I asked him to come home early on a Thursday.
I didn't tell him why. I just texted: *Can you be home by six? We need to talk.*
He showed up at seven-thirty.
I was sitting at the kitchen table when he walked in. I'd been sitting there for an hour and a half. I hadn't moved. Hadn't checked my phone. I'd just sat there with my hands folded on the table like I was waiting for a job interview that would decide the rest of my life.
Which, I guess, I was.
He set his keys down. Looked at me. His face did that thing — that small tightening around the eyes — that meant he already knew this was going to be difficult and he was already tired.
"Hey," he said. "Sorry I'm late. Cadence had a—"
"I want a divorce."
The words came out flat. Clean. I'd practiced them in the mirror that morning until they stopped shaking.
Ryland blinked.
Then he smiled. Not a real smile. The kind you give someone who just said something absurd.
"Bell."
"I'm serious."
He pulled out the chair across from me and sat down slowly, like he was approaching something fragile. His voice went soft. Reasonable. The voice he used when he was about to explain something I didn't understand.
"You're upset," he said. "I get it. I know I haven't been around as much as—"
"I want a divorce, Ryland."
He leaned back. Rubbed his face with both hands. When he dropped them, he looked at me like I was a puzzle he was trying to solve.
"This is about Cadence."
It wasn't a question.
"Yes."
"Bell." He said my name like it was an answer all by itself. "She's *dying*. You understand that, right? She has maybe six months. Maybe less. And you're asking me to—"
"I'm not asking you to do anything," I said. "I'm telling you I'm done."
He stared at me. For a long moment, he just stared.
Then he shook his head.
"You don't mean that."
"I do."
"You're jealous," he said quietly. "And I understand. I do. But you're letting your feelings cloud your—"
"Don't."
My voice cracked on the word. I pressed my palms flat against the table to stop my hands from shaking.
"Don't tell me what I'm feeling," I said. "Don't tell me I'm overreacting. Don't tell me this is temporary. You chose her, Ryland. Every single time, you chose her. And I'm done waiting for you to choose me."
He was quiet for a beat.
Then he reached across the table. Put his hand over mine.
"I chose *you*," he said. "I married *you*. I love *you*. Cadence is—" He stopped. Swallowed. "She's a friend who's going through the worst thing a person can go through. And when this is over, when she's—" His voice caught. "When she's gone, it's going to be you and me. Just like it's always been."
I pulled my hand back.
"I want a divorce," I said again.
He stood up. Paced to the window. Stood there with his back to me, shoulders tight.
"We're not doing this," he said finally. "You're upset. You need space. Fine. Take space. But we're not throwing away eight years because you're hurt right now."
"Ryland—"
"I'm not signing anything, Bellamy."
He turned around. His face was calm. Certain. Like he'd just made a decision for both of us and the matter was settled.
"We'll talk about this when you're thinking clearly," he said.
Then he walked out of the kitchen.
I heard him go into the bedroom. Heard the closet door open. Heard him moving around, packing something. Five minutes later, he came back through with an overnight bag.
"I'm staying at Cadence's tonight," he said. "She needs me. We'll talk tomorrow."
The door closed behind him.
I sat at the table until the apartment went dark.
---
The next morning, I called a lawyer.
Her name was Sharon Reyes. She had good reviews and a profile photo where she looked like she didn't take shit from anyone. I liked that.
She told me to bring my marriage certificate, bank statements, and any documentation of joint assets. She told me Washington was a no-fault state. She told me this would take time, but it would get done.
I thanked her and hung up.
Then I texted Ryland: *I've retained a lawyer. You'll be served papers next week.*
He didn't respond for six hours.
When he finally did, it was a single line:
*You're not thinking straight. Let's talk about this like adults.*
I didn't answer.
---
Three days later, my phone rang.
Mrs. Crawford.
I stared at the screen. Let it ring twice. Three times. Then I answered.
"Bellamy, sweetheart."
Her voice was thick. Like she'd been crying.
"Hi, Mom."
"Ryland told me," she said. "About the… about what you're planning."
I didn't say anything.
"Honey, he loves you," she said. "He's just going through something very hard right now. You have to understand—"
"I do understand."
"Then why are you doing this?"
I closed my eyes.
"Because he's not coming back," I said quietly.
She was silent for a moment.
Then: "He chose you, Bellamy. He married *you*."
"He did," I said. "And then he left."
She started crying then. Full, heaving sobs.
"Please don't do this," she said. "Please. He needs you right now. He needs both of us to—"
I hung up.
I sat on the edge of the couch and stared at the wall.
Then I opened my laptop and started looking for apartments.
---
The video showed up two days later.
Paige sent it to me with no message. Just the link.
I opened it.
Mrs. Crawford was sitting next to Cadence on a cream-colored couch. Cadence's head was resting on her shoulder. Mrs. Crawford was stroking her hair.
"This girl," Mrs. Crawford said, her voice breaking, "is one of the strongest people I've ever met. Watching her fight with so much grace… it's been an honor."
Cadence smiled softly. Weakly. The pink beanie was pulled low over her forehead.
"Thank you," she whispered. "That means everything."
Mrs. Crawford kissed the top of her head.
"You're like a daughter to me," she said.
The video ended.
I set my phone down.
I was sitting in the new apartment. One bedroom. Hardwood floors. A window that looked out over a parking lot. I'd signed the lease that morning. Moved in with two suitcases and a box of books.
I sat on the floor in the empty living room and stared at the wall.
Something inside me that had been holding on — some last thread I didn't even know was still there — snapped.
I didn't cry.
I just sat there.
And I felt it go.
