"Every single time, you either said something came up or you'd leave the moment your number was called."
IVF had been Claude's idea. He said he wanted the most efficient path to pregnancy.
But after that first consultation where he paid the fee, he never showed up again. Not once.
If he hadn't brought it up, I would've almost forgotten.
"So now you're dredging up ancient history?!"
"Fine! You want a divorce? You got one!"
Claude's face went rigid, anger burning behind his eyes. He flung his arm as he turned to leave, and his watch clattered to the floor.
That watch. I recognized it.
A gift from Rita. A reward, she'd called it, for helping close a deal.
Over the years, Rita had given him plenty of these so-called bonuses. Designer things, luxury brands I'd never even heard of before.
Claude loved every single one of them. I, on the other hand, felt a twist in my stomach each time I saw something new.
Every argument ended the same way: unresolved, dissolving into nothing.
Claude shot me one cold look, bent down to pick up the bracelet from the floor. "Don't come crawling back to me, Marlene."
The door slammed so hard the windows rattled.
I stared at that door, and it felt like someone had wrapped plastic around my lungs. I couldn't breathe.
I drew in a long, shaky breath, walked out to the balcony, and made a phone call.
"I need you to draft a divorce agreement for me."
"Yeah. I'm getting divorced."
"How's your brother's apartment search going? I could sell him mine at a discount."
"I accepted the overseas offer. I leave next week."
Silence on the other end. Then, after a long pause, a sigh.
"You and Claude... how did it get this bad?"
The words carried genuine regret. A few more concerned questions, and the call ended.
How, indeed.
Ten years together. Even I couldn't pinpoint the moment we'd gone so wrong.
If Rita had been an invisible splinter, a dull ache I could never quite locate, then Claude's secret vasectomy was a knife laid open against my flesh.
The next day, I went to the office and completed my exit paperwork.
My supervisor watched me with a look of pride, and though there was reluctance in her eyes, there was more warmth than sadness.
Over the following days, Claude didn't come home.
Which suited me fine. I hired movers and started packing.
"Ma'am, these are all high-end items. We're not comfortable wrapping them ourselves. Would you rather handle these?"
One of the movers wiped the sweat from his forehead and gestured toward Claude's walk-in closet: rows of limited-edition bags, designer clothes, watches lined up like trophies.
Starting around last year, Rita had begun buying Claude things constantly, always under the guise of work.
Most of it was expensive. Obscenely so.
That was what had started the rumors at the company.
I'd brought it up with Claude before. Told him it didn't look right.
At first, he'd still bother explaining. "It's nothing. Ms. Vance just wants me to look the part for client meetings."
"Marlene, stop overthinking."
But the gifts kept multiplying, and eventually, I stopped asking.
Sometimes, people are too afraid to get close to the truth.
My cowardice, in the end, was laid bare the moment the truth surfaced anyway.
"It's fine. Wrap them however you want. You won't be held responsible."
I waved them off, went back to the bedroom, and finished packing my own things. Then I handed the moving company Rita's home address.
"Next week, deliver all of that to this address. When you arrive, call this number."
Claude was at Rita's place. I knew because of a location tag on social media.
Thanks, boss, for giving me the time off.
The tag pointed to an upscale residential complex. Rita's second home.
I'd been there once. Claude had gotten blackout drunk, and Rita had called me to come pick him up.
Claude had posted quite a few updates after that. Eventually, I muted him. I didn't read a single one.
The truth was, those office rumors had always been a thorn buried in my chest.
