My Bottom Line

1
The third time Damien and I stood before the courthouse, it was because hed given my top spot as Metro News Network's lead weather anchor to the new girl.
He leaned against his car, lighting a cigarette, his handsome features twisted with impatience.
Is all this drama really necessary? She takes your spot, you get a nice long break at home. Whats the problem?
He took a drag, smoke curling from his lips. "Besides, I just gave her the position to keep her happy for a bit. Can't you just suck it up for my sake?"
I stared straight ahead, my voice a flat, emotionless thing. "Let's go inside."
That night, I saw Damien with his arm around the new girl, laughing with his friends.
"Hey, what if Clara actually goes through with the divorce this time?" someone asked.
Damien scoffed and took a swig of his drink. "She loves me too much. She'd never do it for real."
It wasn't until he saw me in the backseat of someone else's wedding limousine that the slow, dawning horror hit him: I wasn't playing games anymore.

Walking out of the courthouse, Damien shoved the divorce decree and other legal papers into my arms.
"There. Happy now?" he asked, a smirk playing on his lips as he lit another cigarette, his eyes raking over me.
I carefully folded my copy of the papers, tucked them into my purse, and then slapped his copy against his chest. I didn't say a word, just turned to get in my car.
Before I could open the door, his hand shot out, grabbing my wrist. He slammed me against the car, trapping me. That sickly sweet rose perfumethe one he wore for herfilled my lungs, making me want to gag.
Damiens grip was like iron, his eyes blazing with a barely controlled fire.
He spoke through gritted teeth. "It's just a job! You're giving me this attitude over a stupid job?"
"I already told you, I'm just letting her play anchor for a few days to keep her happy! Once she gets bored of it, you'll get it back!"
"Do you have to drag me to the courthouse threatening divorce over every little thing?"
"Clara, have you lost count of how many times you've pulled this? I have my limits, you know!"
Our breaths mingled in the cold air, and a bitter laugh escaped my lips.
"Damien, you have the audacity to talk to me about limits?"
We were childhood sweethearts, married for six years. A week ago, Damien had brought Rachel into our home.
Without a word, he got on the phone with the station director, right in front of me. He announced a two-million-dollar investment in the network, with one condition. He glanced at Rachel, who was beaming with anticipation, before his heavy gaze landed on me.
His words, spoken with deliberate, cruel precision, sent a shard of ice through my heart.
"The condition is, Clara's out. Rachel takes her place."
He met my look of utter disbelief and sealed my fate. His bodyguards held me down, clamping a hand over my mouth to stifle my protests.
"Yeah, she knows," he said into the phone. "She's fine with it."
"Great. I'll have Rachel come in tomorrow to get started. You can show her the ropes."
That day, I screamed at him. I broke everything I could get my hands on in our house. I slapped both him and Rachel across the face.
"Damien! What gives you the right to make my decisions for me? I never said I wanted to quit my job!"
"The right? I'm your husband! That's my right! And this is final!" he'd roared back. "You're out, Rachel's in! You get to relax, she gets to try something new. It's a win-win, isn't it?"
I screamed at them to get out. Damien wrapped a protective arm around Rachel, glaring at me with contempt. "You're insane," he spat.
No one knows what I went through that week.
Fearing I'd go to the station and cause a scene, Damien locked me in our villa. I spent my days and nights in our room, trapped in a cycle of weeping and hollow laughter.
I had spent six years clawing my way up to become the lead weather anchor, the most beloved and trusted face at the network. Damien knew exactly how much I'd sacrificed for that position, how much that job meant to me.
But he didn't care.
Or rather, for Rachel, sacrificing my reputation and my career was a small price to pay.
After all, for Rachel's sake, he'd once been willing to sacrifice his own child.
The memory brought a fresh sting to my eyes. My tears seemed to startle him for a second, and in that moment of hesitation, I slapped him with all the strength I had left.
"You don't get to talk to me about limits!" I screamed, my voice raw. "Damien, listen to yourself! What do you mean, 'when Rachel gets bored of it'? You sound like you're offering me scraps! Do I need your charity? I earned that position myself!"
"One slap and then a piece of candy to make it better. Thats always been your style, hasn't it, Damien!"
I shoved him away and pulled a gift bag from my car, throwing it at his feet. It was the expensive handbag he'd bought to "compensate" for my job. I hadn't even opened it.
We parted in anger. Our two cars, which once drove side-by-side, now sped off in opposite directions. Just like our marriage, an arrangement by our families, had finally shattered after years of loving and fighting.
That evening, a text from Rachel summoned me to a private lounge. Through a crack in the door, I saw Damien, his arm draped around her on the central sofa, holding court with his friends.
"Hey, what if Clara actually goes through with the divorce this time?"
Damien just scoffed. "She loves me too much. She'd never do it for real."
From across the room, Rachel shot me a smug, triumphant glare, a silent warning to just sign the papers and disappear.
I turned and walked away.
Damien didn't come home for two weeks. I didn't care. A persistent drizzle seemed to have settled over the city.
On TV, Rachel, in a smart blazer and skirt, her hair perfectly styled, was delivering the forecast in a stiff, robotic tone.
"Over the next few days, a cold front will cause a significant drop in temperatures across the country. For example, in the Northeast"
Her smile was plastered on, looking unnatural. She stumbled over the more complex meteorological terms, her delivery faltering.
Thats when Damien walked in.
He brought the damp chill of the rain with him. He tossed a towel at me and then leaned in close, expecting me to dry his hair for him.
I looked down, unmoving.
Rainwater dripped from his hair onto my silk nightgown, staining the fabric dark. Seeing my expression, Damiens mouth opened, then closed. He snatched the towel and started drying his own hair.
His eyes caught the TV, and a proud grin spread across his face.
"That's Rachel's first official broadcast. What do you think? Not bad, right?" The pride in his voice was thick and undisguised.
I had no energy to play along. I simply got up and went to the bedroom.
Damien followed, his gaze falling on the damp spot on my thigh. A flicker of desire ignited in his eyes. Before I could react, he pushed me onto the bed, his mouth covering mine, his kisses frantic and sloppy.
"Clara it's been so long. Don't you miss me?"
A humorless laugh bubbled up inside me. The image of him and Rachel tangled together on the living room sofa flashed in my mind, and a wave of nausea rose in my throat. I tried to push him off, but he pinned my wrists behind my back.
Our eyes locked, and I decided to wound him.
"What's wrong? Rachel's at the office now, so there's no one to get you off?"
He was busy unbuttoning his shirt, and he just raised an eyebrow. "Why would that be a problem? I still have you, don't I?"
I never imagined he would sink this low just to spite me.
As his hot breath washed over my face, I couldn't hold it back any longer. I gagged, a dry, retching sound.
Damien recoiled as if he'd been burned, his face a mask of disgust and fury.
When my heaving subsided, he grabbed my face, his fingers digging into my cheeks.
"You find me that repulsive? I thought you loved me. What, you can't even pretend anymore?"
A tear escaped and trailed down my cheek. He flinched and let go as if my tear was acid.
I managed a small, tired smile, my heart feeling strangely calm.
"I don't love you anymore, Damien. A cheating man is like rotten food. Disgusting and foul."
His face paled. He opened his mouth to argue, but seeing the genuine sickness in my expression, he snapped it shut.
"Don't talk nonsense! God, I must owe you something in a past life! What a buzzkill!"
With that, he grabbed a change of clothes and stormed into the bathroom.
Fighting the bile in my throat, I went to the kitchen and downed a glass of water. The tears Id been holding back finally broke free, blurring my vision. Damien was right. He did owe me.
The weather forecast had ended. Outside, the rain was coming down harder, drumming a relentless rhythm against the windows.
My phone buzzed. It was a string of texts from Rachel.
She sent me screenshots of large money transfers from Damien, peppered with his complaints about me.
"I can't stand her anymore. That long face all day, like I owe her the world."
"She has zero passion! Every time things get good, she pours cold water on it. It's boring!"
"Are you off work yet? Get changed. I'm coming over."
Then, a voice message. Rachels voice, sickly sweet and mocking.
"Did you watch my show, Clara? It was my big debut! Damien said I was so much better than you! He sent me five hundred thousand dollars to go shopping for luxury bags!"
"Oh, and Damien told me you're all upset about losing your job? I just wanted to tell you not to be so angry, sister. Stress causes wrinkles! And you're already twenty-six you can't compete with a twenty-year-old girl like me."
I closed my eyes. I was used to Rachels provocations.
But this time, I was done enduring.
I opened my eyes and pulled up the chat with my brother, Liam.
A year ago, he had sent me an application for an internal transfer to a lead position at NBN, the national network. But back then, I still wanted to give my marriage one last chance, so Id turned him down.
Now, that hope was gone. Utterly extinguished.
I had given Damien and me three chances. My job, my child, my dignity. He had taken them all. My love for him had been bled dry.
I typed: "Brother, that application you sent me last year is it too late to submit it?"
He replied almost instantly.
"It's not too late."
A pause, then: "Have you figured things out?"
I wiped the tears from my face.
"Yes. I've figured it out."
"And that other thing I asked you about have you thought about it?"
I held my breath. After a long moment, I heard my own voice, barely a whisper as I typed the words.
"Yes. I've thought about it and I accept Liam."
Though Liam was adopted, our father, before he passed, had always hoped he would become his son-in-law. I knew if my parents were still alive, they would approve of my decision.
As for Damien and me, it was time to cut the cord.
Our love, our marriageit all ends here.
When Damien came out of the shower, he didn't say a word. He just grabbed his coat and left. He moved in with Rachel after that, and for the next ten days, she bombarded me with photos of their happy life together.
On the day the divorce was to be finalized, I didn't show up.
I was on a plane, and I fell asleep and dreamt.
I dreamt of a time before everything soured between us. Our marriage may have been arranged by our families, but for the first three years, we were good to each other. We respected one another.
And the most important thing was, I loved him.
We grew up together. From the moment I understood what a crush was, it was him. That was why I never fought the arranged marriage.
Damien, on the other hand, had resisted fiercely. Hed pleaded with me to join him in refusing the union. But out of my own selfish love, I hadn't.
Then, one day, he just accepted it.
In the beginning, our marriage was polite, like two roommates sharing a life. But over time, I started to believe he was falling for me, too. He'd bring me little surprises every daya bouquet of flowers, my favorite dessert. He'd hold me tight every night as we fell asleep.
I remember once, someone left a comment on the station's website asking for my contact information. Damien was so consumed with jealousy he kept me in bed for an entire week. He clung to me like a lost puppy, begging me not to look at any other man. He even carried me to the bathroom.
That was the fourth year of our marriage.
Then, I heard from our families that his first love, his high school sweetheart, had gotten married and had a child.
And that's when Rachel appeared. She had the same innocent, pure look as his first love.
It was around that time that Damien found the notes app on my phone.
It was filled with years of my secret feelings for him, from my teenage diary entries to my thoughts after we were married.
And Damien he snapped.
He became convinced that I had conspired with our families to drive his first love away. The truth was, I never even knew he had a girlfriend. I had no idea he was in love with someone else.
But he wouldn't listen. From that day on, he made it his mission to hurt me.
The first year Rachel was in the picture, she was exposed as a homewrecker. The scandal was everywhere. Despite photos, videos, irrefutable proof, Damien forced me to go on record and clear her name. Because of that, the public labeled me a "doormat," a "pathetic wife." The ratings for my segments plummeted.
The second year, by some accident, I got pregnant. Rachel threw tantrums, staged dramatic goodbyes. Damien's heart softened. It reminded him of being forced to leave his first love. In a moment of cruel vengeance, he forced me to take pills that would induce a miscarriage. My health was already fragile; the doctor had told me the pregnancy was high-risk. The potent dose sent my body into shock. I was bleeding uncontrollably.
Damien just stood there, watching the life drain out of me, a crimson flower blooming on the floor beneath me. His voice was laced with poison. "Does it hurt? When she and I were forced apart, it hurt a thousand times more than this! A million times!"
"You're such a good actress, Clara. No wonder you never fought the marriage."
"You're pathetic. You owe me this. Now suffer."
I passed out from the pain. Only then did he show a sliver of mercy and take me to the hospital. The doctor said if he'd waited any longer, I would have died.
And the third year, this year, he took my job.

I didn't see the two missed calls until I landed that night.
They were from Damien.
I opened his voice message, and a sneering, sarcastic voice filled the air.

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