The Silence I Broke

Seavora City, Carmoria.

Nathan Ziegler's side chick, Sophie, was melting down—again.

He shoved the divorce papers at me. "Just sign. It's for show. Gotta keep her calm."

I clutched my dress, gave a small nod, and signed. No fuss. No scene.

As I turned to leave, one of his buddies snorted, "Joelle's way too obedient. Bet she'd fetch the divorce decree if you asked."

Nathan lit a cigarette, smirking. "Wanna bet?"

To them, I was still the silent pushover. The girl who'd cry in court but still do what she's told.

Trade one paper for another—marriage for divorce.

I stared at my phone.

The message I'd received earlier: [Why don't you just marry me?]

I typed back: [Okay.]

The reply came back almost instantly: [?]

I shut off my phone.

Inside, the laughter kept rolling.

"Alright then! If Joelle's really that obedient, drinks are on me next month!"

"Make it three," Nathan said.

"Deal, deal!"

More laughter.

I bolted.

The second I hit sunlight, the tears came fast.

Nathan had fallen headfirst for Sophie—a college kid. Spoiled her rotten with a sky-high suite in Seavora, designer everything.

However, she wouldn't even let him touch her—no hugs, no kisses.

She floated around like a queen, decked out in five-figure outfits, nose in the air like, "I'm not some side chick."

Nathan? Ate it up.

This was Act Three of his tragic little drama.

Act One? I was the trophy wife.

Had no clue Sophie was even real.

I clung to him like a happy idiot, snapping selfies.

He posted a grid of pics. I was glued to my screen—waiting, refreshing.

Nothing.

Turns out? Visibility: "Sophie only."

Act Two? Picked a fight out of nowhere. Left me bawling on the curb.

Snapped a pic and texted her: [See? Can't help it. She just can't leave me.]

Now? Final act—divorce.

Phone buzzed.

[Seriously?]

[You serious, Joelle Jewell?]

I wiped my face, smiled, typed: [Yeah.]

***

That afternoon, Nathan actually drove me to the law firm.

He was in a freakishly good mood the whole ride. "Where should we go for our anniversary trip?"

Three years married. Childhood sweethearts.

"How about Praven? You've wanted to feed those dumb pigeons at Praven Square since you were, what, seven?"

He hopped out first, opened my door, even unbuckled my seatbelt.

"Tsk. Were you crying?" He frowned, brushing under my eye. "Told you, it's just for show. That little bird—I'm just waiting for her to crack."

Then something slipped from his pocket.

A box of rubbers.

He cleared his throat. Rubbed his nose.

Didn't bother lying.

Walked me inside like none of it mattered.

It went fast.

I had aphasia—couldn't talk to strangers—but nodding was enough.

The lawyer asked, "Divorce by mutual consent?"

Nathan: "Yes."

Me: nod.

"Irreconcilable differences?"

Nathan: "Yep."

Me: nod.

Signed.

Stamped.

The lawyer said, "I'll file it in court. You can pick up the decree there in a month."

Nathan snatched the photocopy like a trophy.

Didn't even wait to leave the building. Snapped a pic. Sent it.

Ding.

I received a piece of message. Of course—Sophie's.

Screenshot: the papers. His message: [Happy now? Get cleaned up for me tonight.]

I opened her profile.

Blocked.

Right after, another ping—flight ticket confirmation.