The Divorce Bracelet

I was taken aback. "Uncle Vincent?"

Vincent's messages came pouring in on WhatsApp.

[Scarlett, I heard from Leo that the bracelet my sister left you is broken.]

[What happened?]

Vincent and Leo, the craftsman who fixed the bracelet, were old acquaintances.

My throat tightened. [I'm so sorry, Uncle Vincent. I didn't take care of Mom's keepsake...]

I shared my decision to divorce Oliver with Vincent.

[If that's how it is, there's no reason for you to stay with him.]

[Scarlett, why don't you come live with me in France? Your aunt and I miss you a lot.]

France?

The idea had never crossed my mind.

But after hearing Oliver's words earlier, a light bulb went off in my head.

I typed: [Okay.]

I thought to myself, "He said I had grown bolder.

Maybe I could have a good life without him."

Just as I was wrapping up the conversation with Vincent, I heard footsteps in the hallway. I quickly deleted our chat history.

Oliver was back.

The air was thick with the lingering smell of Cioppino, a fishy scent that assaulted my senses.

Oliver said, handing me a takeout bag, "Here you go. I wasn't sure what you'd like, so I just grabbed something.

"Lillian said this Cioppino was really good, and there's milkshake too..."

I shot up from my seat.

"Didn't I tell you not to bring me anything?"

Oliver ran a hand through his hair, visibly frustrated. "What do you want me to get if you won't say? You're being difficult for no reason.

"If I came back empty-handed, you'd be upset anyway!"

He thought he understood me so well.

I couldn't help but laugh in disbelief. "Oliver, do you seriously not know I'm allergic to seafood?

"I already told you I don't like it! Why did you buy it anyway?"

He was clearly taken aback. "You should've said something sooner..."

"Which of my words do you actually listen to?!" All the pent-up frustration exploded out of me, and my shout only escalated his anger.

He shouted, "I was just trying to do something nice for you! If you don't want it, fine! Don't eat it, but why throw a fit?

"It's just forgetting my allergy! You act like it's no big deal! Why are you yelling at me?"

He angrily grabbed the takeout and tossed it into the trash.

"Fine! If you don't want it, then don't eat it!"

With that, Oliver stormed out, slamming the door behind him with such force that it made my heart race.

I collapsed onto the couch, shaking as tears streamed down my face.

I had never been the one truly loved; I was just an afterthought in his life.

Oliver didn't come home that night, and I was used to it by now.

I woke up groggily, only to find his jacket still draped over the chair.

The scent of his cologne made me feel nauseous. I absentmindedly rifled through the pockets and found a sachet tucked inside.

It smelled just like the sweet, cloying fragrance Lillian wore.

The stitching on the sachet was crooked, and the scent had faded, suggesting it had been in the pocket for a while.

I remembered when these sachets were all the rage—hand-sewing one for one's loved one was the trend back then.

I had poured my heart into making one for him, filling it with my favorite lemongrass scent.

But when I had given it to Oliver, he had wrinkled his nose and tossed it aside.

"It's ugly and smells bad. Don't give me this stuff again," Oliver had said.

That day, I had cried for a long time, nursing my pricked fingers from the countless times the needle had jabbed me.

But now, it didn't matter anymore.

Suddenly, the doorbell rang.

I opened the door to find Lillian's bright, cheerful face smiling back at me.

Lillian beamed at me, saying, "Scarlett, I'm here to help Mr. Pettyfer with his jacket.

"So, how was the cioppino and milkshake last night? Did you like them?"

The satisfaction in Lillian's smile was blatant. I turned to hand her the jacket, my expression blank, but my gaze caught the dark hickey on her neck.

Paired with her overly shy grin, it was both beautiful and tempting.

Clearly, things had heated up between them last night.

"Not great," I replied, putting on a disinterested facade.

"Really? I thought it was quite tasty!" Lillian chimed, twirling on her heels to leave.

Then, as if something had clicked, she turned back to remind me, "Mr. Pettyfer wants you to cook for him later. He said he's craving beef stew; make sure the beef is tender."

"Got it."

With a satisfied nod, she left.

I shut the door and returned to my room, starting to pack up my things.

Agreeing to cook was one thing; whether I would actually pull it off was another story altogether.