Happy Divorce, My Husband!

I didn’t follow Edmund.

He walked away, still giggling with Elizabeth like a boy on prom night, whispering into his phone about bikinis and champagne like I wasn’t still on the floor with my knees aching and my soul halfway gone.

I stood. My knees creaked. My hand smudged across the tile, picking up dirt and pride. I walked to the bathroom. Closed the door quietly. Stared into the mirror like I didn’t know the woman staring back—eyes puffy, cheek red, hair undone. Like someone who tried to cry underwater and failed.

There’s no funeral. But I’m mourning.

Not for him. Not for us.

For me.

For the girl I used to be before love took her name and silence stole her voice.

Just then, he passed by. Didn’t knock. Didn’t ask if I was alive. Still on the phone, laughing—then paused long enough to say, “Pack my things. Business-leisure trip. We leave tomorrow.”

No “please.” No glance. No soul.

I nodded. Not that he was looking.

I dried my hands on the crooked towel. Walked to his room like a maid. Opened the closet. Chaos—suits tangled with polos, shoes under dirty laundry. A grown man living like a spoiled teen.

I started folding his shirts. White linen. Navy power. Cleaned his cufflinks with my sleeve.

Then I bumped the side table.

A folder slipped. I picked it up, expecting tax papers. But inside—cruise tickets.

I blinked.

I read them twice and my fingers tightening.

Edmund Morocco. Elizabeth Morocco. Lester. Loisa. Lyle. Nash.

My name wasn’t there.

Not even as a +1. Not even as a footnote.

The cruise? The one I dreamed of...

But now? Elizabeth’s birthday is in three days and he has time? He remembered hers.

Not mine.

Never mine.

I folded the tickets gently. Like they could bleed.

Then I packed his suitcase. Polished his shoes. Ironed his pants. Lined up his deodorant and vitamins like hotel staff would.

Lester walked in. No knock. “Ma, pack my stuff too, yeah? Loisa’s busy.” He sipped a beer. “Don’t forget the twins. Nash wants his charger. Lyle needs the blue swim shorts. Snacks too—they get bored.”

Then he left. And I packed it all.

Tiny shorts. Rolled t-shirts. Loisa’s perfume wrapped in a sock. Ziplocked snacks labeled with love.

Then I went to my room. Quietly. Closed the door.

I sat there on my bed, hands trembling, and my mind drifted back. Back to when I was just eighteen.

When Edmund wasn’t a man who kicked me in the knee or forgot my name on a cruise ticket.

Back when he said things that sounded like promises…

***

I was fresh out of school, a girl still unsure of her own shadow.

Edmund looked at me, eyes soft and serious, like I was the only thing that made sense.

“Doris,” he said, holding my hand like it was the only thing steady in his wild world, “I swear, I’ll take care of you. Always. No matter what happens, you’ll never have to worry about a thing.”

I smiled, my heart so full it felt like it might burst.

“Even if the whole world turns its back?” I asked, barely breathing.

He nodded. “Especially then.”

Then another flashbacks...

A summer evening under the stars. We lay on the grass, tangled limbs and whispered dreams.

“I don’t care about money, or power, or the damn legacy,” Edmund said, voice low and fierce. “You’re the only future I want. You and me, we’ll build something real. Something no one can take.”

I laughed, feeling invincible.

“You make me believe in forever.”

He kissed me like he meant it. Like forever was ours already.

But then came my father.

The man with a crown no one dared challenge.

When I told him I loved Edmund — his blood wasn’t the right kind, his family not the right name — my father’s face twisted with something colder than winter.

“Doris,” he said, voice like steel, “you’re dead to me. You don’t get to drag our name into this dirt.”

I stood my ground, tears burning but voice steady.

“I’m not your possession.”

He laughed, cruel and hollow. "You are my daughter, yes. But you’re no Rossini anymore,” he spat. “Marry that boy if you want, but don’t expect me to recognize you. You are dead to me. If you come back, I’ll kill you myself. And you know I don’t bluff.”

I swallowed hard. “I love Edmund.”

“You love a shadow. You’ll die in that darkness.”

---

And now—thirty years later—Edmund’s true colors bled through all those pretty words. That boy who promised to care for me, who whispered forever, was gone.

Replaced by a man who could kick me down and never look back. A man who packs his bags for a cruise with another woman and leaves me packing silence.

And I sit here, wondering how a love so loud became a ghost I can’t outrun.

I smiled bitterly and reached for the landline no one uses anymore. Dialed a number I hadn’t called in thirty years.

It rang.

Once. Twice. Three times.

Then—

“Hello?”

It was him.

My father. Older. Tired. But still him. Still warm in that quiet, exhausted way.

I couldn’t speak. Held the receiver like it was keeping me upright. Tears slipped down, soft and unstoppable.

“…F-father,” I whispered. My voice cracked. “…It’s me. Doris.”