After breakfast, I made my way to campus for the graduation ceremony, my emotions tangled between pride and a quiet, gnawing sorrow.
This day marked the culmination of my years at the Rhode Island School of Design, a path I had devoted my every thought and effort to. Soon, I would leave for Italy, to chase a life that belonged entirely to me.
But as I stood there, diploma in hand, surrounded by a swarm of graduates with their families, the familiar ache of loneliness crept in.
Around me, mates and elders hugged their younglings, snapping photos, their laughter ringing through the air. It was a day built for shared joy—and yet, I floated alone amid it all, a lone wolf in a sea of paired packs.
I shook my head slightly, forcing a smile. “This is how it always is, Toni. No need to grieve that Lorenz isn’t here,” I murmured, drawing a steadying breath.
It was just another day alone, after all.
Fortune intervened in the form of my mentor, who came to congratulate me. His joy at seeing me accepted for the scholarship warmed my chest, and he treated me to a celebratory meal.
“Italy will transform you, Toni,” he said, his smile bright as the morning sun. “I can’t wait to witness the artist you become.”
“Thank you, Professor,” I replied, my smile genuine.
His words were a balm, a spark of hope. But as I left campus and rode home, a shadow of doubt slithered into my mind.
I stared out the car window as we passed the courthouse, its looming presence a reminder of the weight that hung over me: the divorce I had yet to finalize. For a fleeting moment, I nearly told the driver to stop. But then, Lorenz’s mother flickered into my thoughts. How would she react if I acted now?
I sighed and let the moment pass.
Then my phone buzzed. Her name lit the screen.
“Toni, darling!” she chimed, her voice warm and bright. “Congratulations on your graduation! Let’s celebrate with a day of shopping, just the two of us.”
“That sounds wonderful,” I said. I directed the driver back to the manor to pick her up.
When I saw her waiting, the anger toward Lorenz softened, replaced by a quiet warmth. Despite everything, his mother had always treated me kindly. Being with her reminded me that I still had a family somewhere in this fractured world.
We wandered the shops for hours, chatting like companions of old, and she ensured I did not leave empty-handed.
While she examined a designer bag, I scrolled through my phone—and froze.
A post from Emily appeared: New York Fashion Week. Lorenz stood beside her, arms linked, smiles bright, their joy unmistakable.
The caption read, [So happy to be here again this year, especially with someone you love.]
My chest tightened. So that was why he had skipped my graduation.
My fingers clenched the phone as Lorenz’s mother noticed my tension. “Toni, dear, are you alright?” she asked, concern in her eyes.
I forced a calm smile. “Yes, I’m fine. Did you find something you liked, Mom?”
“I did. And I picked one for you, too. I hope you’ll enjoy it,” she said, handing me a shopping bag.
“Of course, thank you. Truly,” I replied, the warmth of her gesture cutting through my bitterness.
Returning home, the manor felt emptier than ever. Lorenz did not return that night, nor the next. I tried to distract myself, but a persistent unease kept me restless.
A few days later, another post: Emily in Paris for Fashion Week. And there was Lorenz, beside her again, pride and devotion clear in the curve of his posture, the brightness in his gaze.
Each image twisted something inside me. Photos of him celebrating her birthday at her parents’ home, his arm protective around her, his lips brushing her cheek—my stomach knotted with frustration and fury.
“Why don’t they just move in together already?” I muttered, a sting of jealousy cutting through the ache.
Finally, I could hold back no longer.
My pulse raced as I threw my phone aside, gathered my things, and told the driver to take me to the courthouse. This time, hesitation had no place.
I signed the divorce papers, my signature decisive, resolute. No more doubt, no more waiting. I reclaimed my life.
---
A few days later, Lorenz returned from Paris.
That evening, I prepared a quiet dinner for us, the first time in weeks we had sat across from one another. Calm and focused, the divorce papers lay neatly beside my plate.
As he took his seat, I slid the documents across the table.
Lorenz glanced at the file, expression unreadable, then pushed it back. “Put it in my study. I’ll review it later.”
I froze. “You’re not even going to read them?” My voice shook with disbelief and frustration.
Lorenz sighed, pulling out his communicator. “Toni, can we not do this now? I just returned. I’m exhausted.”
“Do you even care?” I pressed, voice trembling. “Have you noticed anything? I stopped tending to your needs, stopped being the obedient mate you expect—and you barely registered my absence.”
“Look,” he said, waving carelessly, “throwing a fit doesn’t mean I jump to attention. Now, if you’re finished, let me eat in peace.”
I stared at him long and hard, the indifference in his eyes answering every unspoken question.
Finally, I stood, clutching the papers to my chest, strength blooming inside me.
“Very well, Lorenz,” I whispered, unable to meet his gaze. “I’ll leave them in your study. But this time, I am done waiting for you.”
I walked away, placing the divorce papers on his desk. My eyes fell on a messy stack of receipts and statements.
My heart sank. Since Emily’s return, his expenses had soared—a fifth higher than usual. A penthouse purchase leapt out at me, and I knew exactly who it was for.
On impulse, I grabbed a sticky note and scribbled: “Make sure you sign it!”
