Divorce in the Eighth Year

In the eighth year of our marriage, my husband sent me nine hundred ninety-nine roses.

Fresh off the operating table, I calmly dialed his number and asked for a divorce.

From the other end of the line, I heard his young girlfriends tearful apology: Mrs. Steele, its all my fault for acting on my own. Please dont be angry with Mr. Steele.

Julian softly comforted her for a long time, only turning to me to say: As you wish.

It was half a month later before I saw him again.

Make me some noodles.

Logan Steele arrived home in the early hours, the kitchen devoid of the warm meal that usually awaited him. His handsome brows furrowed instinctively as he gave me the order before heading straight for the bathroom.

When he emerged, cloaked in a cloud of steam, I was still staring absently at the TV screen, not even bothering to turn my head.

He pulled a designer bag from his suitcase: Look, do you like it?

It was a pink bag, clearly a style favored by younger women. In the past, hed charm me by taking me to do anything I desired. Now, all that remained were these hollow gifts, a mere formality.

I couldnt be bothered to glance at it, casually changing the channel. When do you have time for a divorce?

Logan was busy, so busy that even our anniversary gift had to be chosen by his female secretary. So, when it came to scheduling, I was always the one who had to adapt to him.

Dont be ridiculous, Seraphina didnt know you hated roses. It wont happen again. The man poured himself a small glass of whiskey and settled onto the single armchair opposite me, a faint, sardonic smile playing on his lips.

Seraphina White was Logans childhood friend, devoted to him since they were kids. The moment she graduated university, she eagerly became his personal assistant. They were inseparable, even sharing a suite on business trips.

Honestly, I didnt blame Seraphina for clinging to Logan. A fly doesnt bother an egg with no cracks. If he hadnt given her an opening, no woman could have gotten close.

I yawned dramatically, tears unconsciously welling in the corners of my eyes.

After a long silence from me, Logan seemed to assume the matter was closed. He asked about our seven-year-old son Julians latest test scores.

I shook my head. I dont know.

I wasnt intentionally withholding information to spite Logan. I genuinely didnt know. The Steele family believed in elite education, and Julian had been raised in the family estate since childhood, with every day meticulously scheduled with various lessons. It was laughable, really; Julian was my son, yet the times I saw him were few and far between. I had cried and raged about it, but the Steele family remained unmoved. In their eyes, my marriage into the Steele family was a blessing from my ancestors. Anything else was pure fantasy.

Logan pinched the bridge of his nose, urging me to focus more on Julian. At this rate, Seraphina will be more like Julians mother than you are.

I understood what he meant. Yesterday was Friday, the only day I was permitted to pick Julian up from school. I arrived an hour early, waiting until dark, until the school gates closed. Seraphina then called to inform me that Mrs. Steele had asked her to pick Julian up for dinner at the estate. Through the phone, I could hear Logans voice. He was laughing as he asked Seraphina if she wanted some soup.

My thoughts snapped back to the present. I gave Logan a brittle, mocking smile. Well, doesnt that suit you perfectly? Ill leave right away, and she can take over as the esteemed Mrs. Steele.

Something in my words seemed to sting Logan. He fell silent for a few seconds, then erupted in a furious outburst. My patience has its limits. Eliza Maxwell, stop playing these games.

The man stood up and took a couple of steps. I spoke in a flat, indifferent tone. Oh, I forgot to tell you. I had a miscarriage.

A month ago, on the night he rushed out after Seraphinas call to shield her from drinks, I was writhing in agonizing abdominal pain. I drove myself to the emergency room, only to be told I was over two months pregnant, the baby had no heartbeat, and it was a biochemical pregnancy. The most absurd part was feeling a wave of relief when I heard the news. As I walked out of the operating room alone, I thought, its time to end this.

In the living room, Logan stood with his back to me, gripping his whiskey glass so tightly his knuckles were white. He didnt question why I hadnt contacted him. He knew exactly how many times I had called him that night. Unfortunately, there had been no answer.

Its probably for the best. It just proves youre not cut out to be a mother.

Logan walked towards his study, shutting the door with practiced ease. Eight years of marriage, countless arguments and disagreements. I was always the one to initiate a truce. This time, however, Logan waited, but no soft knock ever came. Half an hour later, he opened his study door. He searched the expansive house, but my presence was nowhere to be found.

I was Logans first love. No one could have imagined that a brilliant, aloof rich kid would fall for a rebellious bad girl who spent her days smoking and clubbing. Our first meeting wasnt exactly romantic. In a murky, reeking alley, the star student was being shaken down by some thugs. I happened to ride by, and one of them whistled suggestively at me. So I rode my bike straight into the crowd, teaching the punks a lesson, and, in a strange twist of fate, saved the introverted rich boy from a crisis.

After that, Logan clung to me like a shadow. Hed wait for me after school, following me around, no matter how much I tried to shake him off. He sent me roses, which Id coldly dump in the toilet and then toss back onto his desk. He meticulously prepared expensive lunches for me, which Id casually hand over to beggars on the street. My friends would tease me about having a rich, lovesick puppy. Everyone could see we were from different worlds.

But this was the same person who, when my alcoholic father beat me so badly I couldnt go to school, forcefully broke into our house, scooped up my bruised body, and rushed me to the hospital. As the doctor stitched me up, he stood with his back to me, his shoulders shaking uncontrollably, his hand constantly wiping at his face. The doctor, both puzzled and amused, asked him why he was crying when he wasnt the one hurt. He said he didnt know why, but his chest felt like it was being squeezed in a vise. He even foolishly asked the doctor if he needed an EKG to check his heart.

In the hospital room, Logan awkwardly peeled an apple. I never want to feel this terrible again. Eliza, please dont get hurt anymore, Im begging you.

I ate the popsicle hed bought me, mumbling a "yes," then glared at him fiercely. So, are you going to be my boyfriend or not? The entire day, both of us were blushing, unable to say another word.

I had told Logan a secret no one else knew. Every time my dad got drunk and beat my mom half to death, a withered rose, a token of apology, would appear in the house the next day. So, if he ever wanted to break up with me, he didnt need to say a word. Just one rose.

Silly, well be together forever. The eighteen-year-old boy held me tight, refusing to let me speak any more foolish words.

To escape my fathers constant harassment, Logan took me with him to study abroad. His own father, determined to force us apart, cut off all his financial support. Back then, besides attending classes, we both worked two part-time jobs every day. Those days were incredibly hard and busy, yet even during the short breaks while brushing our teeth, we couldnt help but goof around and laugh.

In our tiny apartment, we'd argue and make up, our eyes filled with only each other. If only life could have stayed like that forever

Mrs. Maxwell? Are you feeling alright?

The doctors concern brought me back to reality. Today was my third day out of the mansion, and my insomnia had worsened. As I walked alone to pick up the sleeping pills the doctor prescribed, I bumped into Seraphina.

Eliza, why are you at the hospital by yourself? Seraphina blinked innocently. Seeing my silence, she added with an exaggerated look of sympathy, I heard Logan say something about your baby dont worry, youre both still so young, youll definitely have another one.

Dont worry, there wont be another one.

The words were barely out of my mouth when I saw Logan approach, his face dark and stony. I didnt know why he was angry, only that he was gripping a medicated spray in his hand. Seraphina, in a sugary voice, told me she hadnt been careful going up some steps and had twisted her ankle. She insisted it was a minor injury that didnt warrant a hospital visit, blaming Logan for forcing her to come and making her miss work.

It was my turn to collect my medication. Seeing the bag in my hand, Logan couldnt help but ask, Whats wrong with you?

When I ignored him and started to walk away, he snatched the medicine from my hand and opened it to look inside. Insomnia? When did you start having this problem? Eliza, Im talking to you. Tell me, how long are you going to keep this up?

Logan assumed my leaving home was just another impulsive whim, a new tactic to get his attention. So, even now, he hadn't bothered to find out where Id been staying or what Id been doing for the past few days. The mans voice rose, colder and louder than intended, drawing the curious glances of those around us. A flicker of annoyance crossed my eyes. I took the medicine back from him and said in a quiet, even tone, Im not keeping this up.

Perhaps my voice was too soft, too calm. Logan seemed to interpret it as a sign of weakness. He offered to drive me home first, then take Seraphina back to the office. But I shook my head.

Work is more important. I can get back on my own. When I said back, I meant to my own home.