Divorce
Two weeks had passed like a strange, suspended dream.
Melody's body had finally begun to forgive her. The abdominal incision had dried up completely. No more weeping, no more angry red edges. The stitches were removed in a quiet outpatient visit, leaving behind a thin, pale scar that still pulled when she moved too quickly, but no longer screamed.
The word carved into her inner thigh had healed into a faint, ugly reminder, raised and pink, but the skin had closed. No fever. No infection. Just scars.
Sally had taken over the meals. Three proper ones a day.
.. warm soup, grilled chicken with vegetables, fresh fruit, soft bread with butter.
No more trays slid through the door like prison rations.
Melody ate slowly, steadily, and her bloated tummy had begun to shrink, softening into something more like the body she used to know.
Symphony came once a day now, Sally bringing her in the late afternoons. Melody held her daughter for an hour each time, whispering lullabies, kissing every tiny finger. Those moments were the only light in the quiet house.
Christian never came.
She hadn't seen him once in two weeks. Not in the hallways. Not even a shadow passing her door. He was home... she heard his footsteps sometimes late at night, the creak of his study door, but he never approached her. Never spoke. Never looked.
Victoria hadn't appeared either. The mansion felt strangely empty without her sharp voice or Ashley's mocking laughter. It was quiet. Too quiet.
A stylist had come one afternoon, sent by Christian, no explanation.
The woman worked quickly, evening out the brutal hacks into a sleek, modern boy cut with a deep side part.
It framed Melody's face sharply, made her cheekbones stand out, gave her a fierce, almost defiant look.
She stared at herself in the mirror for a long time.
She looked... strong.
But she still missed her long hair.
Missed the way it used to fall like a curtain when she wanted to hide.
Missed brushing it 100 strokes every night.
That morning, she was cleaning her room... something she did now to keep her hands busy, to feel like she had control over at least one small space. She wiped the nightstand, folded fresh towels, straightened the pillows.
A soft knock.
Sally opened the door, expression careful.
"Miss Melody... Mr. Holt is calling you downstairs."
Melody froze, dust cloth in hand.
She set it down slowly.
Her heart began to pound... hard, fast, a mix of fear and something she refused to name.
She nodded once.
"I'll be right there."
She smoothed the simple sweater and leggings she wore, took one last glance in the mirror at the short, sharp hair that wasn't hers anymore, and walked out.
×××××××
The living room felt colder than the wind outside. Melody stood frozen in the doorway, ball cap low over her short, sharp hair, wearing the same soft sweater and leggings she'd had on all day.
In front of Christian on the low coffee table lay a neat stack of papers. Divorce Deed.
A man in a crisp black suit sat beside him, lawyer, clearly... pen resting on the open folder, expression professionally blank. Victoria hovered near the fireplace, arms crossed, scowling like she'd finally won something.
Christian looked up when Melody entered.
His face was stone again.
No softness.
No trace of the man who'd tucked the duvet around her and Symphony two weeks ago.
Cold. Distant. Closed.
He had already signed.
His signature stared back at her, sharp and final.
Melody's breath caught.
She shook her head slowly, as if denying the sight could make it disappear.
"You're... serious?" she whispered.
Christian met her eyes.
No hesitation.
"Why do you think a lawyer is here?"
Melody's knees trembled. She took a shaky step forward.
"I won't sign."
Christian's jaw tightened. "You will."
"I won't." Her voice rose, cracking. "I won't leave. I won't leave Symphony."
He leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees, voice low and unyielding.
"I'll give you money. A generous settlement. Enough to start over. You'll be free. You can go anywhere. Do anything. Just sign."
Melody shook her head faster, tears already spilling. "I don't want money. I want her. My daughter. I won't part from her."
Christian's eyes darkened.
"You'll see her. Twice a month. Supervised. That's my final offer."
"No." She stepped closer, voice trembling but fierce. "I'll file for custody."
A bitter laugh escaped him, short and humorless. "You? With what? No money. No job. No resources. You're an ex-convict, Melody. The courts will laugh you out of the room. You'll never get custody. You'll be lucky if they let you near her at all."
Melody's sobs broke free... loud and wrenching. She pressed a hand to her mouth, trying to hold them in.
"Please," she begged. "You don't have to divorce me. I'll stay. I'll work. I'll do everything you want... clean, cook, stay out of your way. Just don't send me away from her. Please, Christian. Please don't take my baby."
Christian looked away, jaw clenched so tight a muscle jumped in his cheek.
"This is my last decision," he said quietly. "Sign. Or I'll make sure you rot in prison for the rest of your life. No visits. No calls. No Symphony. Nothing."
Melody stared at him, tears streaming unchecked.
"You would do that?" she whispered. "You would put me back in a cell?"
Christian's gaze flicked back to her, cold and hard.
"If that's what it takes."
Silence stretched, thick and suffocating.
Melody's shoulders shook.
She looked at the papers.
At the lawyer's neutral face.
At Victoria's scowling face.
At the empty space where her daughter should be.
She walked forward slowly.
Her hand shook so badly when she picked up the pen that it nearly slipped from her fingers.
She signed.
The scratch of the pen was the only sound in the room.
When she finished, she set the pen down with a soft click.
She didn't look at Christian.
She didn't look at anyone.
She turned and walked out... slow, head bowed, ball cap hiding the tears that wouldn't stop.
The door closed behind her.
Christian stared at the signed papers for a long moment.
Then he closed his eyes.
And the room felt emptier than it ever had before.
×××××××
I used to dream of Christian.
Not the cruel one who punished me.
Not the cold man who signed away my life today.
The other one.
The one who existed in the quiet corners of my mind when I was still just an employee with a hopeless crush.
I dreamed he'd notice me.
Not the reports I wrote, not the numbers I crunched, but me.
I dreamed he'd walk past my desk one late night, see me still working, and instead of nodding and leaving, he'd stop.
He'd lean against the partition and say, "You should go home, Melody.
It's late."
And when I looked up, surprised, he'd smile and add, "But.
.. stay a little longer. I like having you here. "
I dreamed of coffee.
Him bringing me a cup one morning.
I dreamed he'd sit on the edge of my desk while I drank it, asking about my weekend, looking at me like I was the most interesting person in the room.
I dreamed of rain.
Of standing under an awning together after a late meeting, watching it pour, and him draping his coat over my shoulders the way he did that one time.
.. only this time he wouldn't pull away.
He'd stay close. His arm would slip around me.
He'd say, "I've wanted to do this for a long time," and kiss me slow and careful, like I was something precious.
I dreamed of dates.
A small Italian restaurant downtown. Him holding my hand across the table.
A walk in the park on a Sunday, leaves crunching under our feet.
Him pushing me gently against a tree and kissing me again because he couldn't wait anymore.
I dreamed of him loving me back.
Of him saying my name like it mattered.
Of him looking at me the way he looked at Symphony when she was born... soft, awed, like I was the miracle he never knew he needed.
I dreamed of a future.
A house with a garden.
A ring that wasn't forced on my finger.
Him waking up beside me every morning, reaching for me first.
Him telling me he loved me.
I dreamed he'd choose me.
Not out of revenge.
Not out of obligation.
Just... because he wanted to.
And now?
Now those dreams are dead.
Buried under everything I've lost... my hair, my daughter's daily presence, my dignity, my hope.
I don't even know why it hurts this much.
I still want the man I dreamed of.
The one who never existed outside my head.
And that's the worst part.
Because when he signed those papers, he proved that he never will.
-Melody
×××××××
Victoria waited until the lawyer had left and the house fell quiet again. She found Christian in his study, standing at the window with his back to the door, staring out at the dark driveway.
Victoria didn't knock. She walked in, heels clicking sharply on the hardwood.
"This is a mistake," she said without preamble. "You're letting her walk free. After everything she did to Ashton. After what she is."
Christian didn't turn. His reflection in the glass looked tired, hollow.
She stepped closer, voice dropping to a venomous hiss.
"Send her to jail, Christian. Let her rot there. Let the courts do what you're too weak to do. She deserves to be locked away forever. Not walking free with money in her pocket and the chance to come back sniffing around Symphony one day."
Christian finally turned. His hazel eyes were cold, but there was something new in them... something weary, resolute.
"This is worse than jail," he said.
Victoria blinked. "What?"
"Prison would be easy for her," he continued, voice low.
"She'd survive. She'd hate us, but she'd endure.
She'd have nothing left to lose. But this?
" He gestured vaguely toward the empty house, toward the life he'd just dismantled.
"This is her worst punishment. Being parted from her daughter.
Knowing Symphony is growing up without her.
Knowing she'll only get scraps... twice a month, supervised, like she's some dangerous stranger. That will break her completely."
Victoria stared at him, mouth open.
"She'll wake up every day knowing her baby is here, laughing, learning, calling someone else Mama and she can't reach her. She'll live with that every single second. That kind of pain doesn't heal. It festers. It destroys."
He looked away again, jaw tight.
"That's what I want for her," he said quietly. "Not a cell. Not a quick end. I want her to live with the loss."
Victoria's face twisted... anger, confusion, betrayal.
"You're defending her," she spat. "After everything—"
"I'm not defending her," Christian cut in. "I'm ending this. My way."
He walked past her toward the door.
Victoria grabbed his arm. "Christian-"
He pulled free without looking back.
"Stay out of it, Mother," he said. "Or you'll be the next one I cut out."
He left the study.
The door closed softly behind him.
Victoria stood alone in the dim room, fists clenched, staring at the empty chair where he'd been.
The house was silent.
But the silence felt different now.
Heavier.
×××××××