Every anniversary, Mark had some twisted surprise for me.

Our tenth? He strutted into the ballroom holding hands with an escort wearing straight up lingerie.

"Jenna, she's cold. Hand over your dress."

Then, like that wasn't sick enough: "And the lingerie. She likes your vibe."

I clutched my collar, trying to keep it together. He didn't care—just yanked it open. "Cut the act. Your dad sold you to me, remember? That slutty look you used to give me—I still see it."

Everyone stared, waiting for me to break.

So I did the one thing I could.

"I want a divorce."

Again.

Mark just laughed and chucked a stack of photos on the table—me, covered in marks, curled in bed, a total mess.

"You say that every year. And every year, you're back in my bed. Think your mom keeps that hospital spot if these get out?"

The room exploded with laughter.

"Mark, let's bet—how long till she crawls back?"

"I'm calling it now—Jenna's in your bed tonight, crying to make up!"

"I'm in. Her mom sucks up three grand a day—without you, she couldn't even afford a cremation!"

The escort flashed a ring in my face, all sugary sweet. "I'm broke, but I'll toss in fifty—she's not getting that divorce."

I stared at the ring... then laughed.

Pathetic.

Ten years ago, he promised my dad he'd take care of me. Now he's sliding our wedding ring onto some escort just to make me a punchline.

I laughed again, soft and bitter.

God, I was pathetic too—for letting him wreck me this long.

"I already signed the divorce papers. You just need to sign them too."

I'd said "divorce" 999 times.

This was the first time I meant it—with actual papers.

I slipped off the ring, dropped it on top, and held them out.

His face froze. Like he couldn't believe it.

The shadow he used to drag around was walking away.

Then he smirked and tore the papers in two.

"Still playing that card? Not bored yet? You throw 'divorce' around like it's supposed to scare me. I've been over you—and this joke of a marriage—for years."

I didn't flinch. Just pulled out an identical copy from my bag. "Cool. Then sign."

He shoved the escort away, ripped off his tie, eyes wild.

"Jenna Jensen, every inch of you is mine. Divorce or not. Who'd even want you? Without me, who's paying for your leech of a dad or keeping your braindead mom alive?"

I didn't say a thing.

Just turned and walked.

Mark grabbed me, slammed me against the window.

Pain shot through me—I gasped.

Then his cold hand slid up my thigh—right in front of everyone.

I snapped.

Fought like hell and sank my teeth into his arm.

"You some kinda animal?" Mark hissed.

I stared him down. "Don't touch me. You make my skin crawl."

"Oh, I make your skin crawl?" His laugh turned sharp. Mean.

He yanked the papers from my hand and signed with this smug little flourish.

Then barked at his assistant, "Cut off Mrs. Jensen's medical payments. Let Jenna find out what skin crawl REALLY feels like."

He shot me a smug glance. "Your mom's got one week left. Use it to decide if you're crawling back to beg."

He looked so damn sure of himself—like I'd never risk my mom's life.

But Mark...

Back when the nurses kept calling with emergencies, I begged you to visit her. Over and over.

You said, "That old hag's dying? What's your new lie this time? If you want me back, stop cursing your mom."

She died that night. The only person who ever really loved me—gone.

So no. You wouldn't get to threaten me anymore.

I stared at that arrogant face and said, "Whatever. See you in court next month."

Then I grabbed my small bag—packed days ago—and walked out.

I'd already rented a cheap apartment earlier that week. Didn't have much to move, so settling in was fast.

Lying on the bed, finally alone, my phone lit up—Dad.

I hesitated. Then picked up.

His voice exploded through the speaker. "Jenna Jensen, you got a death wish?! How dare you ask Mark for a divorce—get your ass back here!"

I didn't wanna go back.

While Mom was in a hospital bed, Dad was cozying up with Fiona, our neighbor. That house? It was theirs now.

I had no home.

But Mom's urn was still there. And if I was leaving, I wasn't leaving without her.

The second I stepped in—before I even got my coat off—Dad slapped me hard.

He'd kept Mom's death secret just to keep milking money from Mark. Now that I'd filed for divorce, the cash train was done.

He was drunk, barely standing, but the hit landed hard.

I crashed to the floor.

Fiona rushed over, but he snapped, "Don't help her! Her mom dies and she cuts off my money? How am I supposed to gamble now? She's trying to kill me! Ungrateful brat!"

Fiona tried to patch it up. "Jenna, don't be so quick. Mark's a CEO. Most girls would KILL for that. I know it sucks, but the money's real. Being his wife is real."

I pushed off the floor. "I've made my choice. Stop trying to change my mind."

"I'm just here to grab my stuff. After that, I'm out. And when you two tie the knot? Don't bother telling me."

I turned and headed to my old room.

Dad spat behind me, "Ungrateful brat. What the hell do you think you're taking? Or did you crawl back for your mom?"

My stomach dropped.

The urn I kept by my bed—gone.

I whipped around. He was holding it.

My blood iced. I lunged. "Give it back. That's Mom's. You don't get to touch—"

Crash.

Ashes burst across the floor like smoke.

Dad roared, "I don't get to touch it? You dare talk to me like that?!"

Something inside me cracked.

I shoved him hard. "She was your wife—YOUR wife for decades! Do you even have a soul?!"

That set him off.

He snatched a beer bottle and slammed it into my forehead.

Another sharp crack.

Blood poured down my face, soaking my shirt.

Fiona screamed, "Patrick, stop! You're gonna kill her!"

I blinked through the blur, looked up at him.

He just stared—zero shame. Like he was enjoying it.

Then he pulled out his phone, snapped pics of my bleeding face, and called someone.

His voice flipped fake sweet. "Mark, Jenna acting out again. Don't worry, I handled it. Taught her a lesson—check the pics.

"Come on, ten years married, college sweethearts. Don't throw that away. And back then, it was me—I made her dump you.

"But when you crashed your car, it was Jenna who—"

Mark cut in, ice-cold. "Me making it outta that crash had nothing to do with her. Did she even do a damn thing?"

Dad stalled. "Right, right... but she did—"

Mark sighed. "You want money?"

Dad's eyes lit up. "Yes, yes, the hospital bills—"

A woman's voice broke in. "Mark, Jenna's not perfect, but don't drag her mom into this."

"You're always so kind," Mark said.

Then the frost hit. "Mr. Jensen, if you want my money, let Jenna crawl back and beg."

Click.

Dad cursed. "I beat you bloody and he still doesn't give a damn. Saving him back then was a waste!

"I don't care what it takes—get money. I'm drowning in debt. I need cash to bounce back. And if you don't bring any, I'll kill you!"

I felt nothing.

Just dropped to my knees, scooped up the ashes, and tucked them gently back into the broken urn.

Then I picked it up, held it tight, and walked out. Silent.