After the Divorce, I Belong to Him

My marriage to Walter Henson fell roughly into three stages.

In the first, we had just signed the papers, and life was sweet.

No matter how late he worked, Walter always came home.

And I always left a light on for him.

In the second stage, he began to find me ignorant, useless at everything.

He wouldn't bring me to his company, wouldn't introduce me to his friends.

I signed up for every kind of class I could, wanting to learn more, to catch up to him.

And he looked at me with nothing but distaste and said, "Greta Fox, the girls at the massage parlor know more than you do."

The third stage was the one that hurt the most.

We fought without end, blamed each other, tore into each other.

In the end Walter said, coldly, "Let's get divorced."

I cried until I was hysterical, screaming at him, "Walter Henson, have you no shame? I've been with you since I was eighteen!"

"If you had any shame, would you have thrown yourself at me at eighteen?"

Looking at the mockery and disgust on his face, the last thread of reluctance in me broke.

I went abruptly calm, and answered, "Fine."

But when I really let go and walked away, Walter, why did you start to regret it?

……

When we came out of the county clerk's office with our divorce papers in hand, the rain started all at once.

He jogged to his car, pulled the door open, got in, hit the gas.

The engine roared, and he was gone in moments.

Leaving me standing there alone, to face the wind and rain by myself.

I felt dazed.

I thought of the day Walter and I had signed our marriage license.

Unlike today, the weather then had been beautiful.

The sun hung high in the sky, so bright it was hard to keep your eyes open.

Walter rode a scooter with me on the back, and the heat had us both dripping with sweat.

While we waited at a red light, an SUV pulled up beside us.

A family of three sat inside.

They were chatting, no sweat on their faces, only smiles.

And Walter, back then, had gone red around the eyes. He said to me, "Greta, I swear I'll work hard and make money, so you can ride in a car even better than that one, and never bake in the sun or take the wind again!"

But now, it seemed I was the only one who still remembered that vow.

From wrapped up in each other to complete strangers, it had taken Walter and me a mere five years.

I waited half an hour inside the office, but the rain didn't ease. If anything, it came down harder.

Looking at the three-digit queue number on my ride app, I couldn't help but sigh.

It seemed I wouldn't make it in time to pick up the luggage I'd already packed.

When we'd worked out the divorce terms, Walter still had some conscience about him.

He wanted to give me the house, and half the savings on top of that.

I didn't take any of it.

His fine features hardened, and his voice went cold at once.

"Greta, is there any point in playing at being someone who doesn't care about money? You never held back when you were buying luxury goods."

My heart had long gone numb from all the endless fighting, but hearing that, I couldn't stop the fine, needling ache that rose in me.

The luxury goods had started in the second year of our marriage.

By then his business had begun to take off, and there were endless dinners and social obligations. I often waited at home for him deep into the night.

Once, he came home drunk, threw up the moment he was through the door, and after he was done he held on to me and cried.

I held him, patting his back, asking what was wrong.

At first Walter didn't want to tell me.

I coaxed him all night, and just before dawn he suddenly said, "Greta, I'm going to make so much money, so no one will ever look down on me again, ever call me cheap and shabby!"

I knew someone at that dinner table had made him feel small.