Bradley woke up groggy and irritated. He hadn’t slept well–too much tossing and turning. too much of Maine’s perfume suffocating the bed. He threw on a shirt, ran his fingers through his hair, and walked straight to the kitchen, expecting the usual–the clinking of pans, the aroma of garlic, coffee brewing, Joyce humming off–key to herself.
But the kitchen was cold. Quiet. Still.
Instead of food, he found Mateo–his son–and Joseph hunched over the table with furrowed brows and worried voices. Mateo was on the phone, pacing, while Joseph muttered curses under his breath.
“What the hell’s going on?” Bradley asked, voice gruff from sleep.
They both looked up.
“Where’s breakfast?” he added.
Mateo stared at him. Then handed him a piece of
Bradley took it, eyes narrowing.
Divorce.
paper.
His fingers tightened around the sheet. “What the hell is this? Is this a joke?”
Mateo avoided his gaze. “Mom’s gone.”
“What do you mean she’s gone?”
“She left this,” Joseph said, gesturing to the table. “Left before sunrise. Took all her things.”
Bradley’s heart started to race. “She didn’t say anything. She didn’t even talk to me about
this!”
Mateo shifted uncomfortably. “Maybe it’s because of the wedding… on the cruise. We
didn’t tell her.”
Bradley slammed his fist on the table. “Damn it–just that? She’s divorcing me over that? She’s being ridiculous. Overdramatic, as always.”
He
pulled out his phone and immediately dialed her number.
Blocked.
He cursed under his breath. “Unbelievable.”
He turned to one of the men in the house. “Get me a new SIM card. Now.”
Within the hour, he was dialing again, using the new number.
No answer.
Call after call, and nothing.
He stared at the divorce paper in his hand, his jaw clenched. And then he crumpled it into a ball and tossed it aside.
“She’ll come back,” he muttered. “She always does.”
Call after call, and nothing.
He stared at the divorce paper in his hand, his jaw clenched. And then he crumpled it into a ball and tossed it aside.
“She’ll come back,” he muttered. “She always does.”
Joseph grunted from the corner. “She better. I haven’t eaten a damn thing since yesterday.” Bradley nodded, brushing it all off. “Let her be hungry wherever she is. She doesn’t know how to survive without me. She’ll come crawling back when she realizes that.”
He went back to his room. Maine was just waking up, stretching lazily like a cat.
She looked at his face. “What happened? You look pissed.”
“Joyce left. Divorce papers. She’s gone.”
Maine blinked. “Gone? As in… permanently?”
Bradley didn’t answer.
Maine sat up, a faint smile forming. “Isn’t that a good thing? Then we can finally make our wedding real. Isn’t that what we always wanted?”
He didn’t respond right away. He just sat at the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the floor. “What’s with the long face?” Maine asked, tilting her head. “She left. That’s what you wanted.”
“I didn’t want her to just… leave without a word,” Bradley muttered.
Maine laughed. “You didn’t expect her to throw you a goodbye party, did you?”
He didn’t reply. Something about it felt off. Bruised. It wasn’t about love–he was sure he hadn’t loved Joyce for years–but it was the silence that gnawed at him. She hadn’t begged. She hadn’t cried. She had just… walked out.
It stung.
His ego, perhaps. Not his heart.
But it stung nonetheless.
He expected her to return within the day. Maybe two.
But three days passed.
And the house?
A goddamn disaster.
The laundry was overflowing. No one knew which clothes were clean. His socks were mismatched. The fridge was empty. He burned toast twice and didn’t know where the coffee filters were.
Even Joseph started snapping. “I’m not a dog! I expect food in this damn house!”
Bradley bit back curses. Joyce usually handled the groceries. The bills. The schedules. He realized he didn’t even know when the water delivery was due.
By the fourth day, he had to wear wrinkled shirts to meetings.
By the fifth, he had forgotten an important investor call because she hadn’t written it on the
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realized he didn’t even know when the water delivery was due.
By the fourth day, he had to wear wrinkled shirts to meetings.
By the fifth, he had forgotten an important Investor call because she hadn’t written it on the board like she always did.
On the sixth day, he went to the library room to grab some documents–and couldn’t get in.
The door was locked.
“Damn it,” he muttered, trying random passwords. His birthday. The dog’s name. Maine’s
initials.
Nothing worked.
He stood there, frustrated beyond belief, then pulled out his burner phone and sent another
message:
“What’s the password to the library?”
He didn’t expect a reply.
But minutes later, his phone buzzed.
One message.
“The password is my birthday.”
Bradley stared at the screen.
Her birthday?
His mind scrambled. Blank.
When was her birthday?
He didn’t know. His fingers hovered over the screen, and slowly, it began to dawn on him. He didn’t know the password because he never paid attention. He didn’t remember her birthday. He never celebrated it properly. Never bought her a cake. Never asked how she wanted to spend it.
And yet for years, she remembered everything–his meetings, his doctor appointments, his moods, his favorite soup when he was sick.
She remembered him.
And now?
She was gone.
Really gone.
And for the first time, Bradley felt it–not the absence of a wife, but the loss of the woman who kept his entire life together.
And he didn’t even know her birthday.
