“Do you know what’s ridiculous? Trying to get someone to sign over property fifty-three days into a marriage.”
“We never said that,” she snapped.
I pulled out my phone and pressed play.
Daniel’s voice filled the doorway.
“If she adds me to the deed, we can refinance.”
Then Norma’s.
“Once the property is marital, everything becomes easier.”
Then Daniel again.
“She trusts me.”
And Norma laughing.
“Then use that.”
When the recording ended, no one spoke.
Daniel swallowed.
“It wasn’t like that.”
“It was exactly like that.”
Norma hardened her voice.
“You’re throwing away a marriage over a misunderstanding.”
“No,” I said. “I’m leaving because I finally stopped making excuses.”
Daniel asked quietly, “What do you want?”
“A divorce.”
The papers were already being prepared.
Norma finally said, “We only wanted security.”
I nodded.
“There it is.”
Not love.
Not family.
Security.
Mine.
The house I had paid off.
The future they thought would become available simply because I married Daniel.
The divorce took five months. My house stayed in my name. My savings stayed mine. The money I had paid into their house was addressed in the settlement.
That winter, I slept, cooked in my own kitchen, and remembered what peace felt like.
In spring, I painted the kitchen deep sage green because I liked it and no one else had an opinion.
