Chapter 3: Divorce at Any Cost

After Lauren left, I grabbed a cab home to pack.

The ride was silent. The driver didn’t ask questions. I watched the city slip by, every street corner heavy with memories I wanted to forget.

This place used to be our little love nest. Now it was a bad joke.

The walls were still Lauren’s favorite blue, but everything else was foreign. The air was stale, the rooms echoing with emptiness. I moved through the house like a stranger.

Somewhere along the way, Brett’s stuff crept into every corner—cartoon figurines with their initials, his ties and cufflinks everywhere. Brett was more the man of the house than I ever was.

There was even a mug with Brett’s face in the sink. I stared at it, then tossed it in the trash. I wondered how long I’d been a ghost here.

I packed faster, not caring what I left behind.

I threw clothes into my suitcase without folding them. I just wanted out.

While packing, I found a big bag of dusty herbal supplements under the bed. Dad had walked miles to get them for Lauren’s health. She never even opened it, just tossed it aside.

I turned the bag over, reading the faded label. Dad had carried it all the way from the bus stop, hands shaking. Lauren never thanked him.

My heart twisted. I dumped the expired medicine in the trash, along with our wedding photo.

The photo landed face-down in the bin. I didn’t look back.

Once I finished packing, I rolled my suitcase to the door. When I opened it, Lauren and Brett’s family were right outside.

They were laughing, Brett’s dad telling a story in his slow, country drawl. Lauren’s arm was linked with Mrs. Carter’s, her smile bright and fake.

Lauren was holding Brett’s mother’s arm, playing perfect daughter-in-law. “Mr. and Mrs. Carter, please make yourselves at home here!”

Her voice was honey-sweet, syrupy. I felt sick.

I found it all so painfully ironic.

I remembered all the times I’d begged Lauren to let Dad visit, how she’d wrinkle her nose at his old coat. Now she was rolling out the red carpet for Brett’s family.

My mom died young, Dad raised me solo. After I married Lauren, I tried to bring Dad to the city, but she always refused—said she couldn’t stand his country smell. When he visited, she’d spray air freshener everywhere. When I suggested buying him a place nearby, she called it a waste of money.

I remembered her pinching her nose, spraying the air after Dad left. “He can’t stay here, Ethan. It’s embarrassing.” I let it go. She never changed.

But now, she welcomed Brett’s rural parents without complaint, even inviting them to stay. She laughed at their jokes, called Brett’s dad "Papa," acted like they were family. The hypocrisy stung.

Seeing me, Lauren’s face twisted in surprise. “Ethan, what are you doing home? Isn’t it work hours? Skipping work—I’m docking you two hundred bucks! Get back to work!”

She barked it like a boss, not a wife. Brett’s parents just watched.

After scolding me, she pulled me aside and whispered, “Ethan, you skipped work, so I can’t defend you. I have to follow the rules. Brett’s parents have nowhere to stay, so I want them to live here for a few days. Could you move out?”

Her tone was pleading, but her eyes were cold. She’d already decided.

I let out a cold laugh. “Why bother? I’ll leave for good. Give the place to the four of you.”

I didn’t raise my voice. I just grabbed my suitcase and turned to go.

At that moment, Brett noticed my suitcase and said, “Lauren, Ethan must be upset you had lunch with us. He’s even packed!”

He grinned, pretending concern. I ignored him.

“Ethan, I didn’t know you hated me this much. If that’s the case, I’ll take my parents and leave. We’ll just sleep on the street if we have to…”

His voice shook, pure theater. Mrs. Carter dabbed her eyes. Lauren glared at me.

Lauren got angry. “Ethan, I already said I’d take you and your dad on a trip and promised we’d try for a baby. What else do you want?”

Her voice was shrill, desperate. She was more worried about appearances than anything.

“If you keep this up, I’ll divorce you!”

She spat the words like a threat. I almost laughed.

I smiled, cold. “But we’re already divorced. What you signed earlier was…”

I started to explain, but she cut me off, face twisted in anger.

Before I could say ‘divorce papers,’ Lauren snapped, “You really want to divorce me? Are you crazy?”

She looked genuinely shocked, like it never crossed her mind.

“All I did was auction you off as a joke, and take Brett’s family on a trip—did you have to take it this far?”

She said it like it was nothing. Like I was overreacting.

“If you hadn’t gone against Brett, I wouldn’t have punished you!”

She actually sounded hurt. I realized she’d never seen me as anything but an obstacle.

I gave a faint smile. “So now I’ve been punished, lost everything, just as you wanted. Lauren, I’ve given in to you for nine years. I’m done.”

My voice was quiet, but there was no mistaking the finality. I turned to leave.

With that, I walked past her, suitcase dragging behind me.

The wheels thumped over the threshold. I never looked back.

Lauren panicked, grabbing my left hand. “Ethan, you’re not allowed to leave!”

Her grip was tight, desperate. I didn’t pull away.

The next second, her hand closed on empty air. She froze.

She stared at my bandaged stump, eyes wide with shock.

Dazed, she rolled up my sleeve. When she saw my bandaged hand, she was stunned.

Her mouth fell open. For the first time, she looked truly afraid.

“Ethan, what happened to your hand…?”

Her voice was barely a whisper. Her lip trembled.

I sneered. “Didn’t you tell the guy who bought me to torture me to death?”

I let the words hang, daring her to deny it.

Confused, Lauren said, “What are you talking about? When did I ever…”

She looked at Brett, searching for answers.

Brett cut in, eyes red. “Ethan, I can’t believe you went so far as to put on special effects makeup and bandage your hand just to get rid of me.”

He sniffled, looking wounded. I wanted to punch him.

“Why do this? I’ll just leave!”

His words implied I was faking my injuries for sympathy.

Lauren, angry, let go of my hand. “Pretty convincing! Almost had me fooled. You don’t want Brett’s family here, but I’m letting them stay. This is my house—you have no right to object. If you want to leave, go! Let’s see how long you can keep this up!”

She slammed the door, waiting for me to apologize and beg like before.

But I just left with my suitcase, never looking back.

I walked down the hall, the echo of the door slamming behind me. For the first time in years, I felt light.