Homeless Heart

After my wife helped me recover from my severe depression, a deep, gnawing anxiety settled in my chest.

Every day, I would send her a message, asking if she still loved me.

For the first ninety-nine times, no matter how swamped she was, Victoria would reply with quiet patience.

But when I sent that question for the hundredth time, she finally snapped, firing back three brutal messages.

Grant, are you really this idle?

Clinging to me every day with these pathetic questions, has your mental illness relapsed?

Do yourself a favor; if you have this much free time, take a good look at your own miserable face.

I froze, staring at the screen.

The next second, the messages were recalled, replaced by a brief audio note.

"I'm sorry, Grant. My assistant had my phone and sent those by mistake. Please don't take it to heart."

Whether it was a mistake no longer mattered.

All I knew was that my marriage to Victoria was completely over.

I got up, drove to the travel agency, and started the paperwork to leave the country.

By the time I returned home, the sky was pitch black.

The living room lights were blazing, and Victoria was sitting on the sofa.

Hearing the door open, she looked up, her brow furrowing into a tight line.

"Where have you been? It is past midnight, and you haven't answered a single call or text."

I didn't say a word.

I slipped on my house shoes and walked to the kitchen to pour myself a glass of water.

She followed me with her eyes, her gaze lingering on my face for a few quiet seconds before she spoke again.

"I already explained what happened this afternoon. My assistant grabbed the wrong phone."

"He already apologized to me, and I gave him a stern warning. It won't happen again."

An assistant grabbing his bosss highly secured personal phone by mistake?

I let out a soft laugh, set my glass down, and finally looked at her.

Victoria was undeniably beautiful.

I had known that from the very first moment I laid eyes on her.

At thirty-three, she looked far more radiant than most women her age. Sitting on the sofa in her silk loungewear, she looked like she had stepped straight out of a high-fashion magazine.

I used to love looking at her, believing I could spend a lifetime doing nothing else.

But tonight, I realized her beauty had absolutely nothing to do with me.

She was like a gorgeous coat displayed in a luxury storefront; you could stare at it through the glass for years, convincing yourself it was yours, but you never actually held it in your hands.

"Victoria," I said, my voice steadier than I expected. "What was your assistants name again?"

She hesitated. "Christian. Why?"

"How long has he been working for you?"

"About six months," she said, before quickly adding, "Why are you cross-examining me? I told you it was a mistake. Is there any need to obsess over this? Can't you just let it go?"

Four defensive questions in a row.

I ignored them, keeping my tone level. "I remember when he first started. You complained to me that he was clumsy and slow, nothing like the sharp, capable people you usually hire. After that, you stopped mentioning him. I assumed you had let him go."

"It turns out you kept him. And ever since he arrived, you've been working late almost every night, and your business trips have tripled."

Victorias frown deepened.

"Grant, what exactly are you trying to say?"

I offered a small smile. "I'm just stating the facts."

Her irritation flared, her voice turning sharp and dismissive. "Grant, did your mental illness really relapse? Are you seriously acting this paranoid over a few accidental text messages?"

Mental illness.

Those two words felt like a slender needle, driving straight into the center of my chest.

How long had we been married?

Four years.

When I was twenty-two, my depression had returned with a vengeance, forcing me to flee my university abroad and return home in secret.

At a party hosted by a mutual friend, I met Victoria. The moment I saw her, the heavy fog in my mind seemed to lift. I began to pursue her relentlessly.

At first, she rejected me, claiming she had no interest in younger men.

But I was stubborn. I laid my heart bare before her, buying flowers, selecting jewelry, and eventually proposing.

People behind my back laughed, calling me a pathetic boy chasing an older, cold woman.

But I didn't care. I believed that loving someone meant being brave.

Eventually, she relented. We dated for a year and got married.

Throughout our four years of marriage, I was always the one pouring everything into the relationship. On the rare occasions she offered a crumb of affection, my entire world would light up.

Then, a year ago, she insisted on taking me to a specialist.

For twelve months, she traveled with me across the country, seeking every treatment until my depression was finally declared cured.

I should have been thrilled, but instead, a cold dread began to take root in my mind.

I became obsessed with asking if she loved me.

She never actually used the word love, but she would reply with gentle promises to come home early.

Until yesterday, when the personal phone she never allowed me to touch was used by another man to humiliate me.

That was when the truth finally settled in.

She had never truly cared.

But it was fine. It was over now. I was simply too tired to keep loving her.

Seeing my silence, she likely assumed I was backing down. She walked over to me, leaning down to wrap her arms around my shoulders.

"Alright, let's stop overthinking. I had the maid make some soup for you. Have a warm bowl, get some rest, and tomorrow morning I'll take you out to..."

"I want a divorce," I said softly.

She froze.

Her arms remained suspended in mid-air, her body rigid.

The apartment fell so quiet that the rhythmic ticking of the wall clock seemed to echo in the space.

One. Two. Three.

Slowly, she pulled back, standing tall as she looked down at me with a cold, mocking laugh.

"What did you just say?"

I met her gaze, speaking clearly.

"I said, I want a divorce."

Victorias composure began to crack.

In the five years I had known her, I had almost never seen her lose her temper. She was always composed, her emotions as steady and calculated as a high-precision machine.

But right now, the gears were grinding to a halt.

I watched her, finding the sight oddly novel.

"You want a divorce over three accidentally sent text messages?" she asked, her voice tight.

I kept a light, empty smile on my face. "Yes."

"Grant!" She barked my name, letting out a frustrated laugh. "I told you it was a mistake! Are you deaf?"

I shrugged. "I know."

"You know?" Her voice climbed a register, her eyes flashing with a sudden, angry red. "You know, and you're still demanding a divorce? Have you completely lost your mind?"

"Grant, you are clearly just too bored."

She had never shouted at me like this before.

Whenever we had minor disagreements in the past, she would simply go cold and silent, waiting for me to bow my head and apologize first.

I burst into a genuine laugh. "Victoria, look at you. You actually know how to get angry. You actually know how to look desperate. I spent years thinking the only tool in your box was giving me the cold shoulder."

She stared at me, stunned, before her hand shot out, gripping my jaw with bruising force. Her eyes burned with fury.

"Grant, have you had enough of this tantrum? I told you I didn't send those messages! Why won't you believe me?"

"Isn't this what you wanted? You keep asking if I love you. Fine! I love you! Are you happy now?"

"If you're feeling insecure, we can go to the bedroom right now. I'll make love to you until you're satisfied, alright?"

Without waiting for a response, she leaned down and bit my lip.

In our entire relationship, she had never initiated a kiss. Even during our most intimate moments, I was always the one reaching for her.

There was a time when I would have given anything for her to be this desperate for me.

But right now, I felt only a deep, oily wave of disgust.

I bit down on her lip, hard.

She gasped in pain, flinching away from me.

I stared up at her, my own eyes burning. "If you want to sleep with someone, go find someone else. Your little assistant looks like he is practically begging for it."

Victoria gasped. "What did you say?"

"I said, go find another man to crawl into bed with. Don't touch me with those hands. You disgust me, Victoria. You make my skin crawl."

She stared at me, her gaze sharp enough to pierce bone.

Three seconds passed in suffocating silence before a cold, vicious smile spread across her face.

"Fine. Since you are so generous, I'll do exactly what you want."

"Don't you dare regret this. And don't you dare come crawling back to me on your knees!"

She spun on her heel, slamming the front door behind her with a deafening crash.

The apartment fell silent once more.

I stared at the closed door, and the tears I had been holding back finally spilled over. I slumped against the kitchen counter, sobbing until my chest ached.

It was as if I were crying out every ounce of humiliation and neglect I had endured over the last four years.

I won't regret this, Victoria.

And I will never beg you again.

I wiped my face with the back of my hand and dialed a familiar number.

"Valerie. Pull our familys Wall Street funding from Victoria's firm. Every single cent."

Victoria did not return that night.

The next morning was Saturday, and she had no reason to be at the office.

I didn't know where to find her to get her signature on the divorce papers, but my phone solved that problem for me.

A notification popped up, followed by a frantic voice note from my best friend, Beatrice.

"Grant! Oh my god, isn't this your high-and-mighty wife?"

"I was shopping at Bellevue Square and I saw her with some guy! She literally knelt down in the middle of the mall to tie his sneakers!"

"Are you kidding me? You guys have only been married for four years and she is already parading her side piece in public? What a shameless parasite! I swear to god, I am going to ruin both of them!"

I clicked on the video link she sent.

In the high-definition footage, Victoria, the woman who always held herself above everyone else, was kneeling on the polished floor, patiently tying the laces of a young mans designer sneakers.

The young man was filming her with his phone, laughing, and she looked up at him with a helpless, fond smile.

A sharp, familiar pain pricked my heart.

I had asked her to do things like that for me in the past, but she had always looked down at me with cool disdain, letting me embarrass myself until I made an excuse to change the subject.

I pinched the bridge of my nose and texted Beatrice back.

We are getting a divorce.

A second after sending the text, an unknown number called my phone.

"Hello, is this Grant Mercer? Your wife and her friend have been involved in a physical altercation at the district precinct. We need you to come down immediately."

Beatrice had a terrible temper, but I hadn't expected her to move this fast.

I quickly got dressed and caught a cab to the station.

The moment I stepped through the glass doors of the precinct, the shouting echoed from the back rooms.

"Victoria! How can you look at yourself in the mirror? Grant gave you everything, and you couldn't wait to find a new toy! You brought your little stray out to a public mall to play house? Have you no shame?"

"Grant loved you more than his own life..."

"Did I ask him to?" Victorias cold, sharp voice cut through the air.

I froze in the doorway.

"Did I force him to treat me well?" Victoria continued, her voice dripping with venom. "Didn't he throw himself at me, crawl into my bed, and beg to marry me the second I waved my hand? Why should his pathetic devotion be my responsibility? I don't love him, so why should I care?"

Beatrice was white with rage, and two officers had to physically hold her back to keep her from lunging across the desk.

"Victoria! You miserable leech! If it weren't for Grant, your company would have been bankrupt years ago..."

"Beatrice, stop," I said, stepping into the room and addressing the desk sergeant.

"I'm here to take her home."

Before the officer could speak, Victorias voice rang out, cold as winter. "Your friend assaulted my assistant. You think she can just walk out of here?"

I looked at the young man sitting beside her. Christian was holding a hand to his red, swollen cheek, whimpering as he leaned against Victorias shoulder. Finally, I looked at my wife.

"What do you want?"

Victorias eyes were like ice.

"Your friend slapped Christian. I want that slap returned."

Beatrice let out a harsh laugh. "You want him to slap me? Try it, you little..."

"I'm not talking about you," Victoria interrupted, her eyes locking onto my face.

"Grant, your friend committed a crime on your behalf. It is only fair that you pay the price."

"You disgusting, low-life..."

Beatrice was shaking with rage, trying to break free from the officers grip.

I took a step forward. "Fine."

Beatrice whipped her head toward me, her eyes wide. "Grant! Are you insane? She is the one who cheated! She is the one who betrayed you!"

I didn't answer her. I walked up to Victoria and Christian.

"Do it."

Christian looked up, his eyes watery as he whispered, "Miss Barrett, let's not make a scene. I'm fine..."

Slap!

Before he could finish his sentence, Victoria grabbed his wrist and swung his hand violently across my face.

The stinging heat bloomed across my cheek instantly.

I turned to walk away.

"I didn't say you were finished," Victorias voice was devoid of any warmth. "He gave Christian one slap. I want it returned tenfold."

She dragged Christian forward by the arm.

Before I could brace myself, the slaps began to rain down on my face.

Slap! Slap! Slap!

Nine more slaps, each one heavier and more vicious than the last.

With every strike that landed, the remaining pieces of my love for her shattered into dust, fading away into nothingness.

When the final blow landed, I felt nothing at all.

A warm trickle of copper-tasting blood ran down the corner of my mouth.

The officers in the room stood by, silent. No one dared to interfere with Victoria Barrett, the most powerful CEO in the city.

Victoria let go of Christians hand and gently massaged his wrist.

Then she looked at me, her voice cutting.

"Keep your friend on a leash. If she barks at my people like a rabid dog again, I won't be this lenient."

She took Christians hand and turned to leave.

"Victoria," I called out.

I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out the folded papers. "Sign them. Let's finish the divorce."

Victoria stared at the document, a flicker of disbelief crossing her eyes. "You're really going through with this?"

I nodded. "Yes."

She stared at me for several long seconds, then let out a sharp, mocking laugh.

"Grant, is this your new way of begging for my attention? Play-acting a divorce?"

I wiped the blood from my lip. "Believe what you want."

Victorias face darkened instantly. She snatched the papers from my hand, grabbed a pen from the desk, and scrawled her signature across the line. She shoved the papers violently against my chest, letting them flutter to the floor.

"Let me remind you of something, Grant. Without me and my status, you are absolutely nothing."

"When you come crawling back to me on your knees, begging for my forgiveness, I won't even look at you."