Chapter 2

2.

The next morning, aggressive knocking woke me up.

I opened the door with a frown, only to find Giselle glaring at me with a sour expression.

“Rowan, what’s with sleeping in the guest room? You didn’t even make breakfast. I have to head to the Writers Guild early, so hurry up and make me some oatmeal and coffee.”

For years, I had always woken up early to cook her breakfast, lay out her outfit for the day, and then head to my own job.

She was so pampered by my service that she took every ounce of my effort for granted.

Now, missing just one morning earned me a barrage of complaints.

Cold detachment washed over me as I spoke evenly.

“The signed divorce papers are on the coffee table. Read them over, and if you have no objections, sign them.”

Giselle furrowed her brow, irritation flaring in her eyes.

“Didn’t I explain everything to you last night? Why are you still harping on this?”

I gave a faint smirk. “A relationship built for two is too crowded for three. I’m stepping aside so you two can be together.”

With that, I slipped off my wedding ring and handed it to her.

“Here. You can make your own breakfast.”

Giselle stared at the ring in her hand, her temper suddenly exploding.

“Fine! If you want a divorce, let’s get divorced! Do you really think I can’t survive without you?”

She threw the wedding band violently onto the floor, turned on her heel, and stormed out.

Hearing the front door slam shut with a loud bang, I let out a self-deprecating chuckle.

I closed my eyes for a second, then reached out to a realtor friend, asking him to find me a rental apartment as soon as possible.

Looking around the home we had shared for five years, every single corner held traces of my hard work.

Back when Giselle was struggling in her career, she spent her days at home crying and complaining about her bad luck.

Besides working my full-time corporate job, I handled the entire renovation of this house while constantly walking on eggshells around her moods.

It was exhausting, but back then, I thought it was worth it.

The day we moved in, Giselle got her very first book deal.

She hugged me tightly and cheered, “Babe, this house and you are my lucky charms!”

Yet ever since Garrett returned to the States, she rarely came home at night.

To her, this home had become entirely disposable.

I noticed the dusty matching mugs under the coffee table and the custom couple’s keychains tossed into a dark corner of the entryway―things I had spent hours making by hand.

Giselle had claimed those trinkets looked cheap and were beneath her status as an acclaimed author.

I should have realized long ago that she had already outgrown me and looked down on me.

I gathered every couple’s item in the house, packed them into a large trash bag, and tossed them into the dumpster outside.

Once I made sure none of my personal belongings remained, I grabbed my suitcase and walked out the door.

My realtor found me a cozy one-bedroom downtown.

It was much smaller than the house, but it was more than enough for one person.

After unpacking, I treated myself to a fiery bowl of extra-spicy Cajun stew.

A fiery meal for a fresh, prosperous new start.

Watching the red oil bubble, I suddenly realized I hadn’t eaten anything spicy in five years.

Giselle hated it because she claimed the smell lingered too long and wasn’t refined.

My first bite of spicy beef made me cough uncontrollably.

Yet within minutes, I was savoring every bite.

Just as I finished eating, my phone rang. It was my old buddy Leo, who worked at a publishing house.

“Rowan, are you seriously not going to write again? The web serials you wrote six years ago are still generating royalties every month. I can’t stand watching a brilliant writer rot away. Won’t you please reconsider?”