Thanks for the Divorce, Ex

When I walked into the apartment, the divorce agreement was already lying on the coffee table.

"I've prepared everything. All you have to do is sign it." Oliver Wright reclined lazily on the couch, swirling a glass of whiskey.

Maeve Young sat right beside him in the seat I usually occupied. When I stepped through the door, she looked up and offered me a faint smile, as if victory were already hers.

I walked over and picked up the agreement.

There were three pages in total. Every single asset had already been divided. The apartment, the company, the investment accounts, the cars… Everything was allocated to Oliver.

When I flipped to the last page, the only thing listed under my name was a mere five thousand dollars in compensation. That was what our three years of marriage were worth to him.

I stared at those digits for a few seconds before raising my head. "Is that all I get?"

Oliver's expression barely changed. "Don't drag this out, Elettra. It's a fair amount."

Yeah, right.

Maeve, who was sitting across from him, set her wine glass down. "Five thousand dollars is more than enough to rent a nice apartment, Etta. Do you think it's too little?"

She called me by my nickname, as if we were longtime friends, as if she hadn't spent years biding her time, just waiting for the chance to wedge herself into my marriage. Holding her gaze, I asked, "When did you get back?"

"Last night." Her smile widened. "Oliver picked me up from the airport. My flight was delayed for nearly five hours, but he didn't leave."

Oliver had sent me a message last night, informing me that he had an urgent meeting at the company and that he had to stay in the office. "Don't wait up."

So, he was with Maeve the whole time. The realization weighed like lead on my chest, but to my surprise, it didn't hurt as badly as I had expected.

Perhaps there was a limit to how much disappointment a person could endure. Once it went beyond that threshold, all that remained was numbness and exhaustion.

Maeve tilted her head, casually resting it on Oliver's shoulder. "Oliver told me you're an understanding woman. I'm sure you won't make a mountain out of a molehill, right?"

The sharp edge of the envelope containing my pregnancy test report dug into my palm, biting into my skin. I had been running around with it all morning. On my way home, I had rehearsed the words I was going to tell him over and over in my head.

"Oliver, we're finally going to be parents! This is the child we've dreamed of for years. He's also the heir who's about to bring us immense wealth.

"Now, you won't have to lie awake at 3:00 am staring at the ceiling, stressing over rent anymore, and you'll never have to drink until you throw up just to suck up to clients anymore!"

I had thought tonight would be one of the best nights of our lives. Yet, what awaited me was a divorce agreement that needed my signature.

Suppressing the tremor in my lips, I inquired, "Where's the pen?"

He tilted his chin toward the undercarriage of the coffee table.

I crouched down to reach for it, and from that angle, I noticed Maeve's fingers resting on his thigh, drawing slow, suggestive circles. The envelope containing my pregnancy report almost slipped from under my arm, but I hurriedly clamped my elbow shut, pinning it tight against my body.

"Sign the last page and write today's date." His voice drifted down from above.

I signed my name—Elettra. The ink sank into the page and dried.

"Very well," Oliver said. "We'll go to the courthouse tomorrow to finalize everything."

Right before my eyes, he fished out his phone, unlocked it, and scrolled through his contact list.

My contact information popped up on the screen. It read, "Honey".

His thumb hovered over it for a split second before he changed it to "Elettra".

Long after he tucked his phone back in his pocket, my gaze lingered on his hands, unable to look away.

Maeve wrapped her arm around his and smiled. "I'm craving your braised short ribs, Oliver. Won't you make it for me tonight?"

"Sure," he responded without the slightest hesitation. Then, he walked toward the kitchen and put on an apron.

I almost laughed out loud.

Three years ago, when we had just gotten married, I had once asked him whether he could cook. He had told me that he once burned instant pasta so badly that he nearly set his dorm room on fire. Guess he learned after all.

Maeve shrugged at me. Obviously, she was used to this treatment. "Don't just stand there, Etta. You'd better get a head start on your packing."

Her gaze drifted casually toward the hallway. "The interior designer is coming tomorrow. We're remodeling the whole apartment. I'd hate for you to cry if we accidentally throw out something important to you."

Without saying a word, I went upstairs and packed a single canvas bag. To be honest, there wasn't much to pack—just my passport, wallet, and a few personal items I had brought with me before we married. Everything else could rot here for all I cared.

I walked past the kitchen on my way out. Oliver was slicing meat. The knife came down on the chopping board again and again, steady as a metronome. He didn't lift his gaze or break his rhythm.

Maeve followed me out the door, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed. "Etta, I probably shouldn't be telling you this, but…"

"Go ahead."

"Oliver never sighs when he's with me. However, during the last three years, when he was with you, every single time I called him, I could hear him sighing on the other end of the line."

She paused before lowering her voice. "Perhaps the two of you were just never meant to be."

I looked at her. Maeve had absolutely no idea what those sighs actually meant.

He only sighed when funds were running dry, when negotiations failed, when lawsuits loomed, and when audits were closing in. He always sighed on nights when creditors rang every single hour, when competitors tried to push him out of the game.

Every time he sighed, I would stay up all night solving the problem. By sunrise, the crisis would miraculously be over. He merely thought he was lucky and blessed by the heavens, and I'd never corrected him.

"Perhaps you're right." My voice was dead calm. "We were just never meant to be."

The door slammed shut behind me. Maeve's cheery voice drifted from the other side. "Let's change the lock combination, Oliver. I want it to be my birthday!"