After the Divorce, A New Love Blossomed

It was a single reckless comment from Wilder Alexander that led Alessia Owens to pull off my prosthetic leg and hand it to him as if it were a mere plaything. Unbalanced and off-kilter, I toppled awkwardly to the ground. Wilder chucked the prosthetic aside, smirking. "Without your leg, Lukas, what are you even?" He nudged the leg carelessly under the table.

Choking back tears, I begged Alessia to help retrieve it. She shot me a frosty, dismissive look. "Why the waterworks? It's Wilder's birthday; don't be a buzzkill." She seemed to forget it was her actions that led to my losing the leg. In that moment, nine years of love withered into nothingness.

Around the table, I could feel the weight of judging eyes. Someone mumbled, "So it’s true, Lukas Kennedy really does have a prosthetic." "I knew he walked funny, but I never guessed…" I crawled under the table, trying to fix my leg amidst their stares, feeling an unparalleled sense of humiliation.

Alessia didn't spare me a glance. She was busy toasting with Alden Castro, gifting him something she’d selected with care. Amid cheers, she placed a gentle kiss on his forehead. Half-dragging my leg, I left the restaurant, each step heavier than the last, hoping for a cab that wouldn't come to this secluded hillside villa.

After ages, Alessia emerged from the restaurant. Her displeasure at seeing me still waiting was clear. "Why are you still here?"

"There are no cabs," I said, my eyes burning as Alden linked arms with her.

"I shouldn't have brought you. You're killing the mood," Alessia scoffed from the steps, watching me limp to the parking lot.

As she reached for the passenger door, her eyes met mine coldly, and she indicated the backseat with a tilt of her head. "Sit in the back. Alden has had a drink; you know how queasy he gets."

I glanced at the backseat, packed with Alden's gifts, no room left. "There's no space. Maybe he could ride with someone else—"

Before I finished, Alessia swung the door open, ushering Alden in without a word. Her impatience was palpable. "Remember, I'm just giving you a lift because I'm passing by. Don't act like you deserve it."

I said nothing, squeezing into the cramped space among the packages. After five years of marriage, riding in her car felt like begging for scraps.

Alden turned, grinning wickedly as I settled into the cramped spot. "Hope you don't mind, Lukas."

His words were hollow; the cramped back seat was no accident. Alessia’s look was scathing. "What is there to mind? He should be grateful. You invited him out of goodwill, and he ruined the fun. He hasn't the right to complain."

Ignoring them, I clenched my fists, nails digging into the soft flesh of my palms. The bitterness was consuming. As we drove down, Alden lit a cigarette, smirking as he turned to Alessia. "Mind if I smoke, Sandy?"

She despised smoking. I recalled the time I came home from an event, clothes reeking of smoke, and she made me walk. "Lukas Kennedy, you'd better walk it off if you can't quit!"

Afterward, I quit smoking entirely, never wanting to upset her. But now, she merely wrinkled her nose slightly before relaxing, smiling at Alden. "Go ahead. I'll crack the window."

I laughed inwardly. Principles? Only when it suited her.

As we neared the outskirts, words caught in my throat. Alden turned to Alessia, beaming. "Why rush home, Sandy? Let's hit a bar."

"But we have work tomorrow," Alessia replied, gazing at him affectionately. "Though if you insist, I'm game. Where to?"

"The one across town. It's not convenient for Lukas," Alden said, glancing disdainfully at me. "With your leg, you probably won’t be welcomed in a bar. Maybe a ride from someone would be better."

Ignoring his jab, I addressed Alessia flatly. "There's no transport here."

Without replying, she stopped the car, her annoyance evident. "Are we supposed to rearrange everything for you? If you can't manage, walk to wherever you can. Get out."

Her eyes, filled with contempt, silenced me. Pointless to argue. I got out, watching as their car disappeared. Hobbling on my prosthetic, it took two hours to finally flag a cab.

I reached home near midnight. The wedding photo on the living room wall showed Alessia smiling—a smile I hadn’t seen in ages. Our decade together, once the ideal love story, felt like a lie. High school sweethearts, adored by all.

After high school, we were inseparable. Back then, Alessia was the type who’d give me ninety-nine cents if all she had was a dollar. Post-college, I pursued a master’s while she started a business. Busy as she was, she always found time for me. Only later did I learn how much she struggled, never mentioning the twenty dollars left in her account, yet buying me ravioli and only a simple pasta for herself. It was a heartwrenching, humbling meal but drew us closer.

Five years ago, we were rushing to her father’s funeral. Her storm of emotions took us too fast on the highway, and we crashed. In those last moments, I shielded her, losing my leg in the process. At the hospital, my leg had to be amputated.

Through those dark nights, she stayed by my side, crying every time she saw me. “I owe you, Lukas. Let’s marry. I owe you a future.” Through amputation and agonizing recovery, her words felt worth every pain.

Three years of marriage saw her care deeply, driving me to rehab, cooking nourishing meals, seeking the best prosthetics. But in the fourth year, she stopped coming. Her patience turned to irritation. Her distaste when I struggled with the prosthetic was palpable.

It paralleled Alden’s arrival, her new intern. The changes were glaring, but I clung to denial. Now, all that's left is mutual torment. Sleepless, I texted a college friend about drafting divorce papers. Letting my parents know I was ready to return and join the family business.

As I set my phone down, the door opened to Alessia’s laughter. Seeing me, her smile remained fixed. She wrapped herself around me, her voice syrupy. "I love you so much! We secured the deal with Myla Robertson, thanks to you!"

Her sudden affection felt vile. I pulled away, my tone frosty. "Don’t touch me."

Her grin flickered before she entwined our fingers, pulling my shirt, eyes falsely tender. "We talked about starting a family. Maybe we should..."

She kissed me, softly, repeatedly whispering “I love you.” I wavered, seeking excuses, clinging to hope there might still be a spark. Just as I was about to respond, she murmured, “Alden, I love you…”

We froze. Rage and betrayal pulsed through me as I pushed her away. "Alessia, get out!"

Her attempts at explanation halted as her phone rang. She met my eyes and answered, “I’ll explain when I get back.”

The caller ID read clearly—Alden Castro.