Liley opened the door, and for the first time in what felt like years, her eyes met mine. Not the fleeting glances across a dinner table, or the quick looks in passing, but a direct, unblinking gaze that held a chilling, distant quality. Her silhouette was sharp against the fading light of the evening, and a jolt, cold and unwelcome, shot through me. A rare day today, indeed, I thought, my mind reeling. Meeting her earlier, that ghost from the past, had already shaken my world. And now Liley, standing there, a stranger in her own doorway, with a look that promised an ending. What a day, truly. A day designed to unravel me.
I stepped inside the house, the familiar scent of home – a mix of lingering dinner, faint lavender from the cleaning products, and the sweet, indefinable smell of sleeping children – wrapped around me. It felt heavier than usual, a stark contrast to the storm brewing within me. This house, I realized, had always been a structure, never truly a home, never truly warm. I went upstairs, drawn by an instinct stronger than my own turmoil. I went to the kids' room first, the soft glow of a nightlight illuminating their peaceful forms. Three small, innocent angels lay tangled in their blankets. My heart ached with a tenderness that bordered on pain as I leaned over each bed, pressing a soft kiss to their warm cheeks. Their innocent breaths were the only pure thing left in my chaotic world. After a moment, I pulled myself away and went to my room, the weight of the day pressing down. The idea of a shower, of washing away the grime of unwelcome encounters, was the only thing that felt remotely appealing.
The liquor cabinet beckoned as I passed it, a dark, tempting promise of oblivion. My hand hovered over the cool glass, picturing the amber liquid dulling the sharp edges of my anxiety. But no. Not yet. Not before facing whatever fresh hell awaited me. I needed a clear head, or at least, a functioning one. I decided against drinking and went to the kitchen to get some food in the system. The kitchen, usually the bustling heart of our home, felt sterile, almost clinical. Liley was already there, sitting at the gleaming quartz island, perfectly still, her back ramrod straight. She wasn't scrolling on her phone, wasn't reading, just staring ahead, a silent sentinel. Her stillness was more unnerving than any outburst. I pulled out a cold chicken sandwich from the fridge, its plastic wrap crinkling too loudly in the quiet room. It felt like an act of defiance, a small assertion of normalcy before the inevitable crash. I sensed Liley was about to have a conversation, a final one perhaps, so I sat across from her, the distance across the island feeling vast, like a chasm. May it be easy, I silently prayed, though a part of me knew it wouldn't be.
I forced a casual tone, the words feeling foreign on my tongue. "So, anything interesting happen today?" I asked, my voice betraying none of the tremor in my hands. I took a deliberate, overly large bite of the cold chicken sandwich, chewing slowly, pretending it was the most exquisite meal I'd ever tasted, rather than a bland, rubbery offering designed to fill a void. The orange juice, too sweet and too cold, coated my tongue, a stark contrast to the bitter taste of apprehension.
Her voice was flat, devoid of emotion, like she was reading from a script. "I want a divorce."
The words hit me like a physical blow, stealing the air from my lungs. The half-chewed sandwich turned to sawdust in my mouth. My fork clattered against the plate, the sound echoing in the sudden, deafening silence. My voice was a desperate rasp. "Liley, you can't do this to me. We agreed, remember? We talked about this, about working through it—"
She cut me off, a chilling smile playing on her lips. "James, dear," she purred, the endearment a venomous sting, "you misunderstood me. I'm not asking for it. I'm doing it. And if you don't agree, we are going to court." Her eyes, previously distant, now burned with a fierce, cold resolve.
My gaze flickered upstairs, to the sleeping children. "What about our little angels, what.."
A harsh laugh escaped her, devoid of warmth. "What about them? Those obstacles." The word hung in the air, a cruel, sharp blade. "This isn't about them, it's about me, Mr. Big Shot. They are... no, all of you are stopping me from taking a single step forward. You want me to be a dutiful housewife, not do anything I want, like going for a holiday in the Bahamas or just going to a club. But Gideon will let me do that..."
The name hit me like a physical blow, shattering the last vestiges of my composure. "Who is Gideon?" My voice was barely a whisper, then it rose to a disbelieving shout. "What the hell? I thought this was about your career, about your ambition, but it's about another guy?!" The pieces clicked into place, sickeningly. The late nights, the vague excuses, the sudden 'business trips' over the last two years that I'd foolishly tried to ignore, to rationalize. It wasn't just Gideon; it had been others, hadn't it? He was just the latest, the one she was finally choosing. The humiliation burned, a hot flush spreading across my face, a deeper betrayal than I had ever imagined from a marriage I never truly wanted, but had accepted. A marriage, I remembered with a bitter twist, born not of love, but of a desperate pronouncement from a doctor, a stark warning that a drunken mistake could only be remedied by a forced union, or her very life.
She tossed her head, a dismissive gesture. "I don't have to explain myself to you. Take those kids and I become a career lady and I won't ask for anything during the divorce, not a penny, you understand? Then wallah, we are strangers." Her tone was final, dismissive, as if she were closing a business deal.
"I just want to know," I choked out, the words tasting like ash. "Gideon... my subordinate? The secretary? That Gideon is who you are leaving me for...?"
She stood up, pushing her chair back with a scrape that grated on my nerves. "Why are you bothered by matters that are none of your damn business, huh?" Her eyes narrowed, a flicker of contempt there. "The divorce papers are in the drawers. Post to my new address – it is written in the papers."
She turned on her heel, a swift, decisive movement, and walked out of the kitchen, then out of the house. The click of the lock, so quiet, sounded like a gunshot in the sudden, vast emptiness she left behind. And just like that, I was a divorced man. The words echoed in the silence, hollow and unbelievable. My hands trembled, gripping the edge of the cold island, trying to steady myself against the sudden shift in my reality. The fight drained out of me, leaving behind a hollow ache. What was the point? There was no arguing with Liley. Never had been. I remembered the time she insisted on using a crystal wine glass for her morning coffee, even at a greasy spoon diner, simply because she preferred the feel of it. Or the way she'd fought tooth and nail for that obscure antique lamp, refusing to leave the store until the owner capitulated. Her resolve, once set, was an unyielding force, a brick wall against any dissent. I had learned, years ago, that when Liley said 'this is the way it is,' there was no 'alternative possibility' in her mind. It had taken me too long to truly understand that about her, to accept that her persistence wasn't just a strength, but a fundamental, immovable part of her being. The betrayal, fresh and raw with Gideon's name, was amplified by the realization that this wasn't new. The cracks had been forming for two years, long before I even suspected a single name. To keep fighting now would be to ram my head endlessly against that same unyielding surface, only this time, the stakes were my children's peace.
My gaze drifted back upstairs, to the quiet rooms where my children slept. Their innocence, their happiness – that was the only thing that mattered now. I wouldn't let this, wouldn't let her, shatter their world. My focus had to shift, entirely, irrevocably, to them.
The earlier resolve to stay sober evaporated. "I forgo my earlier choice," I muttered aloud, the words tasting bitter. "If I'd just had that drink, maybe I'd be numb to this pain. Numb to the word 'divorce' echoing in my ears." A humorless laugh escaped me. "Ha. Now I'm even having an internal monologue with myself. Next, I'll be dancing with the monkeys." The thought was absurd, yet it felt strangely fitting for the surreal nightmare my life had become.
With a heavy heart and trembling hands, I retrieved the papers from the drawer. Each stroke of the pen felt like severing a limb, a final, irreversible act. The ink blurred slightly as I scrawled my signature, sealing my fate. Then, the alcohol. Not a glass, but the bottle. The burn in my throat was a welcome distraction from the inferno in my chest. Each gulp was a desperate attempt to drown the reality that had just consumed me. I fumbled for my phone, dialing my grandfather's number, the only steady anchor I knew. His familiar voice, even just hearing it, brought a flicker of relief. I explained, in clipped, hurried sentences, what had happened, what I needed. Three trusted 'helps' from his estate would be here soon, a silent, efficient presence to manage the house and, more importantly, the children, while I... while I fell apart. I stumbled out to the backyard, the cool night air a shock against my flushed skin. The stars, usually a comfort, seemed to mock me with their indifferent brilliance. I sank onto the cold patio chair, the bottle heavy in my hand, the world spinning. Funny is fate indeed, I thought, staring up at the vast, uncaring sky. Funny does fate think it is, to drop such a bomb on a day already filled with ghosts.