Curtis had cheated again—this made the tenth time—and I finally told him I wanted a divorce.

He just shrugged with that smug grin. "Is this really necessary? It was only a little fling. It won't happen again."

"There won't be another chance."

"Fine." He signed the papers with an impatient scowl. "Just don't back out when the waiting period is up and you have to show up in court."

We'd been childhood sweethearts—neighbors first, then lovers for a decade, married for seven. Curtis was convinced I'd change my mind. But what he never understood was that even the deepest love can eventually run dry.

...

On the last day of the waiting period, I ran into Curtis at the grocery store. A month had passed since I'd seen him, and he hadn't changed a bit.

He stood by a shelf, laughing and talking on the phone. "Bored with vanilla? How about trying something new?" After a few playful exchanges, he tossed a box of every flavor into his cart.

When he turned, our eyes collided. Any other husband would have looked guilty. Curtis just looked annoyed and snapped, "So you waited till the last minute to admit you were wrong? Is this your big change of heart?"

He actually thought filing for divorce was some scheme to win him back. I shook my head. "I'm here to shop for a farewell dinner. Want to join?"

Curtis frowned, trying to tell if I was serious. The air grew heavy—then, out of nowhere, he stepped forward and pulled me into a hug.

Onlookers probably saw a couple having a tender moment. I knew the truth. His whisper was ice.

"Thea, drop the act. You've got no one else. Without me, you're a stray with nowhere to go."

He stroked my hair, patient, like I was a house pet. "I'll throw you a bone. Go buy the roast beef and make my stew, and I'll let the whole mess slide." Then he patted my head and dismissed me. "Run along. I need to stop by the office. I'll be home later."

In that instant, I was yanked back to the first time Curtis cheated. The room reeked. Clothes were strewn everywhere. He'd ignored my breakdown, shielding the girl behind him, helping her get dressed. His voice was so casual while he recycled the same tired excuses.

And every time after was just more of the same.

Over time, I'd turned into a beaten-down dog. Too tired to bark, too tired to bite. Just numb.

But at night, faced with that cold, empty side of the bed and the endless stream of photos with other women, I'd remember that I was still human.

That day, I didn't make his stew, and Curtis didn't come home. Everything I couldn't bring myself to finish ended up in the trash.

Before I went to sleep, I couldn't help but wonder where Curtis was. Probably tangled up with another woman, working his way through flavor after flavor.

Their sordid little rendezvous were far more disgusting than the garbage in the bin.

But thankfully, soon, none of it would matter to me anymore.

The night before the divorce, my mind was a battlefield. Memories swarmed me without mercy.

Curtis and I grew up in the same neighborhood. Even back then, he always saved me the juiciest slice of melon, stood between me and the school bullies, and never forgot the little things I loved—using his allowance to surprise me with gifts I barely mentioned once.

It wasn't until a classmate confessed to me in middle school that Curtis seemed to realize what he wanted. He sent that boy packing and made damn sure he was the one walking me home.

We grew up, and our relationship shifted, but we never drifted apart. After high school, we went to the same college. Life felt seamless. Perfect.

So when the unthinkable happened, I was blindsided. A night out with friends. A fire at home. Curtis ran through the flames trying to pull my barely-breathing mom out. His back was a brutal canvas of burns and scars, and still, all he kept saying was, "I'm sorry, Mr. Burke... I couldn't save her."

In the end, Mom didn't make it.

Standing alone beside two graves, I felt gutted. Hollow. "I don't have a home anymore," I whispered.

Curtis squeezed my hand then. "Thea, don't be scared. Once I'm old enough, I'm marrying you. I'll give you a home that never falls apart."

And just like that, every emotion I'd been holding back finally broke loose. I clung to him, sobbing into his chest. I held on so tight it hurt the wounds on his back, and I remember that strong teenage boy curling in on himself, wincing.

The doctor said he'd heal, but the scars would stay. Guilt ate at me, and I promised him, "Curtis, if you ever mess up, I'll forgive you."

He laughed. "Is there a limit?"

I thought for a moment. "Nine times. The tenth time, we go our separate ways."

He'd been so sure of himself. "Nine is too many. I won't even need one. Curtis Washington and Thea Burke, together forever."

But by our second year of marriage, he'd already slept with his new assistant. When I kept quiet about it, he took that as a free pass—a second time. A third.

He'd forgotten the agreement. He thought my love meant I had no limits, that I'd swallow my pride and stay.

Then one night, he came home early for once, another woman's perfume clinging to his collar. He sidled up to me with a smirk. "Thea, as long as you behave yourself, you'll always be Mrs. Washington."

I didn't feel angry or sad. I just noted it. Another tick in the mental ledger I kept.

The rumors started soon after. Word in the social circles was that if anyone needed a lesson in endurance, they should look at Curtis's wife—the poster girl for putting up with anything.

They didn't know I wasn't enduring for him. I was honoring that fearless eighteen-year-old boy who once ran into a fire for my mom.

A month ago, I saw a fresh mark on Curtis's neck. The tenth time.

His immunity card had run out.

My voice shook just a little when I asked, "Mosquito bite you?"

Curtis smirked, too arrogant to even lie. "Met this girl. She's not trained yet. Bit me out of frustration. It won't happen again."

I let out a long breath and finally said the words I'd been holding back for years. "There won't be a next time, Curtis. Let's get a divorce."

Sunlight streamed through the curtains as I woke from the dream. Tears still clung to my pillow. But for the first time, I wasn't shattered. More than anything, I felt light.

It was finally over.

I packed my bags with a heavy sense of finality and headed for the courthouse. My phone buzzed nonstop the entire way.

Curious, I glanced at the screen to find I'd been added to a group chat. It was thrown together in a hurry—no name, no nothing. The members were all too familiar: people from Curtis's inner circle.

"Curtis is getting divorced today! Couldn't sleep a wink, so I'm parked outside the courthouse, ready for the show," one message read.

"You've gotta be kidding me! You're really gonna watch Curtis's drama go down?" another replied.

Curtis's avatar popped up, followed by his message: "I invited them. Who wouldn't want to see me embrace my newfound freedom?"

His comment sent the chat into overdrive.

"Meeting's postponed—I'm heading over now!"

"Wow, Thea finally grew a spine. That's rarer than a blue moon."

"Ha! Bet it's just a stunt—using the marriage to squeeze something out of Curtis. She'll fold and come crawling back."

Curtis 'liked' that one, showing his approval.

It hit me then: my presence here wasn't an accident. Curtis wanted me to see their mockery, wanted to drag my name through the mud in public. But what he didn't get was that I was dead serious. I was really leaving him.

When I pulled up to the courthouse, a crowd had already gathered outside. In the middle of it all stood Curtis, easy to spot—because he'd brought the girl from last night with him. He was lazily twirling a strand of her hair, one arm wrapped snug around her waist.

The moment he spotted me, he strolled over. "Why should I chase after you over a cup of coffee? If you want out, I'm not stopping you."

As he spoke, every pair of eyes swung to me, hungry for any flicker of regret or a hint of tears.

But I stayed calm, cool, and simply nodded. "Alright."

Ignoring the sudden scowl on Curtis's face, I walked right past him and kept moving forward.

The crowd went dead silent for a beat—then erupted in mocking laughter.

"Where'd Thea pick up those acting skills? Hook me up, I could use some of that magic on people!"

The jeers kept coming, people claiming they wanted lessons in pretending to be heartbroken or playing the brooding, love-struck fool.

Even Curtis joined in, watching me like he expected me to shatter into tears any second.

But my tears no longer belonged to him. After everything, all I felt was exhaustion.

"Curtis, it's you who's scared of this divorce, isn't it?"

As the words left my lips, I realized with a quiet sense of relief that the real ending was finally within reach.