Ch. Divorce My H 4 Divorce My H 4

Chapter 4 

The grocery bags in my arms cut into my 

wrists, and the handle of the dry–cleaning 

bag kept slipping from my fingers. I balanced 

the frozen meat in one hand, the pack of 

imported facial masks Donna insisted on in 

the other, and the crisp coats I had just 

picked up from the shop swayed behind me 

like lifeless passengers. The taxi didn’t even 

wait for a tip. 

When I stepped through the front gate, the 

sun was already lowering. I pushed open the 

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door quietly, out of habit. No one ever noticed 

when I came and went–but it still felt better 

to move in silence. 

Inside, Donna was perched on the living room 

couch, her feet up on a velvet stool, 

sunglasses on despite the shade, while a nail 

technician carefully buffed her toenails. Her 

voice rang like a song I didn’t want to hear. 

“Well, finally!” she said loudly, not even 

turning her head. “The maid returns.” 

I ignored her. I walked straight to the kitchen 

– 

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and placed the bags on the counter, my 

fingers still tingling from the weight. I began 

organizing things–labeling containers, 

wrapping meat. It helped me think. 

Then came her voice again, that mocking 

sweetness that always made my stomach 

tighten. 

“Hey, what’s for dinner, dear maid–I mean, 

my dear best friend?” 

I didn’t respond. 

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“Come on,” she said, louder. “Are you 

ignoring me now?” 

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Still, I stayed quiet. I didn’t even look her way. I 

chopped onions slowly. 

“You know,” she added, rising from the 

couch, “we all know how Jackson gets. The 

moment I say one word about you, he’s mad 

all over again. Don’t push me.’ 

I clenched the knife tighter. Her footsteps 

tapped closer. 

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“What do you even want, Donna?” I sighed. 

“Isn’t it enough that you have them all?” 

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All I had were bruises in places no one saw, 

years of silence, and a home that hadn’t felt 

like mine since the day she moved in with her 

perfume and lipstick–stained glasses. 

“No,” she said softly. “Not enough. Because I 

want you gone.” 

The air left the room. 

I looked at her like she was someone I didn’t 

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know. Not the friend I once grew up with. Not 

the woman I once shared secrets and lip 

gloss with at sixteen. Just a stranger who had 

worn my life like a coat and now wanted to 

burn it too. 

“I thought you were my best friend,” I 

whispered. “But you betrayed me.” 

And I walked away. I didn’t slam the door. I 

didn’t cry. I just climbed the stairs, one step at 

a time, holding onto the railing like I was 

pulling myself out of a grave. I entered my 

room, locked the door, and laid on the bed 

fully clothed. 

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I stared at the ceiling for hours. 

The light faded slowly. I didn’t move. 

Until Jackson entered. 

He didn’t knock. He stepped in and slammed 

the door behind him. 

“Did you say something to Donna?” 

I turned my head slowly. “What?” 

“She doesn’t want to go to Finland anymore. 

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She says you made her feel ashamed. That 

she didn’t deserve it. Did you say something 

to her?” 

“Of course not,” I said, sitting up. “She was being dramatic. Donna provoked me. I didn’t 

even say a word to her.” 

Jackson scoffed. “Dramatic? You’re the one 

who’s dramatic. You’re jealous-” 

“Jealous?” My voice was still soft, but it had a 

heat I hadn’t heard in myself in years. 

“Jealous? Jackson, I am your wife. And yet 

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you’ve been choosing her over me. Over and 

over again. You left me behind a thousand 

times in this house like a ghost, and now you 

expect me to cheer while you take her to see 

the aurora borealis?” 

His face twisted with rage. Then came the 

blow. 

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It wasn’t the first time, but it was the last one 

I’d remember. His hand hit my cheek so hard I 

tasted blood. My head snapped to the side, 

the room spun, but I didn’t fall. 

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“Don’t you dare raise your voice at me!” he 

shouted. “God, you’re such a bitch.” 

I closed my eyes. 

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“If I could turn back time,” he hissed, “I would 

never have married you, Trina. Never.” 

The room blurred. Not from tears. Just from 

sheer weight. 

He wasn’t done. 

“I had no choice! Donna didn’t want to be tied 

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down then. So I settled for you. But I regretted 

it every damn day. You’re nothing. Not sexy. 

Not good in bed. Not successful. You’ll 

always be a shadow of Donna, no matter 

what you do.” 

I didn’t flinch. I didn’t yell back. 

I just listened. Maybe for the first time, I really 

heard him. 

He had never loved me. He had chosen me 

out of desperation. Out of timing. Not out of 

love. Not out of loyalty. And now, twenty years 

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later, he resented me for it. 

He took one last breath and leaned close. “If 

you hurt Donna again,” he growled, “you will 

vanish from this house. You hear me?” 

Then he slammed the door behind him. 

Silence returned. I touched my cheek. My 

skin throbbed, my ears rang–but I didn’t cry. 

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Not this time. Instead, I stood. I walked to the mirror and looked at myself—not at the 

bruise, but at the woman behind it. My eyes 

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were tired, yes. But they weren’t afraid 

anymore. 

whispered, “I’ll leave before you can vanish 

me.” 

That evening, I stayed in my room. I didn’t 

come down for dinner. I didn’t care if the 

dishes weren’t washed or the coats were 

unpacked. 

I lit a candle beside my window and watched 

it flicker until the wind carried it out. 

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Then my phone buzzed. One message. 

“Ms. Trinidad Dela Torre, this is to inform you 

that your divorce has been finalized and 

officially recorded. You are now legally free.” 

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I whispered, this time with a voice more solid 

than it had ever been: “You’re going to miss 

me when I’m gone. Every one of you. I’ll make 

sure of it.”