Ch. Divorce My H 7 Divorce My H 7

Chapter 7 

Donna stared at Jackson in stunned silence, 

her hand pressed against her burning cheek. 

The sting wasn’t just physical–it bruised her 

pride. 

“You slapped me?” she hissed. “You slapped 

me for her necklace?” 

Jackson’s jaw tightened, his chest still 

heaving with fury, but he wasn’t proud of 

what he had done. 

“You’re so damn stubborn. Donna!” he 

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Let’s Divorce, My Husband 

snapped, running a hand through his hair. “I 

told you it wasn’t for you! I told you not to 

touch it!” 

Donna’s eyes narrowed, glossy with 

humiliation. “Don’t tell me… are you missing 

her?” she asked, voice low and accusing. 

“Don’t tell me you love her, Jackson.” 

His body stilled at the word. 

Love. 

He scoffed, but it was hollow. “No. Of course 

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not.” 

But even as the words left his lips, his chest 

ached in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time. 

Donna stepped forward, sensing his 

hesitation. “You’re lying.” She tilted her head, 

her tone sharper now. “You’ve been different 

since that text. Distant. You think I didn’t 

notice? You’re losing focus ever since we 

came here. So tell me–do you want her 

back?” 

Jackson looked at her. The woman he once 

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wanted more than anything. The woman he 

had abandoned his marriage for. 

And yet… all he could think about was Trina’s 

last words. Her silence. The absence of her 

presence haunting every corner of his mind. 

Still, he forced a nod. 

“I choose you, Donna,” he said flatly. 

Donna studied him, her pride swelling again. 

“Prove it.” 

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He blinked. “What?” 

“Kiss me,” she said, voice soft now, almost 

triumphant. “Show me I’m the only one.” 

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He didn’t argue. He leaned in, pulled her close, and kissed her. But even as his lips 

moved with hers, his heart wasn’t in it. Her 

perfume was too strong. Her touch too eager. 

His mind drifted elsewhere. 

He saw Trina’s quiet smile. The way her hand lingered on the back of his shirt when she hugged him. The soft hum she made when 

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she cooked in the kitchen. The eyes that 

looked at him—not for what he had–but for 

who he used to be. 

He pulled away before the kiss deepened, 

mumbling something about needing to rest. 

Donna didn’t question it. She felt victorious. 

The next few days were a blur. 

They went dogsledding. Sleigh rides. Spas. 

Shopping. They smiled for photos and held 

hands under the lights–but Jackson’s mind 

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was not with them. 

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While Donna and Tania admired fur coats 

and tasted Finnish pastries, he slipped away 

to shops and bought things for Trina. A silk 

scarf. A music box. A book she once said she 

wanted. Each item he chose carefully–each 

a silent apology. 

He even tried texting her. 

“Hey… I bought you something. Thought of 

you.” 

” 

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“Hope you’re doing okay.” 

“I was wrong.” 

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But nothing. No reply. No read receipts. Just a 

cold, empty silence. 

On the fifth day, Donna suggested they 

extend their trip. 

Jackson refused. “I have business. We need 

to get back.” 

Donna narrowed her eyes, arms crossed as 

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they stood in the hotel lobby surrounded by 

their packed luggage. “Business?” she 

scoffed. “Or is this about her again?” 

Jackson looked away, jaw tight. “Don’t start.” 

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“Oh, I will start,” she snapped. “Ever since she 

sent that damn message, you’ve been 

somewhere else. Distracted. Quiet. Even 

when you kiss me, I know you’re not really 

here.” Her voice cracked slightly. “Just admit 

it–you’re rushing home because of Trina.” 

Jackson turned back to her sharply. “It’s not 

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about her. I have things to take care of.” 

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Donna stepped closer, challenging. “You 

don’t think I see it? You’ve been buying 

things secretly, stepping out during our trips, 

barely touching me. You’re chasing a woman 

who left you, Jackson.” 

He exhaled slowly. “You’re wrong. This has 

nothing to do with her.” 

But even Donna could hear the lie in his 

voice. 

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By the time they landed, he was already 

texting Trina again, telling her he was bringing home gifts and that he missed her 

cooking, her laugh, her presence. 

He expected her to be mad. Cold. Distant. 

But he didn’t expect what greeted him when 

they got home. 

Jackson rushed toward the door, bags in 

hand, the cold air nipping at his face. He 

smiled for the first time in days—he was 

home. He was going to fix things. 

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But the keypad blinked red. 

Incorrect password. 

He tried again. 

Red. 

Again. 

Still locked. 

“What the hell?” he muttered, pressing his 

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hand against the door. 

Tania approached behind him, arms crossed. 

“Is she seriously locking us out?” 

Jackson frowned. “No. She wouldn’t…” 

Then Tania snapped, “Where the hell is that 

useless bitch?” 

“Stop calling her that!” Jackson shouted. His 

voice echoed through the yard. “She is your 

mother!” 

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Tania blinked. For the first time in her life, she 

saw her father raise his voice–for Trina. 

He pulled out his phone and called her. 

Straight to voicemail. 

He called again. And again. 

Nothing. 

He knocked. He banged on the door. Yelled 

her name. 

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Still nothing. 

Finally, they had no choice but to call 

someone from maintenance–someone who 

helped him break the digital lock and get the 

door open. 

Inside, the house was quiet. 

Dark. 

Empty. 

Jackson’s heart began to race. He stepped 

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into the living room. 

No shoes by the door. 

No scent of home–cooked meals. 

He bolted up the stairs, into the bedroom. 

The closet was empty. 

Drawers pulled open. Clothes gone. Jewelry 

case cleaned. Even the scent of her perfume 

-gone. 

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“Tania!” he called. “Check the study. The 

kitchen. Anywhere!” 

Moments later, Tania’s voice echoed from 

downstairs. 

“Dad… she left something.” 

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He stumbled down the stairs, nearly tripping 

in his urgency. 

She stood by the dining table, frozen. 

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intel 

CORE 

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There, in the center, sat a perfectly decorated cake. 

The frosting.spelled out: “Happy Divorce, My Husband!” 

Next to it were the divorce papers–signed- and his wedding ring resting on top of the 

stack. 

Jackson fell to his knees. 

He reached for the papers, his hands 

trembling. The ring gleamed in the dim light. 

Let’s Divorce, My Husband 

He clutched it like it might somehow bring 

her back. 

“No…” he whispered. “No, no, no…”