Declan Vance has worked in Chicago for eight years. Every time he drives back to our home in Naperville from downtown, I have dinner ready and waiting. Even though I know he always stops to see his "first love"—Sienna Miller—before coming home to me. Every time he visits her, he promises me some kind of compensation. It became a routine. A transaction. Until last month, when he gave the company’s only transfer slot for the Chicago headquarters to Sienna. I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry. I just calmly presented him with my 100th request. Seeing my rare "understanding" and "generosity," he signed the document without hesitation. He even promised to take me to see a Broadway tour as a bonus. But he didn't know what he was signing. Sandwiched inside that file was our divorce application. When you save up enough disappointment, it’s time to leave. Chicago, November. The sun was setting, casting a lead-gray shimmer over Lake Michigan outside the window. The steak on the dining table had gone cold hours ago. This was the sixth time I’d taken it to the microwave to reheat it. Six o'clock. Seven o'clock. Eight o'clock. The clock hands spun round and round, but Declan still hadn't returned. Finally, the phone rang. "Elena." Declan's voice sounded tired, but mostly entitled. "I’m not coming back for dinner tonight. There’s an issue with Sienna’s transfer paperwork. I need to help her handle it." My grip on the phone tightened. Today was our eighth wedding anniversary. But clearly, he forgot. Or rather, he remembered, but he just didn't care. "The slot has already been submitted," he continued, his tone like he was reporting to a subordinate. "Her family really needs her back in Chicago to take care of her parents. Whatever compensation you want, just tell Marcus." This wasn't a discussion. It was a notification. To him, my feelings never mattered. "Okay," I said. My voice was terrifyingly calm. Declan paused, seemingly surprised by how agreeable I was. "So... I’ll be back late. You go to sleep first." After hanging up, I stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, looking at my reflection. Eight years. For eight years, I forgave, I compromised, and I waited. And what did I get? Broken promises, constant absences, and him choosing someone else—always choosing her. The phone rang again. This time it was Declan's assistant, Marcus. "Elena, I’m so sorry," Marcus said, his voice full of apology. "Declan asked me to pass on a message. He said you can raise the 'price' for the compensation this time. He’ll agree to anything." I was silent for a moment. "No need to trouble yourself, Marcus. I’ll talk to him myself this time." "Really? That’s great. Declan will be relieved—" I hung up. I walked to the study, opened the safe, and took out the manila envelope. Inside was a property transfer agreement regarding Declan’s grandfather’s abandoned auto repair shop. And, clipped to the last few pages— Joint Petition for Dissolution of Marriage Circuit Court of Cook County, Illinois The divorce papers. I opened the notes app on my phone and looked at the list I had maintained for eight years: The Compensation List Thanksgiving 2017: He went to Sienna's parents' house, leaving me alone—Tiffany bracelet. Valentine's Day 2018: Cancelled dinner to take Sienna to the doctor—Weekend spa trip. My 30th Birthday 2019: He "forgot"—Dinner the next day. 2020 Pandemic: I had a fever at home, he went to deliver food to Sienna—Apology + Cartier bracelet. ... November 2025: The only Chicago HQ transfer slot given to Sienna—TBD. Tomorrow, I will ask for the 100th compensation. Then, this eight-year farce can finally end.
The next afternoon, I put on that emerald green cashmere coat—the one Declan said made me look too aggressive. Good. Today, I intend to be aggressive. The offices of Vance & Associates were in the Loop, on the 27th floor of a glass-walled skyscraper. The receptionist looked stunned to see me. "Elena... you're here to see Declan?" "Yes." "He's in a meeting—" "I know. I'll let myself in." I walked through the open workspace. A few employees recognized me, their eyes filled with subtle pity. The whole company probably knew the boss and his "first love" Sienna were transferring to Chicago together. As for the boss's wife? Who cares. I knocked on Declan's office door. "Come in." Declan sat behind his massive mahogany desk, staring at three computer monitors. Hearing the door, he looked up. Seeing it was me, he frowned slightly. "Elena? Why are you here?" His tone held a trace of impatience. "Didn't Marcus tell you? Whatever you want, just tell him and—" "I want the old auto repair shop," I interrupted, placing the file on his desk. "The one your grandfather owned in Pilsen. It's closed, but the land has value. I can redevelop it." Declan paused, then sighed in relief. "That's it?" He almost eagerly pulled the file toward him. "You should have said so. It's just a run-down garage." He didn't even read it. He flipped directly to the last page, the signature block. "Anything else?" he asked while signing. "The dividends from the Lincoln Park project just came in. You want a new car? A new house? Jewelry? Just tell Marcus—" "No need." I took the signed document back and carefully placed it in my bag. Declan looked to be in a good mood, probably thinking this "crisis" had been easily resolved. "Seriously, Elena," he leaned back in his chair, his tone bordering on lecturing. "The things you've received in these eight years are more than most people get in a lifetime. You should be grateful." "I am grateful," I smiled. "Alright, I have a conference call." He waved his hand. "You go home. I might be late tonight. Sienna still has some paperwork to finish." "Okay." I turned and left his office. I walked into the elevator and watched the doors slowly close, shutting out that space filled with hypocrisy. Declan didn't know that from page 15 of the document he just signed, it was our divorce application. He also didn't remember that when we got married, he gave me 99 gifts and said the 100th gift would be growing old together. Now, my 100th "gift" has arrived. It is freedom.
I sat in my car but didn't start the engine immediately. Instead, I opened my phone and dialed a number. "Elena?" A gentle female voice answered. "It's Vivian, HR from the Department of Commerce." "Vivian, I've decided," I said. "I accept the offer." "That's wonderful!" Vivian's voice was full of excitement. "Public Affairs Specialist, GS-11, starting salary $75,000. When can you start?" "Is two weeks okay?" "Perfect! I'll email you the offer letter and onboarding documents immediately. Welcome to D.C., Elena!" I hung up and dialed my lawyer. "Harper, I got the papers." "He signed them?" My lawyer, Harper, sounded surprised. "He really didn't read the content?" "Not a single word." Harper sighed on the other end. "Men." "I'm taking them to the court now," I said. "According to Illinois law, in 60 days—" "In 60 days, you will be legally single," Harper said. "Elena, are you sure about the asset division? That house has at least $150,000 in equity. You deserve it." "I don't want it," I said. "I just want a clean break." "Alright, your choice," Harper paused. "By the way, what if he finds out and causes trouble?" "In 60 days, I'll be in D.C.," I said. "He won't be able to find me." Back at the house in Naperville, I started packing. We lived in this four-bedroom colonial-style house for seven years. I planted the maple tree in the front yard. We painted the deck in the back together. I picked the backsplash in the kitchen. But none of that mattered anymore. I opened the closet and packed my clothes into boxes one by one. Those designer bags, the jewelry, the luxury goods he "compensated" me with— I didn't want any of them. They could stay, or be donated. I only wanted the things that were truly mine: photos, books, my mother's jewelry box, and my vintage Canon camera. Halfway through packing, my phone buzzed. It was an Instagram notification. Sienna had posted a photo: She and Declan standing in front of Gibson's Bar & Steakhouse, with the Chicago River nightscape in the background. Sienna was wearing a black Hervé Léger bandage dress, linking arms with Declan, smiling brightly. Caption: "Celebrating new chapters with my favorite person ?✨ #ChicagoHereWeCome #DreamsComeTrue" I tapped on Declan's profile. He had reposted Sienna's story, adding: "Proud of you. Cheers to new beginnings." The comments were full of congratulations: "You two are perfect together!" "When's the wedding? ?" "Power couple alert! ?" I stared at those comments for a long time, then calmly closed the app. New beginnings? Yes. For me, it's a new beginning too. Only my new beginning doesn't include Declan Vance.
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