see what horrible surprise awaited her this time. The headline screamed at her: **"The Divorced and Rejected Wife of the Famous Billionaire Ramsey Wendel is Getting Married to the Norton's Cleaner, Dwight Cullen."**

"Read it aloud." "Yes, sir." Malcolm flipped the document open. He faltered when he saw the words "divorce agreement" on it. He didn't dare to read it. "Why aren't you reading it?" Blake asked. Malcolm had no choice but to do as told. "Mrs. Ford wants to get a divorce, sir, the reason being … some impairments with your sexual function. Mrs. Ford claims that you're unable to satisfy her basic needs …" Blake's expression darkened. "What the hell is that?"

I forced back the tears in my eyes and the vomit rising in my throat. ‘It’s fine,’ I told myself quietly. ‘With that, all 99 coupons have been used up. ‘I’m leaving you for good, Leonard.’