The Ice King's Queen

The divorce papers landed on Dukia’s dinner table, beside her untouched food. 

She looked up to see Liam, her husband typing away on his phone without even sparing her a glance. 

“Sign them quickly, I promised Margaret’s father that the engagement will be announced by next week. I do not want any delays”, said Harold, her father-in-law.

From across the table, Sloane her mother-in-law added, “thankfully, her barren womb served a good purpose. There are no children to complicate the divorce.” 

Five years of the constant insult and neglect had taught her to develop a thick skin. She would not indulge them with her tears. At that moment, something within her cracked. The final pieces of whatever affection she had for Liam. Obviously, there was no saving the marriage. She would not waste another second mourning what had been lost.

“I need a pen to sign.”

Liam’s thumb stopped scrolling. For a split second, something flickered over his face. Regret maybe?

But before she could place her finger on what it was, Margaret Ashford walked into the dining room like she owned the place, a measuring tape draped around her neck.

“I see you are still here,” Margaret said to Dukia. She held up a swatch of fabric against the dining room curtains. ”Liam darling I can’t seem to decide on what colour to use for the master bedroom. Gold or Ivory? I want everything fresh before the wedding.” 

Liam finally looked at Dukia. His mouth opened, closed, opened again. “Ivory,” he said.

Dukia smiled a bitter smile. She remembered five years ago, when they just got married, she requested to redecorate just their bedroom. Liam’s response was that it would be a waste of money as it was not necessary. Even when the family decided to redecorate the entire house just last year, she wasn’t allowed to give her input. But apparently Margaret was redecorating the entire house less than a year later. How convenient.

Dukia signed the papers and stood. She turned to go up the stairs.

“Where do you think you are going to with our family heirloom you thief?” Sloane screamed. “The marriage has ended, you need to return the ring. I honestly don’t even know what Liam saw in you, you gold digger.”

Dukia pulled the diamond ring from her finger. It had never fit right, loose and cold. She placed it on the dinner table, directly on top of the divorce papers, and walked up the stairs to what used to be her room. Her bag had already been packed for her. A single duffel bag that she had stepped into this family with. She picked up the bag and walked out the front door.

It was raining.

Not a gentle rain, but a rain very fitting for the kind of day she was having. It soaked through her dress in seconds. She had no umbrella, no car. The Young’s had given her nothing but the clothes on her back and the very things she had come into their house with.

As she walked to the end of the driveway, her tears mixed with the rain. In a matter of minutes, her life had been turned on itself. Nobody and nothing had prepared her for this. The nearest bus stop was three miles away. She had exactly $13 in her wallet and no living relatives.

She was 25 years old with nothing to her name and no one to call.

Thunder boomed above her. Dukia crouched under a tree that provided little relief from the heavy downpour and realized with a strange, hollow clarity that she had nowhere to go. The orphanage that raised her had closed 3 years ago after a fire that burnt down almost half of the building. Her college friends had drifted away after Liam’s isolation began a year after their marriage.

“Even death would be a better option,” she thought to herself.

A black Rolls-Royce turned onto the estate road.

Then another.

Then a third.

Dukia shifted closer to the trunk of the tree. She was already in much trouble of her own, she didn’t need to borrow anymore.

The lead car stopped few feet from where she was crouched and a man in his sixties stepped out, wearing a black suit. He carried an umbrella and walked directly to where Dukia was huddled beside the tree. 

“Miss Goven,” he said. “My name is James. I am the head butler of the Goven family. Your grandfather has been searching for you for years now.”

Dukia couldn’t speak, she was just gawking.

“He regrets everything that happened,” James continued, holding the umbrella above her head, “more than you can possibly imagine. He would like to apologize and beg for your forgiveness. He would like to give you what is yours.”

He brought out a picture from his breast pocket, Dukia took it with trembling fingers.

A little girl of about six years old, grinning on a swing. Her father’s hands pushing her from behind and her mother waving from a garden chair.

“Papa, Mama,” Dukia whispered.

Wiping her tears, she stood. “Thank you sir, but I do not wish to return, neither do I want to hear what my grandfather has to say. I only ask that I keep this picture.” She responded.

“Please, Miss Goven. I cannot leave this place without you. At least let us find a place for you to stay temporarily even if you do not wish to return to the Goven household.

Dukia, thought about it, this was a help in time of need. It would be foolish for her to turn down this favour knowing she had no where else to go.

“Alright, let’s go.”

Taking a final look at the place she had called home for the past five years, she wiped her face and said goodbye to the woman she used to be.