1 Doug had promised to take me to Iceland. Flights and hotels were booked, but a late-night call changed everything. He unpacked his winter gear, replacing it with light windbreakers. “Audrey needs Key West to clear her head,” he said flatly. “We’ll see the lights another time.” The next day, Audrey sent a taunting voice note. “Doug said Iceland was too cold for you. We’re having the best time here.” Her laughter grated as I sat alone, staring at the two divorce agreements on the table. He had signed them on our wedding day, three years ago. I had called him paranoid then. Now, I uncapped my pen. I dialed his number, waiting through endless rings. “Have fun,” I said, my voice cold. “I’m signing the papers.” Silence stretched for three seconds. Over the ocean breeze, Audrey’s playful voice called to him. Doug just sighed. “Bridgit, stop throwing a tantrum.” He forgot I never feared the cold. I only feared lacking resolve. Five minutes after I emailed him a scan of the signed papers, my phone lit up with his call. I declined it. It rang again. This time, I swiped to answer but remained silent. "What is the meaning of this?" His voice was tightly controlled, strained against the background noise of crashing waves and Audrey's distant laughter. "Exactly what it looks like." "Bridgit," he muttered, grit in his tone, "don't force me to have an argument with you in front of other people." "You are already in Key West, Doug. You promised me Iceland. For three years, we've pushed this trip back. And you didn't even bother to ask me before you let Audrey's phone call ruin our plans." There was a heavy pause on his end. "Her depression flared up again. The doctor recommended a change of scenery. She is a lifelong friend, Bridgit, I couldn't just abandon her." "I am your wife." "Can you please be reasonable for once? She didn't mean any harm. She even sent you a voice note because she was terrified you would misunderstand." "She sent me a voice note to gloat that you thought I was too fragile for the cold, and you think she was doing me a favor?" He didn't answer. The sound of the tide rushed through the speaker. Audrey's voice floated over, closer this time. "Doug, look at this shell! It's so beautiful, can you take a photo of me with it?" "Bridgit, we will talk when I get back," Doug said, his tone softening slightly. "Keep the papers safe. Don't do anything reckless." "I am not being reckless. Three years ago, when you signed those papers, you told me I could walk away whenever I wanted. I thought it was a joke back then. Now I realize you were just building yourself an exit." The silence on the line stretched out. "Bridgit, is there anything I can do that will actually satisfy you?" "What have you actually done?" He was entirely silenced. Audrey's voice came closer, practically pressing against the microphone. "Doug, the ice cream is going to melt. Oh, is Bridgit on the line? Bridgit, I am so sorry! Am I interrupting you guys?" I didn't bother to reply. I hung up. Doug booked the earliest flight back to Chicago the following morning. The door code hadn't changed, and he let himself in. I was sitting on the sofa, sorting through some work documents. He threw his suitcase by the foyer, walked over, and tossed his phone onto the coffee table. The screen showed a photo of the two of them smiling by the Florida coastline. "I deleted them," he said, sitting down opposite me. "You can have whatever compensation you want. Just stop talking about divorce." "I don't want anything from you." He stared at me, his eyes dark. "Then tell me, what makes you think I don't love you? I bought you this townhouse, the designer bags, and whenever your family needed help, wasn't I always the first one there? Bridgit, have some decency." "Is that what love is to you?" "Then tell me what it is." "Keeping your promises," I said, looking him in the eyes. "And not putting me behind Audrey at every turn. Three years, Doug. This is the third time." "The first time, you said she was heartbroken and needed a companion to travel. The second time, she had a minor family crisis and you rushed to her side. Now, it's her mental health. What will it be next time? Will you even bother to consult me, or will you just leave a note?" His Adam's apple bobbed, but no words came out. "I want a divorce," I said, standing up. "This isn't a threat to get your attention. It's just that after three years, I can finally see what the next thirty years of my life would look like with you." "You talk as if it's so easy. How are you going to manage on your own? The house, the car..." "The agreement states the townhouse goes to me, you keep the car, and we split our savings down the middle. Did you even bother to read it?" "No," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I didn't want to. Bridgit, do you really want to leave me this badly?" "You were the one who let go first." He stood up, reaching his hand out as if to touch my shoulder. "Don't touch me," I said, taking a step back. At that moment, his phone buzzed. A message from Audrey flashed on the screen before he could grab it. Did you make it home safe, Doug? The sunset here is stunning, but it feels so empty without you. Doug slammed the phone face down. "Why does she still have your personal number?" I asked. He remained silent. I looked at the copy of the unsigned agreement on the table. The version he had signed three years ago was already tucked safely in my purse. "Audrey stayed at our place last year, remember? You told me she had nowhere else to go, so I prepared the guest room. But when I was washing the sheets after she left, I found a black hair tie under her pillow. It wasn't mine." His face paled instantly. "You told me you were working late until midnight that night, but you actually came home at ten. I was in the bedroom, and I heard the two of you talking in the living room. She told you she still loved you. And you told her you knew." He parted his lips, but no sound came. "And do you know why I didn't say anything?" I let out a soft, tired laugh. "Because the very next day, I found a receipt in your coat pocket for a designer jewelry box. You bought it for her birthday." "It was just a birthday gift..." "You remembered her birthday perfectly. But you forgot mine twice." He fell completely silent, his hands clenched into tight, white-knuckled fists at his sides. "The papers are on the table. Sign them and send them back to me by the end of the day." I picked up my bag and walked toward the door. "Bridgit!" he called out behind me. I paused but didn't turn around. "I really..." "Don't tell me you love me," I said, turning the doorknob. "You only love the security of having someone waiting for you at home. It was never about me." The door clicked shut behind me. As I waited by the elevator, I heard the faint, heavy thud of something being thrown against the wall inside the apartment. I didn't stop. I pressed the down button. My phone vibrated with another voice note from Audrey. I deleted the chat history without opening it. When the elevator doors opened, a text from Doug popped up on my screen. Three words. I agree. That evening, he sent a follow-up message asking when we should finalize the paperwork at the courthouse. Tomorrow, I replied. Fine, he wrote back. When I arrived at City Hall the next morning, he was already there, leaning against his car and smoking. There were several crushed filters by his shoes. He stubbed out his cigarette when he saw me walk up. "Let's get this over with." The process was quicker than he had anticipated. The clerk stamped our documents, handed us our respective copies, and murmured a flat, rehearsed congratulations before moving on to the next file. Outside the grand stone steps, Doug stopped. "Do you have a place to stay?" "Yes." "Do you need money?" "No." He stared at me, his jaw set in a hard line. "Did Audrey tell you we were getting a divorce?" "She has nothing to do with this." "She called me last night," I said, wrapping my wool scarf tighter around my neck. "She congratulated me on my freedom and promised she would take excellent care of you." His expression twisted into something akin to horror. "She said that to you?" "Yes." "There is nothing between us, Bridgit. I swear." "Well, now there can be. You're single." He opened his mouth, but no words came out. His phone began to ring. He glanced at the screen and immediately declined the call. "Answer it," I said quietly. "I am not your wife anymore." He didn't pick up, shoving the phone deep into his pocket. "Let me drive you home." "No need." I turned toward the subway entrance. He took two steps to follow me, then stopped. The Chicago wind was brutal, stinging my eyes, but I didn't look back. On the day I moved my things out, Doug sent a moving company to assist. He didn't show up himself, sending his assistant, Toby, instead. Once the truck was loaded, Toby stood near the door, looking highly uncomfortable. "Mr. Vance asked me to let you know that you can keep the downtown apartment. The deed will be transferred to your name in a few days." "There's no need. The agreement gave me the townhouse, which is more than enough. Tell him I don't want it." "But Mr. Vance said..." "Whatever he told you to say, don't. Just head back, Toby." Toby nodded quietly and left. The downtown apartment was a place Doug had purchased before our marriage. He had intended it for his parents, but they preferred their quiet life upstate, so the place had remained empty. As I was sorting through my things, I found a cardboard box with yellowed tape that read Bridgit's College Keepsakes. Inside were dozens of love letters he had written to me during our university days, tied together with a simple rubber band. The first one was from our freshman year, describing how he had fallen for me after watching me feed a stray cat near the library. I let out a soft laugh, refolding the paper carefully before putting it back. At the bottom of the box was a cheap silver ring we had bought from a street vendor for ten dollars. During our sophomore year, he had saved up for months to buy an expensive diamond ring to propose, but I had insisted he return it because we couldn't afford it. He had bought the silver band as a placeholder. "Just use this for now," he had murmured, slipping it onto my ring finger. "When I make it big, I'll buy you the biggest diamond in the city." He did make it big, eventually. But the silver ring had long since been relegated to the back of a drawer. My phone rang. An unrecognized number. I picked up, and Audrey's sweet, dripping voice filled my ear. "Bridgit? Do you have a minute?" "Speak." "Doug hasn't been doing well these past few days. He's been drinking constantly, and he won't listen to me. After all, you two were married. Don't you think you should..." "His drinking habits are no longer my concern." "How can you be so cold-blooded?" she gasped. "Cold-blooded?" I let out a sharp laugh. "He was married to me for three years, and you hovered over our marriage the entire time. And now you call me cold-blooded?" "I never tried to get between you! We are just friends! Why is your mind always so twisted?" "Then explain Key West." "He came because he wanted to! I didn't force him. Besides, he only changed the destination because he was worried you'd freeze in Iceland. Why can't you see he was trying to protect you?" "Audrey." "What?" "Who pays the rent for your apartment?" The line went silent. "Last October, you told me you had nowhere to go, and Doug had you stay at our place for three days. After you left, he rented an apartment for you right downstairs in our building. Do you remember that?" Her breathing grew ragged. "I ran into you in the lobby on the day you moved in, wheeling your pink suitcase. You smiled and said what a coincidence it was. I didn't call you out then because I wanted to see if Doug would be honest with me." "And did he?" "He never said a word. But I checked his bank statements. He paid your rent every single month for a year." "He was just pitying me..." "Then you should call him right now and tell him to stop drinking. I'm sure he'll listen to you." "Bridgit, you're just jealous! You hate that he treats anyone else with kindness!" "Yes, I was jealous. But now we are divorced, so you should be thrilled." She didn't reply. I hung up. That evening, I received a text from Doug. Audrey called me. What did you say to her? I didn't answer. Another text followed: She was hysterical, claiming you were bullying her. I typed out three words: Go comfort her. The message marked as read, but he didn't respond. At two in the morning, my doorbell rang. Through the security camera, I saw Doug leaning heavily against the doorframe, his hair disheveled, his eyes bloodshot, smelling strongly of alcohol. I opened the door. He stared at me, his lips trembling before he managed to speak. "Bridgit... I made a mistake." He leaned toward me the moment the door opened, his scent of whiskey and stale smoke making me turn my face away. "Stand up straight." He stumbled, grabbing the doorframe to steady himself. "Bridgit, listen to me..." "I'm listening." "I was wrong." "About what?" He frowned, trying to find the words, but his mind was too clouded. "If you don't even know what you did wrong, why are you here apologizing?" "I shouldn't have gone to Key West. I shouldn't have left you alone. I shouldn't have let her move into the building, and I shouldn't have lied about the rent..." "And?" "And what?" "You texted me last night accusing me of bullying her. Doug, you came to defend your little friend, and now that you're drunk, you come here to beg for forgiveness? Do you have a split personality?" He parted his lips, his face turning pale as the alcohol took its toll. "I didn't mean it like that... I was just drunk..." "Then come back when you're sober." I tried to step back to close the door, but he lunged forward, jamming his foot into the doorframe. "Bridgit, please don't close the door." "Move your foot." "No." I pushed the door hard, and he let out a sharp grunt of pain, but his foot remained firmly in place. "Are you out of your mind?" "Probably," he whispered, his eyes red and swimming with tears. "I was out of my mind to sign those papers. I went to the building manager today. You returned the keys to the downtown apartment. You won't live in the townhouse I bought, and you're transferring money to my account every month to cover your half of the mortgage. You're cutting me out so cleanly, Bridgit. Did you plan this all along?" "I am paying my half because the agreement gave me the townhouse. I pay my own bills." "Then why won't you live in the downtown apartment?" "Because it belongs to you." "Is it really mine? I transferred it to you, don't you get it?" "I don't want it." He stared at me for a long time before letting out a bitter, self-deprecating laugh that made his shoulders shake. "You always told me you hated receiving gifts because they felt like an obligation. When I bought you those designer bags and jewelry, you kept them, so I thought you had changed. But you hadn't. You only accepted them to keep me at a distance, so you could calculate exactly what you owed me when you left." "You're overthinking it." "Am I?" He pointed a finger at his own chest. "I am standing here like an idiot, begging you not to shut me out. Just give me one honest answer, Bridgit. Do you still love me?" "No." He fell completely still. His foot slowly slid out of the doorframe, and he took a step back, his hand still resting weakly against the wood. "Say that again." "I don't love you anymore." He stared at me, blinking rapidly as a single tear escaped his right eye. He quickly wiped it away. "Fine." He nodded slowly. "Fine." He turned toward the elevator, but after a few paces, he stopped, his back still turned to me. "I left the keys to the downtown apartment on your shoe rack. Whether you live there or not is up to you. But it's yours." The elevator doors slid open, and he stepped inside. Before the doors closed, he muttered, "I made Audrey move out of the building. Believe me or don't. It's up to you." The elevator began its descent, the floor numbers ticking down. I closed the door and locked it. Sure enough, a silver key lay on the shoe rack, attached to a leather strap with a small, ugly rabbit keychain. I had won that cheap little rabbit at a carnival game during our sophomore year. He had told me it was too ugly to keep, but I had snapped it onto his keyring anyway, telling him he had to carry it every day. Through all the cars and houses he had bought over the years, that ugly little rabbit had remained on his keyring. I picked it up, stared at it for a moment, and placed it in a drawer. My phone buzzed. It was a photo from Doug. Audrey's pink suitcase was sitting on the pavement outside the building entrance, next to two large cardboard boxes. A second message followed: She's gone. Her rent is paid through next spring, but after that, she's on her own. I didn't reply. I washed up and went to bed, but my phone vibrated again. Did you throw away the silver ring? Which ring? The ten-dollar one? No. You told me you'd only take it off if I stopped wanting you. Do you remember that? I remember. But I never stopped wanting you... You only ever came back when I threatened to leave, Doug. The message marked as read, but no reply came. Ten minutes later, another text arrived. I'm flying to Iceland tomorrow. I stared at the screen for several seconds. Alone? Yes. You hate the cold. Didn't you say you weren't afraid of it? I'm still not. Then I'll take photos of the lights for you. Don't bother. He sent a location link. He was at the airport lounge. It was 4:30 AM. I booked the ticket tonight. I wanted us to go together. You can always take someone else. There is no one else, Bridgit. Not since you closed that door. I turned off my phone and rolled over. Outside, the sweep of a car's headlights cut across my ceiling before vanishing into the dark. The next morning, I opened my phone to find three messages from him. The first was a photo of his boarding gate at 5:30 AM. The second was a shot through the airplane window, showing a gray, overcast sky. The third was a paragraph of text: We're taking off. You always claimed you weren't afraid of the cold, but I remember how you used to bundle yourself up like a giant ball every winter. You told me you only pretended to be cold so I would hold your hands. Was that a lie too? I typed a response, then deleted it. In the end, I only wrote: Safe travels. There was no further reply. That afternoon, I went to the supermarket. As I wheeled my cart through the seafood section, I saw the fresh salmon and remembered the first time he had tried to cook for me. He had burned the fish black but insisted it was a special blackened Cajun style. We had been fresh out of college, living in a cramped, drafty studio with a greasy kitchen, and he had been running around in my floral apron. I reached for a pack of salmon, then slowly put it back. My phone buzzed. A message sent from thirty thousand feet. The flight attendant asked what I wanted to drink. I asked for warm milk. You always said my stomach was too sensitive for iced drinks. I remembered. You remember everything I said, but what's the point now? The point is that every night before I sleep, I replay everything I did wrong, planning how to fix it tomorrow. And did you fix it? I fixed it. But by the time I did, everything was already ruined. I didn't write back. A thunderstorm hit the city that night. The wind howled through the half-open balcony door, sending the papers on my coffee table scattering across the floor. As I gathered them, my eyes fell on the copy of our divorce agreement, specifically his signature. His name, Doug Vance, was written in large, forceful strokes, the final line of his surname dragging out unusually long, the ink slightly smudged. I remembered why he always signed his name that way. During our senior year, he had complained about how tedious his signature was. I had suggested he shorten it, but he had refused. "No way," he had said, smiling. "Everything I write for you has to be complete. I drag the final stroke out so my name can linger on the page a little longer." I had called him overly dramatic back then. He had laughed, telling me it was about the art of the gesture. The doorbell rang, cutting through my thoughts. I checked the security feed, but the hallway was empty. When I opened the door, a thermal delivery bag was sitting on the welcome mat. Inside was a container of warm pumpkin porridge, with a sticky note attached. Warm pumpkin porridge. You always said it helped when your stomach was acting up. I made it myself. Eat it while it's hot. The handwriting was unmistakably his. I looked down the long, empty corridor. I brought the bag inside. The porridge was perfectly smooth, though the pumpkin chunks were cut into uneven, awkward sizes, a clear sign of someone who didn't know their way around a kitchen. I took a few spoonfuls, the heat stinging the tip of my tongue. Doug never knew how to simmer things properly. He had once burned a hole straight through one of our pots. My phone rang. An unfamiliar number. "Bridgit? This is Audrey's mother." "Hello." "My daughter cried all night. She said you forced Doug to throw her out of her apartment. Let me ask you something, you two are divorced, so what right do you have to dictate where my daughter lives?" "I didn't dictate anything. Doug paid her rent, and he was the one who told her to leave. If she has an issue, she should take it up with him." "Don't you dare hide behind Doug! My daughter's relationship with him was entirely innocent! You're just a bitter woman who wants to ruin everyone else's life because yours fell apart!" "Ma'am, your daughter spent three years relying on a married man, living right beneath our noses while he paid her rent. If you call that innocent, we have very different definitions of the word." "You..." "Tell her to ask Doug herself why he kicked her out. Goodbye, and take care." I hung up and blocked the number. I finished the porridge, washed the container, and placed it back in the thermal bag before setting it outside my door. I snapped a photo of the empty bowl and sent it to him. The container is outside. He replied instantly. Was it good? You overcooked it. I'll do better next time. There won't be a next time. He sent back a meme, one I had made years ago of a cat holding a sign that read You are absolutely right. We used to bicker constantly during college, and I had created that meme to tease him whenever he lost an argument. He had kept it ever since. I stared at the screen for a long time, then turned the phone face down.
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