The Divorce

Beatrice

I gazed at the wardrobe crammed with luxurious clothes, all from the most renowned brands, the epitome of what money could acquire, yet none of it would be viable to take with me. I packed in the suitcase only the items I had brought to that residence a year ago.

Unlike that day when I arrived with a heart full of love and hope, now all that remained in my chest was bitterness and pain; I was about to distance myself from that house, which had never truly been my home.

After over a year of a frustrating marriage, in which I never truly experienced what it was to be loved by my husband, I made the difficult decision to end that doomed relationship where only one person fought for the couple's happiness, and that person was me. From this moment forward, Edward would no longer be part of my life, just as I would not be a part of his, and each of us would go our separate ways. With this perspective, I dismissed all the mansion staff that afternoon and awaited my husband's arrival, anticipating the moment when I would see him for the last time as mine.

I surveyed the spacious room, recalling our brief phone conversation that afternoon when I asked him to arrive earlier, and he promised to do so. However, Edward had made me the same promise before and did not keep it, just as he was doing at that moment. How many nights had I waited for his arrival, hoping for a normal marital relationship where he would make an effort to be with me? But that never happened throughout our entire marriage.

I poured myself some of his favorite whiskey, seeking the courage to do what I had decided, as I was certain that without that drink, I would not have the strength to move forward. I revisited all the memories of our scarce moments together, as he always avoided me, using various excuses to stay away from home as much as possible. However, they served as a reminder of how unloved I was by Edward.

I took a final sip of the drink just as I heard the gentle rumble of his car parking in front of our house. However, that day, the driver did not bring the boss's favorite Mercedes into the garage.

I watched him enter and step out of the shadows, lighting the lamp on the side table next to the armchair, and then stood up with the sole intention of facing him on equal terms, even though my height of five feet and nine inches was considerably shorter than his six feet and four inches.

"Oh!" he exclaimed, surprised by my presence in the darkened room, seated in his rightful place. "What are you doing here?"

I could have responded with so many things, among them the fact that I lived in that house and had every right to be sitting in the living room, waiting for my husband's arrival.

I didn't, however.

"I was waiting for you," I inform, trying to keep my voice free of all the sadness I carried with me. "We need to talk."

"Today is not a good time for that," he dismisses my presence, something that has become routine. "Tomorrow you can say what you want, as I'm tired today."

He doesn't wait to hear my response, already heading for the first step of the spiral staircase, ready to climb to his room, which I never had the privilege of sharing.

"I need to talk now! I can't wait any longer," I say, loud enough for me to hear.

He stops, seems to think about the situation, and returns to the center of the room, a sigh of resignation audibly escaping his inviting lips, which only touched mine once.

Edward never desired to consummate our marriage, always treating me with courtesy; he is an extremely kind but cold man.

"Tell me," he accepts to listen. "What do you have so important to tell me?"

"I want a divorce," I propose, feeling myself shatter into a thousand pieces.

Memories once again assail me, and the last few years flash through my mind, from the day my father asked me to make what he considered a small sacrifice in the name of something he loved like a son—his company.

Edward, however, was in a serious relationship with Louise Orleans, whom he truly loved, but still, he accepted the proposal made by his father's best friend, to whom he owed much respect and gratitude.

I understood that he never truly came to terms with having to separate from the woman he loved, and I felt that was why he always despised me, doing nothing to make us a real family.

The fact that he became even colder and more indifferent to me after receiving the wedding invitation from his beloved, who decided she couldn't wait for the duration of our contract and found another man to love, whom she married.

I could no longer bear his indifference and his excuses to never be at home, always working late and staunchly avoiding me when he was home.

With hands trembling from the emotion brought by memories, I hold the ring I've kept on my finger until now between my fingers and hand it over to Edward, as a way to put an end to our story.

"What do you intend with this?" he questions.

He sits down but doesn't appear sad or concerned about my request. Upon noticing the used glass next to the bottle of his preferred drink, he eyes me suspiciously but doesn't even ask if I've been drinking.

"I intend to clear your path, so you can finally find your happiness," I declare, trying to hold back tears. "I'm leaving this house, Edward."

"And where will you go?" Despite the question, he doesn't seem genuinely concerned about my destination.

"That's a question I don't intend to answer," I say, feeling the first teardrop onto my face. "I'm leaving your life and this house, and that's all that matters."

I place the ring on the sideboard and wait for him to ask me not to leave, to say he loves me and will change, to try to make our marriage something real at last. But not a word escapes his lips.

"This is a very serious decision, Beatrice," Edward asserts, his tone gentle. "You must think carefully before deciding this, so you won't regret it later."

If I weren't suffering so much, I might have laughed at his gentle warning.

"I've thought about it very carefully, Edward. I've thought for twelve months. A long year!"

I try not to raise my voice, but it's so hard to be cold when everything inside is about to explode.

"I see that you're sure of what you're doing," he says calmly.

"Our lawyer has prepared all the divorce paperwork, and I've already signed everything," I inform him. "He'll send the documents to your office; you just need to sign, and we'll be officially separated. You'll be free from me."

"Is this really what you want?" he asks. "I know you say you're sure about your decision, but I need to be sure. I have a debt of honor to our parents and their story, and I don't want you to suffer."

"Yes, I am certain of what I am doing," I confirmed, even though my heart screams otherwise! "I don't want to part from you, Edward! But I need to do this. I need to start anew away from you."

"I understand your anguish." He dares to say, but his face is a mask of coldness and politeness. "I hope you'll be well and find what you're looking for, Beatrice."

"Goodbye, Edward," I say, my heart bleeding. "I hope you find what you're looking for too."

I leave the luxurious mansion and walk to the stone staircase, reaching the central courtyard where a car awaits me, as per my instructions to the driver. My only suitcase is already stowed inside the vehicle, and I get into the back seat, bravely holding back tears and trying my best not to collapse.

But my heart is aching, tears roll down my face, and I need a great deal of willpower not to crumble completely when I am suffering so much from the separation.

How can I live without the great love of a lifetime?