The Soundtrack for a Divorce

On my sixteenth birthday, my mom and I drove to pick up the dress I had ordered for my party.

But what awaited us at home wasn't a surprise party.

It was my father, slow dancing cheek-to-cheek with his secretary in our living room to "Fly Me to the Moon."

That very night, my parents signed their separation agreement.

From that day on, the song became a nightmare, a raw wound I couldn’t bear to touch.

On the night I married Julian, the CEO of Aethelred Biotech, I whispered in his ear between his possessive kisses.

"Darling, if you ever want to end our marriage, just play this song for me."

He tightened his arms around me, his breath ghosting across the nape of my neck as he silenced me with a deeper kiss.

"Don't be silly, Evelyn. You're my one and only. How could I ever let you go?"

Later, at his birthday party, his intern, Brooke, requested that song.

Julian's face hardened. He had the music cut and Brooke thrown out.

At the time, I was touched and even tried to convince him not to be so harsh on a young woman just starting her career.

But six months later, Brooke was promoted to his personal assistant.

On my birthday, she posted a video on Instagram.

She and Julian were cuddled together in a Central Park carriage, with "Fly Me to the Moon" playing, loud and clear, in the background.

I called Julian and told him to handle it.

His tone on the other end of the line was dismissive.

"Brooke just thinks the song is romantic. Don't be so childish, Evelyn. It’s not like you to make a big deal out of a song and a hug."

The phone slipped from my hand.

Turns out, my mother was right.

Some songs are just the soundtrack for a divorce.

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1

Brooke anonymously sent that video and an ultrasound photo to my work email.

The photo showed a twelve-week pregnancy.

The irony was staggering.

Three months ago, Aethelred Biotech needed a new targeted agent for a core patent development.

Julian had told me that a pregnancy would interfere with my physical data and could cause the entire clinical trial to fail.

So, for the sake of the company, I joined a clinical trial myself—one with a known risk of permanent infertility.

I medically suppressed my menstrual cycle to ensure I wouldn't get pregnant.

Three months later, he’d gotten another woman pregnant.

Twelve weeks. The timing was a cruel joke.

While I was pulling all-nighters in the lab, risking my health for his company, Julian was bringing Brooke into our home.

The sofa, the study, even the spot in front of our wedding photo—the lingering scent of them clung to everything.

The bedroom that once brought me comfort now just turned my stomach.

I heard a key turn in the front door lock.

Julian stumbled in, reeking of alcohol. He wrapped his arms around me from behind, dangling a velvet box in front of my face, his voice a low, magnetic hum.

"The latest from Van Cleef & Arpels. Do you like them?"

"It's past midnight, Julian. My birthday is over." I glanced at the earrings, my heart feeling like a desolate cavern.

I'm not obsessed with jewelry, but those earrings looked strikingly familiar.

This afternoon, Brooke had flaunted the exact same pair in her video.

Bulk purchase? Buy-one-get-one-free?

Did it even matter?

No. Not anymore.

I suppressed the wave of nausea rising in my throat and calmly turned to face him.

"We need to talk."

Julian assumed I was still angry about the song. A flash of impatience crossed his eyes as he let go of me.

"She just wanted to surprise you; she didn't know about your trauma. Besides, I've already told her off."

"Evelyn, stop making a scene, will you? Running the company is exhausting enough."

He rubbed his temples, a weary look on his face, as if I were some irrational, hysterical woman.

I was about to say more, but his phone suddenly lit up.

He glanced at the screen, and the weariness on his face melted into an eager smile.

He snatched up his phone, a smirk playing on his lips as he typed a reply and headed for the study.

Watching his broad back, a humorless smile touched my lips.

We had been in love for ten years and married for seven.

We’d gone from having nothing in a university lab to building a billion-dollar company.

But Julian was no longer the boy who would pull all-nighters with me to cram for finals.

This Julian, the CEO, had no room for me in his life.