Chapter 2 - The Ten-Year Anniversary Ultimatum
Ten years. Exactly one decade since we stood under a white archway in Napa Valley, promising to love and cherish one another through sickness and health, richer and poorer. Apparently, Richard had taken the "richer" part as a personal challenge exclusively for himself.
That evening, we sat across from each other in the dining room. I had prepared a modest meal of roasted chicken and vegetables, while Richard had brought home a bottle of vintage Napa Cabernet that cost more than my monthly grocery budget.
He didn't pour me a glass. He simply set a thick manila folder right next to my water goblet, right beside my plate.
"Let's get this over with," Richard said, his voice entirely devoid of remorse. He adjusted his gold Rolex—the one he bought himself to celebrate a quarterly bonus while I was stitching the holes back in Sophie's winter coat. "I want a divorce, Katherine."
I didn't blink. I didn't drop my fork. I simply looked up from my plate and met his cold, calculating eyes.
"Is there someone else?" I asked, keeping my voice steady, manufactured to sound fragile.
Richard shifted slightly in his chair, a flicker of discomfort crossing his face before his corporate armor snapped back into place. "Her name is Lauren Hayes. You know her. She's our communications director."
Lauren Hayes. The thirty-four-year-old corporate climber who had once hugged me tightly at our company Christmas party, whispering in my ear about how lucky I was to be married to such a brilliant, dedicated man. Snakes come in all forms, but Lauren wore designer heels and smelled of expensive vanilla.
"How long?" I asked quietly.
"About two years," he admitted, almost defensively. "We're building a life together, Katherine. We want different things now. You've become... stagnant. Complacent."
Stagnant. Because I preferred reading bedtime stories to Sophie over attending cocktail parties where old men in suits patted me on the head and asked what charity I volunteered for.
Richard slid the folder closer to me. "My legal team has structured this cleanly, based entirely on our ten-year ledger system. You keep your personal savings—whatever is left of your freelance accounts—and I keep mine. The house is deeded under my pre-marital business trust, so you'll vacate within thirty days. I've calculated your exact equity contribution over the decade, minus wear and tear, and I've generously added a severance bonus of twenty thousand dollars to help you transition."
Twenty thousand dollars. After ten years of unpaid domestic labor, emotional support, childcare, and splitting every single household bill right down the decimal point.
"You have your savings, I have mine," he repeated, echoing his ultimate justification.
"And Lauren?" I asked again.
"She's moving into the downtown condo next week. Once the house here is staged, we'll sell it and upgrade to something larger in the gated community on the north ridge." He looked at me expectantly, waiting for the waterworks. He wanted me to scream, to throw a plate, to beg him to stay so he could play the magnanimous husband denying my pleas.
Instead, I picked up a sleek black fountain pen from my pocket—a gift my grandfather had given me before he passed away.
Richard blinked, genuinely startled. "You're signing? Just like that?"
"You asked for a divorce, Richard. Why prolong the inevitable?"
I flipped to the signature page, meticulously signing my name on every dotted line where his high-priced lawyers demanded my compliance. I didn't read a single clause of his pathetic little agreement. Why bother reading a document that was about to become completely, hilariously obsolete?
I closed the folder with a sharp snap.
I stood up, smoothing down my simple blue cotton dress, and looked down at my husband with a gaze so chillingly detached that it made him physically recoil.
"Seven days from now, make sure you're home," I said softly.
Richard frowned, a flicker of unease finally piercing his thick shell of arrogance. "Why? What are you talking about?"
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"You'll have a delivery," I replied, turning my back on him and walking calmly toward the stairs. "Don't miss it, Richard. It's going to be heavy."
He laughed behind me—a nervous, abrasive sound. But as I climbed the steps to pack my bags, I knew that laugh was the last happy sound he would emit for a very, very long time.
