By the time Amara reached home, evening had already covered the sky, and her body was screaming from exhaustion.
Her hand still clutched the brown envelope she collected from her lawyer's office earlier.
She had waited there almost the entire day, signing, re-signing, answering questions she barely heard, her mind numb with pain.
When the lawyer finally slid the divorce papers across the desk to her, she had felt no joy, no freedom, only a quiet heaviness pressing her heart.
Now in her living room, she sat at the dining table with the envelope in front of her.
For a long while, she didn't touch it. Her eyes were on it, but her mind was far away, lost in the years she had given to Alex, years that had left her dry and empty.
She forced her fingers to open it at last. One by one she pulled out the documents, reading carefully through each line as though reading her own obituary.
Her name was everywhere, her signature on the final pages, and the bold title: DIVORCE AGREEMENT, staring back like a wound she could not hide.
Her throat ached as she released a deep, heavy sigh.
She closed the papers, dropped them on the corner of the table, and leaned back.
For a moment she just sat there, staring at the ceiling as if it held answers. Then slowly, she stood up and went into the kitchen.
Her body was weak, but she moved with quiet determination. She opened the cupboards, brought out rice, vegetables, chicken, spices. Her hands shook as she cooked, her legs unsteady, but she continued.
It was not just food; it was her last duty, her final offering as a wife.
By the time she was done, the dining table carried a full meal, but her heart was hollow. She sat again, waiting, her eyes blank, her face drained of colour.
Not long after, the sound of Alex's car came from the compound, his usual confident driving. Her chest tightened, but she didn't move.
She heard the engine die, the car door slam, and then his footsteps entering the house.
The front door opened, and Alex walked in briskly, throwing his car keys on the centre table without care. He pulled off his jacket as he moved into the dining, his face calm, almost bored.
His eyes scanned the table loaded with food, then shifted to Amara sitting silently in her chair. He raised a brow. "I thought you said you were sick earlier today," he said flatly. "Shouldn't you be resting? Why all this food?"
Amara's gaze stayed fixed on the wall. Her voice, low but steady, broke the silence. "This is the last meal I'll ever make for you."
Alex froze for a second, confused. Then he turned sharply, staring at her as if she had grown another head. "What?"
Amara's hand moved slowly, weakly, towards the brown envelope on the table. She picked it up with trembling fingers and stretched it towards him.
Her eyes met his, tired but unflinching. "Let's get a divorce."
The words dropped like stones in the room. Alex's body stiffened. His mouth opened, closed, opened again.
Finally, his voice came out, louder, sharper. "What did you just say?"
"I've already prepared the divorce papers," Amara replied, her tone calm but cutting. "Just sign them, and we'll go our separate ways."
Since their marriage, she'd always the dutiful and obedient wife, bowing to all his orders without questions. But all that ended today.
Alex's hand reached out almost unwillingly. He collected the envelope, pulled out the papers, and the bold black letters DIVORCE AGREEMENT slapped him in the face. His eyes darkened.
With a sudden burst of anger, he threw the papers back at her.
"Amara! Are you serious right now? Have you enjoyed this house so much you've now decided to start trouble? You want to use divorce to threaten me?"
The words rolled like thunder, but Amara did not flinch. She bent down slowly, picked the papers again, and returned them to the table with careful fingers.
Then she began collecting her small things: a notebook, her phone, and her handbag. That was all. She didn't even bother about her designer clothes in the bedroom or the expensive jewelries.
Her freedom from this hell of a marriage was all she cared for.
Alex watched her in utter shock, frustration and anger.
"You're being ridiculous," Alex continued, his voice rising.
"I'm not causing trouble," Amara said quietly, but her tone carried a finality he had never heard before. She looked up at him, her eyes burning with unshed tears. "I've already signed. If you don't believe me, check for yourself."
The calmness in her words unsettled him more than shouting ever could. He grabbed the papers again, his hands rough on the sheets, flipping through page after page.
His eyes kept landing on her signature, page after page, undeniable, final. His chest tightened.
When his eyes returned to her, they were wide with shock. He looked as if someone had pulled the ground from under him.
Amara stood. Slowly, carefully, she picked up her handbag. She adjusted it on her shoulder, straightened her back though her body was weak.
Her lips parted, and her voice was soft but clear. "Take care."
Without another word, she turned and walked away, her footsteps steady on the tiles. She didn't look back. She didn't hesitate.
She left the dining, left the house, left Alex standing there.
He remained rooted to the spot till his knees buckled and slumped to the chair, the papers clutched in his hand as if they were the last rope keeping him upright. He looked at the food on the table, untouched, steam rising and fading into the air.
His world felt unreal.
Minutes passed, but Alex did not move. He kept staring at the door she had walked out from. His mind refused to accept it.
She could not be serious. It had to be a joke.
At last, he pulled out his phone. His fingers dialed her number quickly, almost desperate. When she picked, his voice came sharp, commanding.
"Amara, I'll just pretend this nonsense is a joke. I'm giving you thirty seconds to apologize and come back home now."
He waited, counting the seconds in his head.
Ten.
Fifteen.
Twenty.
His heartbeat was pounding louder with each number. But the line remained silent.
At thirty seconds, the call ended on its own.
He pulled the phone back, staring at the screen in disbelief. "She even had the nerve to hang up on me?"
He dialed again immediately, his hands trembling slightly. This time, the response came colder: "number not reachable."
Alex's breathe quickened. The reality was crashing on him like waves.
He stared at the phone as if he could force it to change. His chest boiled with anger he could no longer contain.
With one furious motion, he slammed his hand on the dining table. The plates rattled, the glasses clinked, and the steam from the food vanished into the empty air.
Alex stood there, alone, his heart racing, his hands shaking, his world slowly breaking apart around him.
