Ch. Divorce My H 22 Divorce My H 22

Chapter 22 

Some wounds, though deep, eventually scab 

over–not because the pain disappears, but 

because healing insists on coming, no matter 

how slow. 

Tania and Jackson had finally understood 

that apologies, no matter how sincere, 

couldn’t erase the years they had allowed 

Trina to suffer. After her release from the 

hospital, they stopped coming by so often. Instead, they quietly retreated from her life, 

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Let’s Divorce, My Husband 

not in bitterness but in respect. They were 

still present, in small ways. A fruit basket on 

her desk. A book she mentioned casually 

arriving by post. Notes left with flowers 

signed only with initials. 

They were trying, but they weren’t pushing. 

And Trina appreciated that. For once, she 

could breathe. 

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She had peace. Mateo beside her, her father 

finally recovering and gaining strength by the 

day, and most of all–herself. She was whole 

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again, not because of anyone else, but 

because she had fought like hell to reclaim 

her own life. 

Across town, Jackson sat at a quiet café 

table, staring out the window with a soft 

expression. The world around him moved 

quickly, but his thoughts wandered slower, 

backward. 

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“I think I’ll go see the aurora,” he said aloud to 

no one in particular. 

Tania, seated across from him with a cup of 

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tea, blinked. “The northern lights?” 

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He nodded, folding a brochure he’d been 

holding. “Somewhere remote. Maybe Norway. 

Or Alaska. Just me.” 

She didn’t ask why. She already knew. 

Jackson had realized, far too late, that Trina 

had been the light in his life. And now that 

she was marrying another man, he needed to 

find a different sky to chase. 

And so he packed. 

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Meanwhile, Trina was planning the wedding 

of her dreams. 

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Her gown had been chosen–a timeless, 

elegant silk dress with subtle lace detailing 

that hugged her gently and flowed like water 

behind her. Mateo had handled most of the 

logistics, determined not to let her lift a single 

stressed finger. 

The night before the wedding, her father 

walked into her room. The lines on his face 

were softer now, his voice stronger, the 

hospital’s gloom replaced by a light of pride. 

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“You look like your mother,” he whispered, 

taking her hand. 

Trina smiled. “I wish she were here.” 

“She is. She’s right here,” he said, placing his 

hand on her heart. 

The next day dawned clear and golden. 

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Guests gathered at a private garden estate 

nestled between towering trees and soft hills. 

Rows of white roses lined the aisle, sunlight 

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pouring through the canopies above, casting 

everything in a warm glow. 

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Mateo stood at the altar in a tailored charcoal 

suit, his eyes fixed on the far end of the aisle. 

And when the soft notes of the violin began, 

everyone rose. 

Trina emerged, her arm looped around her 

father’s. She moved slowly, not out of 

hesitation, but to savor every step. She was 

glowing–confidence and serenity wrapped in satin and hope. 

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Mateo’s eyes welled up the moment he saw 

her. There she was–the woman who had 

survived betrayal, heartbreak, and violence- 

and still stood taller than ever. His bride. His 

future. 

As she reached the altar, her father kissed 

her forehead and whispered, “You’ve always 

been brave. Now be happy.” 

Trina took Mateo’s hands, and the ceremony 

began. 

“I, Mateo, vow to love you fiercely and gently. 

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Tue 24 Jun 

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To protect you, to support you, to honor every 

scar and every smile. With you, I have found 

home.” 

“And I, Trina, vow to stand beside you with 

strength and softness. To share the weight of 

life’s trials, to celebrate every joy, and to never 

again let anyone take from me what I hold 

dear–you.” 

They slipped rings on trembling fingers, eyes 

never parting. 

“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the 

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officiant said. “You may kiss the bride.” 

And he did–with tears on his cheeks, her 

hands on his face, and the crowd erupting 

into joyful applause. 

But not everyone was seated in the crowd. 

From behind the tall hedges on the garden’s 

edge, hidden among the bushes, Jackson 

stood quietly–watching. 

His suit was wrinkled. His eyes, hollow. And 

his fists were clenched. 

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He had arrived uninvited, only to watch from 

afar. 

When he saw her walk down the aisle, radiant 

and whole, his breath caught. And when she 

exchanged vows, a silent tear slipped down 

his cheek. 

He couldn’t go back. 

He couldn’t fix what had already broken. 

He had hurt her too deeply. And while she 

had survived, he would always carry the 

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burden of knowing he’d been one of the 

reasons she almost didn’t. 

Jackson turned away when they kissed. 

It was too late now. 

Far too late. 

He slipped away without a sound, the distant sound of laughter echoing behind him, and a pain in his chest he would carry wherever the 

auroras would lead him. 

Let’s Divorce, My Husband 

As for Trina… 

She was dancing. 

Laughing in Mateo’s arms. 

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And for the first time in a long, long time–she wasn’t looking back.