"Because she's in love with him, obviously! Have you seen how much charm our boy Nigel's got?"
All eyes turned to Leona. She covered her face, cheeks flushed pink.
"Why are you all looking at me?"
"Stop it!"
The teasing wouldn't let up, and Leona's laughter threaded through the catcalls and whistles.
Every word landed like a needle in my chest.
I didn't know how long the noise went on. By the time Nigel pushed open the bedroom door, I'd already cried myself to sleep.
"I'm driving Leona home. Clean up while I'm gone."
Through the open door, I could see her standing there, waiting for him.
Again.
Any one of those guests could have dropped her off on their way. But somehow, it was always Nigel.
Before I could say a word, he was already out the door with her.
I stood in the living room like I was surveying the aftermath of a disaster.
Images flashed through my mind: me crouched on the kitchen floor, scrubbing the dining room, wiping down every corner of this house on my hands and knees.
Something inside me snapped.
I sat down on the couch and waited for Nigel to come back.
The lock clicked. Then came his voice, already at a roar.
"Lorraine, you didn't touch a single thing?"
"Don't tell me you were sitting here waiting for me to clean up after—"
"Nigel, I want a divorce."
Seven words. That was all it took to kill the fire in his throat.
The living room went dead silent.
After a beat, Nigel laughed.
"Lorraine, you're thirty years old. You're not some eighteen-year-old girl anymore."
"Throwing around breakups over a bad mood was fine when we were dating. Marriage is a different game."
"You can't treat this like it's nothing. There's a baby in that room who isn't even a year old, still waiting for you to nurse him and put him to sleep."
He pointed at the bedroom door, the corner of his mouth curling with something close to contempt.
I looked up at the man standing over me.
When exactly had we become this?
For four years of college, Nigel had been everyone's idea of the perfect boyfriend.
Even on days when he had no classes, he'd walk me to and from mine in the rain, holding the umbrella over my head.
"My Lorraine never remembers to bring an umbrella," he'd say. "So I've got to stay ready."
No matter where we went, he carried a thermos, making sure I always had water at exactly 115 degrees.
"Lorraine says the ideal drinking temperature is 115 degrees," he'd tell people. "You think I'm going to trust some random water fountain to get that right?"
He carried my meal trays, picked my electives, grabbed my packages, saved my seats, tutored me before finals. If it could be done for me, he did it.
His friends joked that the only things left were eating, drinking, and breathing for me.
The year we graduated, couples everywhere were breaking up over long distance.
But he stayed in Seaview City. For me.
"Wherever you are, that's where I'll be. For the rest of my life."
I was so moved that I brought him home to meet my parents.
They didn't approve. Not of him, not of his background.
I fought with them over it. Packed my things and moved out.
For the two years we lived together in Seaview City, Nigel threw himself into his career. He swore he'd make something of himself, prove my parents wrong.
But no matter how late he worked, he never forgot that I was home waiting for him.
He'd pick up flowers on his way back. A small cake from the bakery down the street.
We cooked dinner together, side by side, and those were the best two years of my life.
Those two years were what made me certain I wanted to marry him.
"I'm telling you right now, if you marry that man, your father and I won't give you a single cent."
"Lorraine, we gave you a comfortable life so you could thrive, not so you could throw it all away and go backwards!"
"Use your head for once!"
The day I told my mother I wanted to marry Nigel, she jabbed her finger at my forehead and screamed until she was hoarse.
