I sat alone on the edge of my bed, my arm still stinging faintly from the burn, but the pain inside me was heavier. I carefully dabbed ointment on the redness, whispering calming words to myself. There was no one else who would do it. No one else who ever had. I was always expected to tend to others–never once asked how I managed to hold myself together.
The door creaked open. I didn’t look up.
Bradley stepped inside, holding a small bag in his hand. He approached as if this were normal–as if things between us were not fractured beyond repair.
“I got you something,” he said, his tone light, like he was handing me a bouquet of apologies. “From duty free.”
He pulled out a souvenir keychain–a cheap trinket with the name of the cruise etched into the metal. Then, an apron. A beige apron with lace on the edges.
He held it out to me. “Thought you’d like this. For the kitchen.”
I didn’t move.
He frowned. “So what? You’re ignoring me now?”
“I’m tired,” I said quietly. “And I’m hurt. Can you get out?”
“Joyce-”
“Go back to Maine,” I cut in, my voice sharper than I intended. “After all, you already married her, didn’t you?”
He blinked, taken aback. “What?”
“I know,” I said, slowly standing. “I know you married her on the cruise.”
His brows knit together. “You’re upset over that? Joyce, that wasn’t a real wedding. That was just some stupid act. She said she wanted to know what it felt like. It was just for fun.”
“You really expect me to believe that?” I scoffed. “After all the years you spent choosing her over me? You loved her, Bradley. You wanted her.”
He looked exasperated now. “Are you saying I’m lying to your face?”
“You’re telling me you married my cousin, paraded her in a white dress, celebrated with my family–and now you’re calling it a joke?”
“She helped with the company,” he snapped. “She’s been a great help. And she’s your cousin. Why are you so jealous of her?”
That word–jealous–landed like poison in my mouth.
“She wanted a wedding?” I whispered. “What about me, Bradley? What about what I wanted? I begged for a wedding. I dreamed of it. And you said no. For twenty–five years, I waited… and then you gave it to her.”
His voice rose. “What about you? What are you saying now–that I’m unfair? treat you right?”
I didn’t
My Husband of Twenty–Five Years Mamed My Cruisin
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Run you: what are you saying
treat you right?”
I didn’t answer.
Because he knew. And so did I.
The door creaked again. Maine stepped in, her expression light
“Are you two fighting about me?” she asked, her voice soft. “Is this about the wedding on the cruise?”
Bradley rubbed his temple. “Maine-”
“I’m sorry,” she interrupted. “I should’ve told you. We didn’t mean anything by it, Joyce. It was just something silly. I always imagined myself in a white dress, and we thought it would be fun. I’m really sorry. I should’ve invited you–should’ve explained-
“Get out,” I whispered.
They both fell silent.
“I said, get out of my face!” I screamed. “I don’t want to ever see either of you again!”
My voice bounced off the walls, shaking with everything I had bottled for years.
Footsteps thundered down the hallway. My father entered, scowling.
“What the hell is all this screaming?” he barked. “Can’t even let a man sleep in peace-”
His eyes darted from me to them.
“They’re the ones who-“I started.
But he didn’t let me finish.
“You ungrateful bitch,” he snapped. “Get a grip! They’ve done everything for you, and you’re throwing a tantrum like a child?”
Tears burned at the corners of my eyes. He didn’t ask what happened. He didn’t care.
He turned back to Bradley and Maine. “Don’t bother with her. She’s always been difficult.”
And just like that, he left the room.
No one followed me when I collapsed onto the bed that night.
No one knocked. No one checked on me. Not even my son.
The only sound was my own sobs. I cried into the pillow, muffling every broken breath. It wasn’t even about the wedding anymore–it was about the years. The sacrifices. The loneliness. How I had buried every part of myself for people who never thought twice
about me.
But in the morning, I didn’t cry.
I rose before the sun. Quietly. Calmly
While the house slept in peace they hadn’t earned, I packed my clothes. My paintings. My sketchbooks. The last of the cash I had saved. Everything I needed to start again.
And on the kitchen table, next to their untouched breakfast, I left one thing.
An envelope. Inside–divorce papers. Signed.
Chapter 9
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20
lears burned at the corners of my eyes. He didn’t ask what happened. He didn’t care.
He turned back to Bradley and Maine. “Don’t bother with her. She’s always been difficult.
And just like that, he left the room.
No one followed me when I collapsed onto the bed that night.
No one knocked. No one checked on me. Not even my son.
The only sound was my own sobs. I cried into the pillow, muffling every broken breath. It wasn’t even about the wedding anymore–it was about the years. The sacrifices. The loneliness. How I had buried every part of myself for people who never thought twice
about me.
But in the morning, I didn’t cry.
I rose before the sun. Quietly. Calmly.
While the house slept in peace they hadn’t earned, I packed my clothes. My paintings. My sketchbooks. The last of the cash I had saved. Everything I needed to start again.
And on the kitchen table, next to their untouched breakfast, I left one thing.
An envelope. Inside–divorce papers. Signed.
No note. No goodbye.
Just silence. The same silence they had given me for years.
And with my bags in hand, I stepped out the front door leaving that house.
The smell of silence was unfamiliar.
