Ch. Divorce My H 1 Divorce My H 1

Chapter 1 

For twenty years, I’d been the invisible wife, 

the forgotten mother. So when I saw a 

beautiful cake sitting on the kitchen table this 

morning–on my 45th birthday—my heart 

fluttered. Maybe they finally remembered. 

I reached for the knife, hands trembling, and 

sliced into it slowly, ready to taste with the 

fork halfway to my mouth when a sharp voice 

of my husband cut through the moment. 

“What the hell are you doing, Trina?” Jackson 

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Let’s Divorce, My Husband 

snapped, storming in. 

I froze. He marched toward me and ripped 

the plate from my hands like I’d committed a 

crime. “Why are you eating that?” 

I blinked. “I–I thought it was for me.” 

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He looked at me like I’d lost my mind. “That’s 

for Donna. Today is her birthday. Don’t you 

know how to ask before assuming? That’s 

her favorite–limited edition from downtown.” 

I stood there stunned, the knife still in my 

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Let’s Divorce, My Husband 

hand. “It’s… also my birthday,” I whispered. 

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For years, I used to love that my best friend 

Donna and I shared the same birthday. We’d 

celebrate together, laughing over shared 

candles and memories. But now, I hated it. 

Because everyone remembered Donna. 

Everyone celebrated her. Even my own family. 

And no one remembered me. 

Jackson scoffed. “So what do you want moto 

do? You don’t even deserve a celebration for 

your birthday.” 

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Let’s Divorce, My Husband. 

His words hit harder than they should’ve. I 

swallowed the ache, then remembered his 

promise from years ago. Maybe, this time he 

could give it to me–it’s much more important 

than a cake. 

“But then, I’m 45 now. And, maybe,” I looked 

at him. “Maybe you could finally fulfill your 

promise. From when we got married. The trip 

to Finland… to see the aurora borealis.” 

He laughed. Actually laughed. “A trip to 

Finland? And where are you going to get the 

money for that? Can you even handle the 

cold with how sick vou always are?” 

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Let’s Divorce, My Husband 

I clenched my fists. I had been sick- 

recurring migraines, fatigue, stomach issues. 

All stress–related, the doctors said. The 

stress of managing a household that didn’t 

seem to need me anymore. 

“I’ve been sick because I’m always running 

after everyone in this house,” I said quietly. 

“And no one ever helps.” 

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He crossed his arms. “So now you’re blang 

me? For what, your weak body? You chose 

this life, Trina. You could’ve done something 

better–like Donna. She’s out there traveling 

the world, living her best life, while you’re 

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Let’s Divorce, My Husband 

stuck here.” 

“But you promised,” I tried again, my voice 

cracking. 

“I don’t care what I promised! That was too 

long ago! You should forget about it,” he 

snapped. “And can you shut up already?” 

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He looked down at the cake, then at me like I 

was a roach that crawled out of the drain. 

“You ate the first slice? Then go replace it.” 

He grabbed the rest of the cake and shoved 

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it at me. It hit my chest and crumbled down 

my blouse and onto the floor. 

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“Don’t even come home unless you find the 

same cake,” he said, before storming out of 

the house. 

I stood there, cake frosting sticking to my 

clothes, the air heavy and silent. 

C 

A moment later, the sound of small feet 

pattering broke the silence. Zane, my five- 

year–old grandson, was running wild across 

the living room again. I watched in slow 

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motion as he knocked over a glass of water 

and sent it spilling all over the floor. 

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“Zane! I said stop! Why are you always 

ruining things?” My voice cracked like a whip. 

He froze and burst into tears. 

Seconds later, Tania, my daughter, stormed in. 

“What the hell is going on?!” 

“He wet the floor! Again! I told him to stop-” 

I said, pointing at the mess. 

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Let’s Divorce, My Husband. 

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“So what?” she snapped. “He’s just a kid. You 

clean it. Don’t shout at my son like that.” 

“I’m tired, Tania,” I said, my voice hoarse. “I 

clean this house every day. I’m not a maid. I’m 

your mother.” 

Tania scoffed. “Yeah, and you’re also jobless 

and staying at home rent–free. So maybe you 

should be the maid. Better you than hiring 

one.” 

Zane clung to her leg, still crying, then looked 

at me with wide, angry eyes. “You’re ugly! 

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Let’s Divorce, My Husband 

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And you’re weak! I hate you! You’re not like 

Aunt Donna! I want Aunt Donna! You 

monster!” 

My chest tightened. Even my own grandson 

wants Donna. Why am I even here? 

Tania smirked. “See? Even my son hates you. 

Maybe you should try being more like Aunt 

Donna.” 

C 

She scooped up Zane and walked off, leaving 

me standing there in the mess of cake, tears, 

and water. 

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Let’s Divorce, My Husband 

That night, I sat on the edge of the bed, the 

ache in my bones deeper than anything a 

doctor could diagnose. My hands were 

cracked from scrubbing, my back sore from 

carrying a family that had stopped seeing me 

years ago. 

They didn’t remember my birthday. They 

didn’t care about my dreams. They only 

noticed me when I failed to serve. 

I was invisible. 

And I’d had enough. 

C 

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Let’s Divorce, My Husband 

I picked up my phone, scrolled through the 

contacts, and dialed the travel agency 

number I bookmarked all those years ago. 

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A woman’s voice answered cheerfully. “Good 

evening! How can I help you?” 

I inhaled slowly, my voice steady and sure for 

the first time in years. 

“I’d like to book a travel package to Finland,” I 

said. “For one.” 

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Let’s Divorce, My Husband