The Thirty-Eighth Divorce's End

The sound of Ilene’s triumphant voice was like a dousing of frigid water, shocking me out of my grief and into a state of preternatural clarity. This was not the sharp pain of a heart breaking; that had happened long ago. This was the quiet sweeping-up of齑粉, the final acknowledgment of a ruin. There was nothing left to save. Nothing left to fight for. The only thing left was escape. The need to leave, to put this city and these people behind me, was no longer a desire but a primal, urgent necessity. I backed away from the door silently, my body trembling not with fear, but with a strange, new resolve. I pulled out my phone, my fingers flying across the screen. I called my parents. "Mom, Dad," I said, my voice low and urgent. "The immigration papers. How soon?" "We submitted everything last week, sweetheart," my mother's voice was a soothing balm. "They said it could be approved any day now. Maybe a week or two." "Thank you," I whispered, a wave of relief washing over me. "Thank you." I hung up and started walking away from the house, from the life that was no longer mine. A few days later, I was living in a small, anonymous hotel. I needed to go back to the house one last time to retrieve my passport and some other essential documents I had forgotten in my haste. As I was letting myself in with my key, the door was pulled open from the inside. Ilene stood there, her eyes narrowing with suspicion when she saw me. "What are you doing sneaking around?" she demanded. She snatched my phone from my hand. "Are you calling the police again? Trying to cause more trouble?" Just then, Ethan came down the stairs. He saw me and his face went pale. "Rory." He took the phone from Ilene and looked at the screen, his expression tense. I held my breath. My recent calls to the immigration lawyer were right there. My escape plan was about to be exposed. But before he could see anything, I snatched the phone back, my movement sharp and decisive. His eyes widened in surprise. "It's my mother," I said, my voice dangerously calm. "You don't need to concern yourself with my family anymore." I deliberately powered the phone off, the screen going black as I held his gaze. The small act of defiance felt like a declaration of war. Ethan's shoulders relaxed slightly, but his eyes were still full of suspicion. "Were you calling the police?" he asked, his voice sharp. "They already told you, Rory, it's over. Don't keep pushing this." His words, meant to be reassuring, felt like a slap. Don't be difficult. Let it go. Your pain is an inconvenience. I felt a tremor in my legs and had to lean against the wall for support. I looked up at him, my eyes clear. "No. I was just talking to my parents." He seemed to believe me. He looked relieved. "Oh. What about? Is everything okay? If you need anything, just tell me. I'll handle it for you." His offer to help, once a source of comfort, now felt like a cage. I looked him straight in the eye. "Can you really handle anything for me, Ethan?" "Of course," he said without a second's hesitation, his voice full of a confidence he didn't deserve to have. I took a deep breath. "Then-" "Ethan!" Ilene's shrill voice cut through the air. "I don't feel well. My head hurts. You have to take me to the hospital. Right now!" She clutched her head, her face a mask of pain. Ethan' s gaze flickered between us. The familiar conflict. The familiar choice. He turned to me, his voice apologetic. "Rory, wait for me here. I'll take her to the emergency room and be right back. Then we can talk. We' ll solve whatever problem you have." I knew what would happen. He would go. He would spend hours, maybe days, catering to her every whim. He would forget all about me and my "problem." I didn't say anything. I just watched him go. I watched Ilene shoot me a triumphant, spiteful look over her shoulder as she let him lead her away. The front door closed, leaving me alone in the silent house. I looked at the empty space where he had stood. "I was going to ask you to leave me alone," I whispered to the empty air. "To never see me again." It was a request he would never have granted. The next two days passed in a blur. Ethan didn't come back. He didn't call. Ilene, however, was very active on social media. Pictures of Ethan bringing her flowers at the hospital. A video of him peeling an orange for her. A selfie of the two of them, her head resting on his shoulder, with the caption: "My hero." I watched it all with a detached calm. The pain was gone. There was only a vast, hollow chamber where my affections used to reside. I used the time to finalize my affairs. I sold some stocks Ethan had given me over the years and transferred the money to my parents' account. It was the only thing I would take from this marriage. On the third day, Ethan finally came back. He didn't explain where he' d been. He just grabbed my arm, his grip surprisingly strong. "Come on," he said, his voice tense. "We're going out." "Where are we going?" I asked, pulling my arm away. "It' s Ilene' s birthday," he said, not meeting my eyes. "She's having a party. She specifically asked for you to be there." A chill that had nothing to do with the room’s temperature traced a path down my spine. The audacity of it. The cruelty. "I don't want to see her," I said, my voice shaking. "I don't want to have anything to do with her. Or you." "Why are you forcing me to go?" I demanded, my voice rising. "Is her birthday more important than the fact that she almost killed me? Twice?" He grabbed my hand, his face a mask of desperation. "Rory, please. Her emotions are still unstable. The doctor said we can't upset her. Just for tonight. Just endure it for a few more hours." He leaned in, his voice a low, pleading whisper. "I promise, after her condition is stable, we'll get remarried. I'll make sure she never bothers you again." The same empty promises. The same hollow words. He didn't wait for my answer. He just pulled me out the door and into his car, a prisoner being led to her own execution.