The front door clicked open, revealing a sliver of light. I pushed it open further, stepping into the familiar, yet suddenly alien, warmth of our home.
Corbin stood in the living room, silhouetted against the soft glow of a floor lamp. He wasn't wearing the suit he'd had on at the gallery. He had changed into a silk bathrobe, my silk bathrobe, the charcoal gray one I'd given him for his birthday. It was a size too big for him, designed to drape loosely on my frame.
His hair was damp, slightly tousled. He looked... relaxed. Too relaxed. A strange scent hung in the air, a mix of his cologne and something sweet, vaguely floral. It wasn't my perfume.
My stomach churned. "The car's back," I stated, my voice flat. "Did you finally drop off your... project?"
A sudden feminine cough echoed from the direction of our bedroom. Our bedroom. The blood drained from my face.
Corbin' s head snapped towards the sound. His relaxed posture evaporated, replaced by a rigid tension. He moved quickly, almost frantically, towards the bedroom door, closing it softly before turning back to me.
"Kallie?" he called out, his voice hushed, laced with concern. "Are you alright in there?"
A muffled, whimpering "Yes" came from behind the closed door. "Just... a little shaken."
"Shaken?" I scoffed, my voice rising. "Or just finished with her performance for the night?"
Corbin ignored me. He turned the handle softly, opening the door just enough to slip inside.
"What happened?" I heard him ask, his voice a low murmur.
Then Kallie's voice, equally muffled but clearer. "Oh, Corbin, I'm so sorry. I... I broke something. Your wedding photo frame. It just slipped."
My blood ran cold. The photo frame. Our wedding photo. The one on my nightstand, a gift from my mother.
I shoved past Corbin without a word, pushing the door wide open.
There she was. Kallie. Sitting on the edge of our bed, wrapped in one of my cashmere throws. Her hair was still damp, a strand clinging to her cheek. Her eyes were red, but not from crying. They were red from... something else.
Before I could even think, my hand flew out. A sharp crack echoed in the room as my palm connected with her cheek. Her head snapped back, her eyes wide with shock and pain.
She crumpled to the floor, a soft gasp escaping her lips.
My gaze swept around the room. The air was thick with the cloying sweetness of unfamiliar perfume, mingling with the faint antiseptic smell of a fresh bandage. On my nightstand, shards of glass glinted where our wedding photo used to be. The silver frame was twisted, broken.
My silk nightgown, a delicate lace-trimmed piece, lay discarded on the floor next to her. And the bathroom door, which led to my private sanctuary, was ajar. I could see damp towels hanging over the edge of my clawfoot tub, a ring of soap scum still outlining the water line. The scent of her cheap floral body wash hung heavy in the air.
Disgust, a physical nausea, rose in my throat. My home. My sanctuary. Defiled.
Corbin was on the floor instantly, cradling Kallie. He pulled my cashmere throw tighter around her. "Adeline, what the hell is wrong with you?" he roared, his eyes blazing with a fury I'd never seen directed at me. "She just had a traumatic experience! She's hurt!"
"Traumatic?" I choked out, a bitter laugh escaping me. "She took a bath in my tub, broke my wedding photo, and now she's playing victim in my bedroom? I'm the one having a traumatic experience, Corbin! In my own home!"
He shook his head, looking at me with utter contempt. "It was an accident, Adeline! She was shaken. She needed to clean up. She didn't mean to break anything. You're overreacting, as usual. She's a sensitive artist, you wouldn't understand."
His words pierced me, deeper than any physical blow. My bedroom, the place where we had shared so much, was now the stage for his betrayal. My home, the one I had poured my heart and soul into creating, was a playground for his mistress. For years, I had suppressed my own sharp wit, dulled my edges, to be the supportive wife he needed. I had learned to appreciate his avant-garde art, endured endless conversations about obscure architectural theories, all to be a partner worthy of his intellect. I had given up my life, my ambition, for his.
"Apologize to her, Adeline," he demanded, his voice low and menacing. "Apologize now."
A raw, bitter taste filled my mouth. My eyes burned, but no tears fell. Not yet. I just stared at him, at the stranger clutching the other woman on my bedroom floor.
"No," I finally said, my voice barely a whisper, but firm. "I will not apologize."
Our eyes locked. His were filled with disgust and disappointment. Mine, with a dawning, terrible clarity.
He let out a long, frustrated sigh. "You're a disappointment, Adeline," he said, his voice laced with venom. "A selfish, materialistic disappointment."
His words were a physical punch, knocking the air from my lungs. Disappointment. That was it. That was all I was to him. All the sacrifices, all the love, all the effort. Just a disappointment.
A single tear escaped, tracing a hot path down my cheek. I had built him an empire, a life of luxury and artistic fulfillment. I had believed in him when no one else would. I had tailored my entire existence to fit his vision. For what? To be called a disappointment?
No. Not anymore. I would not allow myself this grief. Not for him. Not for this.
My hand dove into my purse. I pulled out a crisp, cream-colored envelope. It was slightly yellowed at the edges. I had found it earlier, tucked away in my desk drawer, almost forgotten.
I threw it onto the floor between them, the envelope landing with a soft thud.
"We're getting a divorce," I stated, my voice clear and unwavering.
Silence. Heavy, suffocating silence descended upon the room.
Then, a harsh, derisive laugh erupted from Corbin. He looked at the envelope, then at me, his eyes mocking. "Adeline, darling, how quaint. Are you still playing this game? This old trick?" He picked up the envelope, shaking his head. "This is from two years ago. I thought you'd finally grown up."
His words, his easy dismissal, were the final nails in the coffin. Kallie, still on the floor, let out a small, triumphant giggle.
My nails bit into my palms, the pain a welcome distraction from the searing agony in my heart. The last flicker of hope, the last shred of my belief in him, extinguished.
This divorce agreement. I had drafted it two years ago, after his first public flirtation with a rising starlet. I was devastated, heartbroken. I had presented it to him, hoping it would be a wake-up call. He'd been furious, then contrite, begging me to stay, promising to change. He' d torn it up then, right in front of me, declaring his love. I believed him. I always believed him. I always took him back. I always made excuses.
I had funded his biggest projects, bought him the house, the cars, the firm. I had sacrificed my own career, my own desires, to be the perfect wife. And he had taken it all for granted, piece by piece, until he saw me not as a partner, but as an obstacle. And with each transgression, each act of neglect, I had found myself pulling out this same old draft, silently, secretly. A test, perhaps. A desperate plea for him to see me, to choose me. Each time, I'd put it back.
But this time, it was different. This time, I wasn't testing him. I wasn't pleading.
My hand went to my left hand, to the empty space on my ring finger. The ring was already gone. I had slipped it off earlier, in the cab, the cold metal feeling alien against my skin. I remembered tossing it into a trash can at the concert hall, the dull clink as it hit the bottom.
"No," I said, my voice strong now, "this isn't a trick, Corbin. This is it. And there won't be a next time." My gaze was firm, unwavering.
