Chapter 2

The divorce papers drifted down and landed on the carpet.

Victor stared at the words on them, as if he were reading them for the first time.

Then he laughed, and there was anger and contempt in it.

"Bella, are you done throwing your tantrum?"

"All because I didn't pick up your call?"

"Fine, I admit it. I didn't know it was that serious. That's on me."

"But you don't need to threaten me with divorce."

I looked at him, calm.

"I'm not threatening you."

"I'm telling you."

His face went ice cold.

"Who do you think you are? You think you can survive without me?"

"The clothes on your back, the things on your hands, which of it didn't I give you?"

"Don't forget, you didn't even finish college before you came to me. You've never worked a single day in your life."

The words were knives, each one sinking into my chest.

He was right. Once, I thought he was my whole world.

For him, I gave up my degree, gave up my friends, and chose gladly to be the woman standing behind him.

I thought that was love.

Only now did I see it was just a joke.

"So this is your excuse for cheating?"

I asked.

It was like I'd stepped on a nerve. He exploded.

"I didn't cheat!"

"Georgia and I are just business partners!"

"Stop being unreasonable!"

I didn't have the energy to argue with him anymore.

"Just sign it."

"I don't want the car, the house, any of it. The two hundred thousand dowry my mother gave me when we married, give that back to me."

"Then we're square."

He glared at me, like he wanted to bore a hole through my face.

"Fine. Very good."

He gritted his teeth, picked the papers up off the floor, and dug a pen out of the drawer.

"Bella. Don't come crying about this later."

He signed his name at the bottom, a hard, slashing scrawl.

Then he threw the papers back at me.

"The money. I'll wire it tomorrow."

"Now get out of my house. Right now."

I didn't feel a shred of longing. I stood, and pulled open the closet.

It was packed full, all of it clothes and bags he'd bought me.

I didn't take a single thing.

From the very back corner, I dug out a battered old suitcase.

Inside were a few old outfits I'd worn when I first came to him.

I dragged the suitcase to the door and stopped.

"Victor."

I didn't turn around.

"Our baby was a boy."

"The doctor said he was almost three months along."

I could feel the stare behind me freeze in an instant.

I didn't wait any longer. I pulled the door open and walked out.

The night wind hit my face, and only then did I realize my cheeks were already soaked with tears.

Goodbye, Victor.

Goodbye to my dead love and my dead child.

I dragged the suitcase through the late-night streets, walking with no direction at all.

My phone chimed with a bank alert.

Victor had wired me five hundred thousand.

Three hundred thousand more than the two hundred I'd asked for.

Like charity. Or like hush money.

I checked into a budget hotel for the night.

The next day I started looking for a place to live, and for work.

Victor was right. I'd been cut off from the working world too long.

The résumés I sent out sank without a trace.

Interviewers looked at the long blank stretch on my résumé, contempt in their eyes.

"Miss Fox, you've spent these last few years at home as a housewife?"

"Sorry, this position requires relevant work experience."

I was turned away, again and again.

The money I had left kept shrinking.

The wound low in my belly still ached faintly.

That day, I went to the hospital for my follow-up.

The doctor who saw me was still that young one.

His name was Bill Harding.

He looked at my chart, a slight frown between his brows.

"You're not recovering well. You need rest, and better nutrition."

He looked up, his eyes gentle.

"You look very pale."

I twitched the corner of my mouth and said nothing.

When I came out of the hospital, it had started pouring outside.

I hadn't brought an umbrella, so I stood under the eaves by the entrance, waiting for the rain to stop.

A black car pulled up in front of me.

The window came down. It was Bill.

"Where are you headed? I'll take you."

I hesitated.

"It's all right, that's too much trouble."

"Get in. This rain won't let up anytime soon."

His tone left no room for argument.

I had no choice but to open the door and slide in.

The heat was running inside the car. It felt good.

He handed me a cup of hot cocoa.

"Warm yourself up."

I cupped the drink and sipped it in small sips.

"Thank you."

He started the car and asked, offhand, "Where do you live?"

I gave him the name of a complex.

The car moved smoothly through the curtain of rain.

Then he said, "That day, the procedure. Why didn't your husband come?"

I froze.

"We... we're divorced."

He seemed to realize he'd asked something he shouldn't have, and fell quiet for a moment.

"Sorry."

"It's okay."

The car soon reached the building where I was renting.

I got out and thanked him.

He rolled down the window and held out an umbrella.

"Take it. Don't get soaked again."

I looked at him, and something warm rose up inside me.

It was the first bit of kindness I'd felt since the divorce.

Life was hard.

But maybe it wasn't quite so bad after all.