The Real Bride is Back, So I asked for Divorce

“Breakfast is ready,” Alessia called, her voice steady as Nicholas shuffled into the kitchen.

He barely glanced at her, sliding into his chair with his phone in hand. Alessia set the bowl of steaming congee and pickled vegetables in front of him, careful to keep her expression neutral.

Nicholas frowned, pushing the bowl away with one finger. “What is this?”

“Breakfast,” Alessia replied evenly, placing a cup of tea beside his plate.

“This isn’t breakfast,” he snapped, his tone sharp. “Where are the eggs? The bacon? I’m not eating this.”

She met his gaze briefly, then turned back to the counter to pour herself a cup of tea. “I thought I’d try something different today.”

“Well, don’t,” he barked, standing abruptly. “You’re useless sometimes, you know that? I’ll just grab something on the way to work.”

Alessia stayed silent as the door slammed shut behind him. She sipped her tea, the bitterness of the drink mirroring the ache in her chest.

This had become their routine. Alessia had begun distancing herself days ago, mentally preparing for what she knew was inevitable. She stopped trying to please him, subtly changing her routines to reflect her decision to leave. She no longer tailored every meal to his tastes, no longer asked him about his day, and no longer cared if he noticed her silence.

He didn’t.

Later that day, Alessia lay curled up on the couch, scrolling through her phone. She’d muted Ava’s account long ago, but Instagram’s algorithm had other plans. There it was—Ava’s post.

The caption read: “Home-cooked meal for my love. Can’t wait for many more days like this!”

The photo showed a spread of perfectly plated dishes, and beside them, Nicholas smiled broadly, raising a glass in Ava’s direction. He looked happy—truly happy.

Alessia stared at the image, her chest tightening. He had never smiled like that for her. Not in five years. She’d given up everything—her art, her freedom, her dreams—only to be treated as a placeholder.

Tears pricked her eyes, but she blinked them away. The pain that had simmered for years boiled over into resolve. Enough was enough.

The faint sound of the front door opening pulled Alessia from her thoughts. Nicholas had finally returned home. She heard the familiar shuffle of his shoes being kicked off, followed by the low murmur of his voice—likely speaking to Ava again.

She didn’t rise to greet him. There was no point anymore. Instead, she sat at the dinner table, staring at the meal she had prepared. It wasn’t elaborate, just a simple pasta with roasted vegetables and garlic bread, but it was enough. This was her last dinner for Nicholas, and she hadn’t wasted any unnecessary effort on it.

Nicholas walked into the dining room, his phone in hand, a small smile on his lips. He didn’t look at her as he sat down, his thumb still moving across the screen. “What’s for dinner?” he asked absently, his attention fixed on his phone.

Alessia hesitated for a moment, watching him. She couldn’t remember the last time they’d had a real conversation. It had all blurred together—weeks of silence, cold exchanges, and the ever-present third person in their marriage: Ava.

It hadn’t always been this way, she thought. When she first married Nicholas five years ago, there had been a shred of hope. Not love, but the possibility of something resembling it. For a time, Alessia believed she could mend him. She threw herself into being the perfect wife—learning his preferences, cooking his favorite meals, always being there when he needed her. But it hadn’t mattered. Ava’s shadow loomed over everything, and when she came back, it was as if Alessia had never existed.

Nicholas chuckled softly at something on his phone, his smile brighter than she had seen in years. Alessia’s chest tightened, but she didn’t let it show. This was her moment.

“Nicholas,” she said, her voice firm but quiet.

“Hmm?” He didn’t look up, his eyes glued to the screen.

“I need you to sign something.”

That got his attention, but only briefly. He flicked a glance at her, his brows knitting together. “What is it?”

“Paperwork,” she said, sliding the folder across the table. “It’s for the banquet.”

Nicholas reached for it without hesitation, picking up the pen she had placed beside it. He didn’t bother to open the folder or glance at the contents. Instead, he scrawled his signature on the first page, then the second, his focus still divided as his phone buzzed with another message.

“There,” he said, sliding it back to her. “Anything else?”

Alessia stared at the signed pages, her heart pounding in her chest. It was done. After five years of being a placeholder in his life, she was finally free.

“No,” she said softly, standing and taking the folder with her.

“Good,” he muttered, already typing another reply. A small, amused smile played on his lips—undoubtedly something Ava had said.

Alessia turned to leave the room, her footsteps slow. She paused at the doorway, glancing back at him. He didn’t notice her lingering, his entire world reduced to the glowing screen in his hands.

For a moment, she considered saying something—anything to make him look at her, to force him to acknowledge her presence. But what was the point? She’d spent five years trying, and he’d chosen Ava every time.

“Goodbye, Nicholas,” she said instead, her voice steady.

“Mm-hmm,” he replied without looking up and truly understanding what she just said.