He gestured toward the living room. We sat down in the exact same places as the night before. The same dim lights. The same half-empty wine glasses still on the table. He hadn’t even bothered to change the set. He genuinely thought his performance had worked. He thought I had accepted my role in his play.
“I’ve been thinking,” he started, “and I’d like to get this finalized quickly. The divorce. The paperwork. Just… get it all settled so we can both move on with our lives.”
I nodded, keeping my expression pliable and sad. “Okay.”
He blinked, clearly surprised by my lack of resistance. “So… so you agree?”
“I’m not going to fight you on the divorce,” I said, my voice still gentle. “But I do need to make sure I understand what’s fair. So, I spoke with someone today.”
He went perfectly still. “Someone?”
“A lawyer,” I said, my voice calm.
His eyes narrowed instantly. “A lawyer? Why would you do that? I told you I’m offering you a generous settlement. We can handle this between us, Rachel.”
I tilted my head, as if confused. “Well, you said the house was legally all yours, right?”
“It is,” he snapped, too quickly.
“It’s just,” I continued, “we’ve lived here for over ten years. And I’ve put a lot of my own money into it. I have the receipts. I just want to make sure that ‘fair’ covers everything.”
He let out a short, sharp laugh. It was pure defense. “Rachel, come on. You’re blowing this way out of proportion. You paid for some groceries. You lived here. That’s not the same as an investment.”
“I paid for the entire kitchen remodel,” I said softly, as if reminding him. “I paid for the new bathroom tile. I paid for the washer and dryer. All of it came from my salary, from my accounts. I just want that to be acknowledged.”
Brian shot up from the chair. He was pacing now. “I told you, I don’t want this to get ugly.”
“Then don’t insult me,” I said, my voice a little firmer, “by offering me a number that wouldn’t even cover three months’ rent in this neighborhood.”
He stopped pacing and turned to face me. And for the first time, the “caring husband” mask fell away completely. I saw it clear as day: pure, unfiltered anger. And underneath that, unmistakable panic…
