My phone sat on the counter. Its dark screen seemed to pulse in the silence. With shaking fingers, I unlocked it. One name waited like a lifeline: Naomi. My best friend. The only person who knew how rotten my marriage had become.
When she answered, I didn’t even waste a greeting.
“Draft the divorce papers for me,” I whispered. My voice broke on the last word.
Her reply was instant, steady, like stone under my feet. “I’ll take care of it tonight.”
I pressed the phone to my chest after she hung up, clinging to that promise like air. Divorce. The word felt foreign on my tongue—terrifying, liberating, final.
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By morning, the papers were in my inbox.
At noon, the front door clicked open. Matthew stepped in, his arms cradling a bouquet of white lilies—my favorite, once upon a time. The sight of them once would have melted me. Today it only made bile rise. He thought flowers could erase the night before. He thought petals could plaster over betrayal.