Chapter 2 A Divorce

_Ivy's POV_ I didn't sleep. Not for one minute. The front door didn't open until noon the next day. Theodore walked in still dressed in yesterday's clothes, his tie long gone, and headed straight past me toward the bedroom, already unbuttoning his shirt like I wasn't there. "We need to talk," I said. "I'm tired, Ivy." He didn't even slow down. "Not now." "Tired." I repeated the word back to him, letting it sit there between us. "You can stand watch at someone's bedside all night without complaint. But you can't spare your wife an hour." He stopped. Didn't turn around. "Don't make this into something it isn't." "I'm not making anything into anything." I kept my voice even, though my hands weren't. "I'm asking you a simple question. Is the baby yours?" "Ivy." His voice dropped, warning. "I'm not doing this with you tonight." He didn't explain. He didn't even try. I looked at him-really looked at him, the way you look at someone you're about to stop recognizing-and something from last night surfaced, uninvited. In the hospital corridor, he'd said it without thinking, the words slipping out before he could catch them: "A woman like you wouldn't understand." Seven years. I'd swallowed seven years of that. Seven years of telling myself he was an Alpha, that the weight on his shoulders wasn't mine to resent, that his silence wasn't a verdict on me. But last night, the voice he'd used with Alexandra-soft, careful, like she was something breakable-hadn't belonged to the man I married. He wasn't incapable of it. He'd simply never chosen to give it to me. I lifted my eyes to his. "Then let's get a divorce." Something dark moved behind his eyes. "What did you just say?" "I said-" I didn't get to finish the word a second time. His hand closed around my throat before I even saw him move, pinning me back against the wall. Not hard enough to bruise. Hard enough to make sure I understood exactly how powerful he could be. "You clawed your way into my bed," he said, low and even, like he was stating a fact I'd forgotten. "You used a marriage to trap me. You don't get to be the one who decides when it's over." My vision blurred at the edges. I couldn't tell anymore if it was from the lack of air or from how long I'd waited for him to touch me like this-like I mattered enough to hold onto. Then his phone rang. He looked down. Alexandra. Everything in him unclenched at once. His hand fell away like it had never been there, and he was already straightening his collar, turning for the door, gone before he'd even left the room. I caught my breath and asked the question before I could stop myself. "If we had a child-would any of this be different?" He paused at the door, not quite looking back. "Don't fool yourself." His voice went colder than before. "Even if you were pregnant, I wouldn't claim it as mine. You know exactly how careful I've always been. You'll never get the chance to carry my child." The door slammed hard enough to rattle the frame. His words had already done the damage, sinking in deeper than the sound ever could. I'd asked the question, wanting an answer. Now I understood I'd really asked it to finally let go. Theodore Woodrow had never once considered me his wife. Not really. I caught my reflection in the standing mirror across the room and barely recognized the woman looking back. God. How had I let him do this to me for seven years? I wiped the tears from the corners of my eyes and crossed to the dresser. I pulled the bottom drawer all the way out, pushing aside scarves I'd never once worn, until my fingers found the manila envelope pressed beneath them. Divorce papers. Seven years ago, his father-Elliot Woodrow, the former Alpha-had a lawyer draw these up just to talk Theodore into the marriage in the first place. Theodore had signed his name the very night of our wedding. My line had stayed blank ever since. No one had mentioned the papers again after Elliot passed six months ago. I'd let myself believe that meant something-that maybe there was still a future worth waiting for. Now I knew better. He'd never needed the papers to remind me where I stood. He had a hundred other ways to do that, a hundred other ways to make sure I never forgot I wasn't the wife he'd chosen. I sat down at the edge of the bed. And I signed my name. My phone lit up before the ink had even dried. A voice memo from Ophelia. I opened it, and her voice came through, "Good day, Mama. I know you had a night shift. I hope you had a good sleep. I had a dream about you. We were at the beach playing and laughing loudly. I like it when you laugh." "Mommy, I miss you. When are you coming to see me?" The tears came before I could stop them. I sat there on the edge of a bed that had never really been mine, and it finally hit me-all the years I'd wasted trying to earn a place beside a man who never once made room for me. Years I could have spent watching my daughter grow up instead. I wiped my face and called Beryl. "I'm leaving him," I said, before she could even say hello. "What?" Beryl's voice sharpened instantly. "Ivy, I thought you were finally going to tell him about Ophelia. What happened?" "Alexandra's pregnant. Theodore's moving her into the main house." I kept it short because if I let myself say more, I wasn't sure I'd get through it. "There's nothing left to tell him." Silence, then something hard and furious came through the line. "That absolute bastard-" Beryl caught herself. "Good. Leave him. You should've left years ago." "Beryl-" "I mean it. My brother's been trying to poach you for the Bloodmoon Pack for over a year now. You saved his mate's life, Ivy. Nadia would've died in that delivery room if you hadn't been there. He'd take you on in a heartbeat, and he'd take Ophelia too." I closed my eyes, something in my chest loosening for the first time all night. Not every pack would open its doors to a divorced Luna-word traveled fast, and most Alphas didn't want the complications that came with taking in a woman who'd walked away from another pack's leader. It wasn't easy to find somewhere safe for a mother and a daughter no one was supposed to know existed. Beryl's offer was more than kindness. It was a door I hadn't let myself hope for. "I'd love to come," I said. "I mean it. I just need a little time to think it through. I don't want to-" "It's alright, we can talk it over when you're here," Beryl said gently. "When are you thinking of coming?" "Tomorrow," I said, before I could talk myself out of it. "I'll come see you both tomorrow. We can figure everything out then." "Okay." A pause, her voice softening. "Get some rest, Ivy." I hung up and sat alone in the quiet. The signed papers were still lying on the bed beside me, and I looked down at them. For seven years, I'd kept them hidden at the bottom of a drawer, buried under scarves I never wore, as if not seeing them meant the marriage still had a chance. Now they were signed. There was nothing left to hide. I set them on the nightstand instead, out in the open, where anyone could see them. Then I let out a long breath-the kind that felt like the first real one I'd taken in seven years.