The Thirty-Eighth Divorce's End

I spent a week in the hospital. The burns on my chest and neck slowly began to heal, leaving behind angry red scars.

Ethan came to visit, sometimes.

He would promise to be there for my check-ups, to help the nurse change my dressings.

But then his phone would ring. Ilene would be crying, or screaming, or threatening to jump. And Ethan would leave. Every single time.

After he left, my own phone would light up.

A text from Ilene.

[Ethan just made me his special chicken soup. He said it’s only for me.]

Then a picture of a steaming bowl of soup.

Another text.

[He stayed with me all night. He held my hand until I fell asleep.]

Followed by a video of Ethan sleeping in a chair by her bed, his hand clutching hers.

[My lease is up soon. I wonder what a homeless patient might do. But Ethan said he’d never let me be on the street. 😉]

[He carried me home because my feet hurt.]

And then, the one that finally broke through my numbness. A picture. Ilene, her face tilted up, pressing her lips against Ethan’s. His eyes were closed.

A video followed. Her hand sliding under his shirt.

I felt my throat tighten, a sudden, fierce constriction that made it difficult to draw a breath.

I didn’t reply. I just deleted the messages, one by one.

On the day I was discharged, I handled the paperwork myself. I took a cab back to the house we once called home.

When I got there, Ilene was standing on the doorstep. Ethan was next to her, looking stressed. She had a suitcase.

“Her landlord threw her out—put all her luggage on the curb,” Ethan said before I could speak, his words a frantic rush. “She called me thirty times, screaming that if I didn’t come get her, she would lie down in the middle of the road. I… I couldn’t let her do that. Just for a few days, Rory, I swear. Just until I find her a new place.”

Ilene was trying to force her way inside. “This is Ethan’s house, which means it’s my house! You can’t stop me!”

Ethan was holding her back, his voice firm for once. “Ilene, no. This is my and Aurora’s home. You can’t stay here.”

She started to scream, a wild, cornered sound. “If you don’t let me in, I’ll run into traffic right now! I’ll do it!”

He looked helpless, trapped.

Then he saw me standing by the gate. His eyes widened in surprise.

“Rory! You’re home.”

He rushed over, his voice a low, apologetic murmur. “She’s just going to stay for a few days. Just until I find her a new place. I promise.”

I looked past him at Ilene, who was now glaring at me with triumph.

I lowered my eyes. My voice was calm, devoid of any emotion.

“Okay.”

Ethan looked shocked. “You… you don’t mind?”

I shook my head, a bitter smile touching my lips. “What is there to mind?”

I wasn’t the lady of this house anymore. I was just a temporary guest, soon to be evicted.

Ilene pushed past Ethan and marched into the house like she owned it.

“Ugh, this place is so tacky,” she declared, wrinkling her nose. “Everything needs to be changed.”

She started ordering the maids around. “This couch is hideous, get rid of it. And these curtains! Throw them out!”

Then her eyes landed on the large wedding portrait hanging in the living room. It was a picture of Ethan and me on our happiest day.

“And that,” she said, pointing a sharp finger, “is the ugliest of all. Take it down and burn it.”

The maids looked uncertainly at Ethan.

He hesitated for a moment, then gave a slight, defeated nod. “Do as she says.”

I had expected it. I had expected his surrender.

I felt a ghost of a laugh in my chest. I turned without a word and went to my bedroom to pack.

If they wanted me gone, I would make it easy for them. I would erase myself from this house.

I pulled out a suitcase and began to fill it with my things. Clothes, books, my old art supplies. Things I loved.

When I came out of my room, dragging the suitcase, the living room was a disaster zone.

Our wedding photo was on the floor in a spray of shattered glass, my smiling face torn in two. My books were pulled from the shelves and thrown in a pile. The beautiful vase I had bought on our honeymoon was in pieces.

The home I had so carefully built, so lovingly maintained, was destroyed.

I stood there for a moment, just looking at the wreckage.

Ilene stood in the middle of it all, a smug, victorious smile on her face.

“All of this,” she said, gesturing around the room, “and you… you’re all in the past now.”

I ignored her. I was done with her games.

But she stepped in front of me, blocking my way. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Her eyes fell on the half-open suitcase. She saw the dusty set of oil paints I had packed. Her expression twisted.

“Still pretending to be an artist? Are you trying to show off how talented you are? How much he used to love you?”

I just looked at her, my silence a wall she couldn’t break. “Let me pass, Ilene.”

I tried to move around her.

Her face contorted with rage. “You bitch!”

She grabbed a heavy porcelain vase from a side table and swung it at my head. I stumbled back, dodging the blow. The vase shattered against the wall behind me.

As I staggered, off balance, she lunged.

She put both hands on my chest and pushed. Hard.

I was standing at the top of the grand staircase.

“Go to hell, Aurora!” she screamed, her voice dripping with venom.

I felt a moment of weightlessness. Then a sharp, violent impact as my body tumbled down the stairs.

Pain exploded through me. I landed in a heap at the bottom, my head hitting the marble floor with a sickening crack.

Blood. I could feel warm blood matting my hair, pooling beneath me.

My body convulsed, a series of violent shudders.

My vision blurred.

The last thing I saw before I blacked out was Ethan, running through the front door, his face a perfect picture of horror.