Kacey Stanley POV:
Howard didn't say another word in front of the kids. He just stood there, his jaw clenched, watching me. I took the children to the kitten room, immersing myself in the soft purrs and playful swats of tiny paws. I felt a sense of peace I hadn't known in years.
Later, as I was leaving the shelter, Howard was waiting. He grabbed my arm, his grip bruising. "We are talking," he hissed, pulling me towards a deserted storage closet. He shoved me inside, the door swinging shut behind us with a heavy thud, plunging us into dimness. The scent of stale cardboard and disinfectant filled the air.
He leaned against the door, his chest heaving, his eyes blazing. "What the hell was that, Kacey? Wishing us well? What game are you playing?"
I stood my ground, my arm still throbbing from his grip. "No game, Howard. Just the truth. You and Anais. It's obvious. And frankly, I'm tired of pretending it's not."
He took a step towards me, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl. "You think this is funny? You think you can just embarrass me in public, in front of those people?" He reached out, pulling me into a suffocating embrace, burying his face in my neck. "Kacey, please. Don't do this. I love you."
My body went rigid. I remembered so many times in our marriage when he' d been cold, distant. Publicly, he' d maintain a polite, professional distance. I was the CEO' s wife, a prop for his image. But behind closed doors, he' d turn into this, demanding affection, demanding my forgiveness with a desperate embrace.
I recalled the charity gala last year. I' d made a small suggestion about a corporate partnership, something I' d researched extensively. He' d cut me off mid-sentence, his voice sharp, telling me to "stick to what you know, Kacey." My face had burned with humiliation. He never cared about my intellect, my ideas. Only what I could do for him.
And now, here he was, clinging to me like a drowning man. The hypocrisy was breathtaking. My mind replayed the image of him kissing Anais, her hand on his arm, her 'lucky charm' alpaca in his pocket. The sweet matcha scent, still too vivid in my memory.
A wave of profound disgust washed over me. My stomach lurched. I gagged, pulling away from him abruptly, stumbling backwards. I leaned against a stack of boxes, dry-heaving.
He stared at me, his face turning ashen. "Kacey?" he whispered, his voice laced with shock and hurt. "What… what was that?"
I straightened up, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. My voice was raspy, but firm. "That, Howard, is what you make me feel now. Disgust. I want a divorce."
His eyes widened, then filled with a terrifying rage. "No!" he roared, slamming his fist into the metal shelving beside me. The clang echoed in the small space. "You can't! We're married! We have a deal!"
A deal. That was the word, wasn't it? Not a marriage. A deal. I remembered our wedding night, ten years ago. After the celebrations, after the forced smiles and congratulations, he' d taken me aside. "Don't ever embarrass me, Kacey," he' d said, his voice cold and hard. "You're my wife now. You belong to me. Understand?" It wasn't a threat, but a statement of ownership. A transaction.
And now, he was upset I was breaking my end of the "deal." I simply nodded. "Yes, Howard. We had a deal. And I honored it. For ten years. Now, I'm done."
That night, my phone rang incessantly. It was Juliette. "Kacey, Howard's gone completely off the rails. He's drunk, making a scene at The Ember. He's asking for you. He says he needs you."
I listened, my heart completely detached. "Let him sober up," I said, my voice flat. "He'll be fine." I hung up, turned off my phone, and went to sleep.
But sleep didn't come easily. I tossed and turned, haunted by fragmented dreams of matcha mochi and green hair ties. Around 2 AM, I felt a weight on my bed. A warm hand on my shoulder.
My eyes snapped open. Howard. He was in my bed, his breath reeking of alcohol. He pulled me into his arms, his body shaking.
"Kacey," he slurred, his voice thick with tears. "Why are you doing this to me? Why won't you answer my calls? Why don't you care?"
I lay still, my body stiff. "Why should I, Howard?" I asked, quoting his own words back to him. "You don't care about me. Why should I care about you?"
He flinched, then buried his face in my hair, sobbing. "I do, Kacey! I do care. I swear. I'll… I'll break it off with Anais. I'll fire her. We can start over. Please, just… give me another chance. I love you."
I closed my eyes. The familiar plea. The empty promises. How many times had I heard them? How many times had I believed them? For ten years, I had poured my heart, my soul, my very essence into this marriage, into him. I' d given up my career, my passions, my friends, my identity. I had tried to be the perfect wife, the perfect prop for his ambition. I had tried to warm a stone with my own body heat, only to realize the stone was too cold, too hard, to ever truly feel.
Now, his repentance felt like a cruel joke. It was too late. So much too late.
