After the 100th Disappointment, I Choose Divorce1 / 3

Chapter 1

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