CHAPTER 2: I Want A Divorce

Tears cascaded down my cheeks, hot and relentless, blurring the screen in front of me. But no amount of tears could obscure the scene unfolding before my eyes. Ethan, the man I vowed to spend my life with, was tangled with Lily, my best friend. His lips brushed against hers, soft words of affection spilling from his mouth—words I had never heard him say to me.

"God, you're perfect," he murmured against her ear.

My breath hitched, the weight of his words crushing me. Perfect? He had never called me that.

On the screen, he trailed kisses down her neck, his hands caressing her with a tenderness that felt like a slap to my face. My stomach churned as he moved lower, his lips disappearing between her thighs. My heart twisted painfully in my chest. Ethan had always refused to do that for me, citing his obsession with cleanliness and claiming it was "unhygienic."

The Image of him now, eagerly worshiping Lily, mocked me. He was like a starved man finally having something to eat, and he ate greedily.

My body trembled, fury and humiliation mixing into a volatile storm inside me. I gripped the phone tighter, my knuckles white, as I watched Ethan pull away momentarily.

"I should get the condoms," he said to Lily, standing.

"No," Lily purred, tugging him back down. "I don't need them. Just stay here with me."

He laughed, a sound that once warmed me but now cut like glass. "You're impossible," he said before diving back into her embrace.

Their passion continued to unfold right there in the living room. The very space where Ethan and I once shared lazy Sundays, curled up together with coffee and movies, was now desecrated by his betrayal.

He didn't only fuck her, he worshipped her. Every kiss, every caress, every touch shattered me again and again. And when it was over, Ethan leaned back against the couch, panting, his hand lazily tracing patterns on Lily's bare skin. And then, as if to twist the knife lodged in my chest, he spoke.

"You're incredible," he said to her, his tone dripping with admiration. "Not like Victoria. She's so awful at this."

The breath left my lungs in a ragged gasp.

"Every time I see her tasteless outfits and boring moves in bed, I feel sick. You could teach her a lot, she's your friend after all," he continued, his voice laced with disdain.

My heart shattered into a thousand jagged pieces.

Unable to take another second, I let out a scream that tore from the depths of my soul and flung the phone onto the bed as if it were poison. My chest heaved as I stared at the perfectly crafted cake I had spent hours preparing—the symbol of my love, now reduced to a cruel joke.

Without thinking, I grabbed the cake and hurled it across the room. It hit the wall with a splatter, the words "Happy Anniversary" smearing into an unrecognizable mess.

I sank to the floor, my breath ragged, my body shaking from the force of my emotions.

Room service knocked on the door, snapping me out of my spiral. I scrambled to my feet, wiping at my tear-streaked face as I opened the door. A hotel staff member wheeled in a tray with a bottle of wine and a single glass.

"Thank you," I mumbled, barely meeting their gaze.

Once alone, I poured a generous glass, not bothering to savor the taste as I gulped it down. The burn of the alcohol was a welcome distraction, dulling the sharp edges of my pain. Glass after glass followed until the world around me blurred, the ache in my chest replaced by a hazy numbness.

Somewhere in the fog of wine and heartbreak, I drifted into sleep. And I had the wildest dream ever. I dream of a man.

He entered the room with a confidence that was both startling and intoxicating. His dark hair fell messily across his forehead, and his eyes—sharp and piercing—locked onto mine with an intensity that sent a shiver down my spine.

"Rough night?" he asked, his voice low and smooth.

I laughed, a sound that felt foreign and reckless. "You could say that."

He closed the distance between us, his presence commanding. "You deserve better," he murmured, his hand brushing against my cheek.

Something in his touch ignited a fire inside me, one I hadn't felt in years. My inhibitions dissolved in the heat of the moment.

"You have a great ass," I blurted, my drunk mind unable to filter the thought.

He chuckled, the sound rich and inviting. "I could say the same about you."

Before I could respond, his lips were on mine, firm yet gentle, and I melted into him. His hands explored my body with a reverence that made my skin tingle. It was exhilarating, electric, unlike anything I'd ever experienced.

And then—darkness.

I woke to the pale morning light streaming through the curtains, my head pounding from the wine. Blinking away the remnants of sleep, I sat up, disoriented. The dream lingered in my mind, vivid and unsettling.

A laugh escaped me, bitter and hollow. Dreaming of intimacy with a stranger—how pathetic. But wasn't it a reflection of my reality? It had been months since Ethan touched me with anything resembling passion. Months since I felt desired, loved.

My laughter turned to quiet tears as I thought of the past year. I had poured myself into making our house a home, into supporting Ethan's dreams, into being the perfect wife. And for what? To be discarded like I was nothing.

The image of Ethan with Lily resurfaced, and the anger bubbled up again, hotter and more potent than before.

This time, I wouldn't push it down. This time, I wouldn't stay silent.

I glanced at the shattered remains of the cake on the floor, a symbol of my heartbreak and humiliation. No more.

Wiping away the last of my tears, I stood, uncertainty still lingering in my chest. Ethan and Lily had taken so much from me—my trust, my happiness, and the life I thought we had. I had hoped that things could be fixed, that our marriage could survive this betrayal, that they would realize the damage they had caused. I wanted to believe it was still possible.

But now, I knew I had to confront Ethan.

I still didn't know what the future would hold, but I couldn't let this continue. Not anymore.