Eight Years End in Divorce Bid

The glass shattered at my feet, crystal fragments scattering across the hardwood like ice. I stared at the mess, my mind reeling from what I'd just heard. August's voice—but not spoken aloud. His thoughts, somehow echoing in my head with perfect clarity.

'Jesus, Skyler. Can't you do anything right?' August snapped, his voice sharp with irritation. But beneath it, I heard something else entirely.

*Finally, a reaction. Something besides that blank stare.*

I blinked, trying to process what was happening. Could I really hear his thoughts? Or was my mind finally fracturing after years of silent suffering?

'I'll clean it up,' I mouthed, gesturing apologetically as I retreated to the kitchen for a broom and dustpan.

'Bring us some tea while you're at it,' Sierra called after me, her voice dripping with false sweetness. 'And maybe some of whatever smells so delicious. I'm famished.'

I heard August laugh—that warm, genuine laugh he never used with me anymore. 'Skyler was apparently preparing some sort of anniversary dinner.'

'Anniversary? Oh my,' Sierra's voice lowered to a stage whisper that was clearly meant for me to hear. 'How awkward for her.'

In the kitchen, I pressed my palms against the cool marble countertop, drawing deep breaths. Normally, this would be when the tears would come—hot, silent tears that I'd hide until I could compose myself. But something had shifted inside me. Instead of the familiar crushing weight of humiliation, I felt strangely detached, almost curious.

I put the kettle on and arranged a tray with our finest china teacups—the ones August's mother had given us as a wedding present. I added the petit fours I'd baked yesterday and a small bowl of fresh berries. With steady hands, I sliced the beef wellington I'd spent hours preparing and arranged it artfully on two plates.

When I returned to the living room, August and Sierra were sitting closer together, his hand resting casually on her knee. They pulled apart slightly when I entered, but not enough to pretend they cared about my feelings.

I set the tray down and served them each a cup of tea, my movements calm and precise.

*Why isn't she crying? She always cries. Or at least looks hurt.*

August's thoughts came through clear as a bell, tinged with confusion and—was that disappointment?

'This looks lovely, Skyler,' Sierra said, examining the food with a critical eye before taking a dainty bite. 'You're quite the little housewife, aren't you?'

I smiled at her—not my usual anxious, pleading smile, but something new. Something serene that didn't reach my eyes. I nodded in acknowledgment, then turned to leave.

'Stay,' August commanded, his tone leaving no room for refusal. 'Tell Sierra about your day.'

He knew perfectly well I couldn't speak. This was one of his favorite forms of humiliation—forcing me to communicate through gestures and expressions while others watched uncomfortably.

But instead of the panic that usually gripped me in these moments, I felt oddly calm. I sat down in the armchair across from them, folded my hands in my lap, and looked at them both with placid interest.

*What the hell is wrong with her tonight? Where are the tears, the desperate looks? This isn't fun if she doesn't react.*

I kept my expression neutral, though inside, a small flame of understanding was beginning to grow. He wanted my pain. He fed on it. My tears, my desperate attempts to please him—they weren't just inconveniences to him. They were the point.

'Your wife doesn't say much, does she?' Sierra laughed, taking a sip of tea.

'Skyler has... issues,' August said dismissively. 'She hasn't spoken a word in the eight years we've been married.'

*And thank God for that. Imagine having to actually listen to her begging and pleading out loud.*

I watched them eat the dinner I'd prepared, listening to August's thoughts bounce between irritation at my composure and relief at my silence. For the first time in years, I felt something like power stirring within me.

Knowledge was power. And I suddenly had access to August Walker's most private thoughts.

I smiled again, a real smile this time, though neither of them noticed.

This anniversary had turned out to be revelatory after all.