Chapter 11
Jennifer
I made it three blocks before I had to pull over.
The tears came so fast and so hard that I couldn't see the road anymore, couldn't see anything except the blur of streetlights through the water streaming down my face.
I pulled into a random parking lot and sat there with my hands gripping the steering wheel, my whole body shaking like I was coming apart at the seams.
I don't know, Grace. Sometimes I wonder if I even love her anymore. Sometimes I feel so fucking trapped, like I can't breathe, like marrying her was the biggest mistake of my life...
His voice. His fucking voice, saying those words to another woman while I slept alone in our bed, thinking he was working late, thinking he was stressed about business, thinking that if I just gave him enough space, enough patience, enough love, he'd eventually let me in.
What a goddamn fool I'd been.
I pressed my forehead against the steering wheel and sobbed until my throat was raw, until my chest ached, until I had nothing left inside me except a hollow, echoing emptiness that felt like it might swallow me whole.
The worst part wasn't the words themselves. The worst part was that some tiny, pathetic piece of me had actually started to believe him. Started to believe that he'd changed, that he was doing the work, that maybe we had a chance.
That night in my studio, with the rain pounding against the windows and his body pressed against mine, I'd felt something shift. Something that felt terrifyingly like hope. Like maybe, just maybe, we could find our way back to each other.
And now this.
Now I had to live with the knowledge that while I was lying awake wondering what I'd done wrong, while I was bending myself into knots trying to be the wife he needed, he was telling Grace Shields that marrying me was the biggest mistake of his life.
My phone buzzed in my purse. Then again. Then again.
I knew without looking that it was Clayton. Probably desperate, probably panicking, probably trying to explain away the inexplicable. But I couldn't talk to him right now. Couldn't look at him right now. Couldn't do anything except sit in this parking lot and try to remember how to breathe.
Skylar. I needed Skylar.
I dug my phone out of my purse with trembling hands and called her number. She picked up on the second ring.
"Jen? What's wrong?"
The concern in her voice broke something loose inside me, and a fresh wave of tears spilled down my cheeks. "Can you come over? I need... I can't..."
"I'm on my way." No questions, no hesitation. Just Skylar, steady and reliable as always. "Where are you?"
"I don't know." I looked around at the unfamiliar parking lot, trying to get my bearings. "Some random lot off Madison. I had to pull over."
"Are you safe to drive?"
"I think so. Maybe. I don't know."
"Stay there. I'm tracking your phone. Be there in ten minutes."
She hung up before I could respond, and I sat there in the silence, staring at nothing, feeling everything.
Skylar's car pulled up next to mine exactly nine minutes later. She climbed out and walked over to my window, taking one look at my face before opening my door and pulling me into a fierce hug.
"Oh, honey." Her arms tightened around me. "What happened?"
I told her everything. About Clayton showing up at the studio in the rain.
About the desperate, consuming sex on my drafting table.
About telling him my body wanted him but my heart didn't trust him.
About Grace showing up outside my building with a phone full of poison, playing recordings of my husband admitting he felt trapped, admitting he wondered if he loved me, admitting that marrying me was the biggest mistake of his life.
By the time I finished, Skylar's expression had gone from concerned to murderous.
"I'm going to kill him," she said flatly. "And then I'm going to kill her. Slowly. With my bare hands."
Despite everything, I laughed. It came out wet and broken, but it was still a laugh. "Get in line."
"I'm serious, Jen." Skylar pulled back to look at me, her green eyes blazing. "After everything he's put you through, after all the therapy and the letters and the supposed growth, he said that shit about you to another woman? To Grace fucking Shields?"
"It was before." The words tasted like ash in my mouth. "Before the gala. Before I left. He said he was drunk and scared and didn't mean it."
"And you believe him?"
Did I? I didn't know. I didn't know anything anymore.
"He got on his knees," I said quietly. "Right there on the sidewalk. In front of everyone. He didn't try to make excuses or minimize it. He just... owned it. Called himself a pathetic, terrified coward."
"Well, at least he's self-aware now." Skylar's voice dripped with sarcasm. "That totally makes up for telling his emotional mistress that marrying you was the biggest mistake of his life."
I flinched at the term. Emotional mistress. Was that what Grace had been? It felt accurate, even though Clayton had never touched her. Maybe especially because he'd never touched her. Physical affairs were about bodies. What Clayton had done with Grace was about souls.
And he'd given his to her while withholding it from me.
"What do I do?" I whispered. "Sky, I don't know what to do."
Skylar was quiet for a moment, her hand stroking my hair the way my mother used to when I was little and scared. "What do you want to do?"
"I want to stop hurting." The words came out raw, desperate.
"I want to stop feeling like I'm on a fucking roller coaster, up and down and up and down until I can't tell which way is up anymore.
I want peace. I want to be able to sleep through the night without dreaming about him.
I want to stop loving someone who keeps finding new ways to destroy me. "
"Then maybe it's time to let him go." Skylar's voice was gentle but firm. "For real this time. Not a separation, not a break, not a 'we'll see what happens.' A real, legal, permanent ending."
Divorce.
The word hung in the air between us, heavy and final. I'd thought about it, of course. In the darker moments, when the loneliness felt like it might crush me, I'd googled divorce lawyers and read articles about dividing assets and wondered what my life would look like without Clayton Mayer in it.
But thinking about it and doing it were two very different things.
"I don't know if I can," I admitted.
"You can." Skylar took my hands in hers, squeezing tight. "You're the strongest person I know, Jennifer. You walked away from a marriage that was suffocating you. You rebuilt your career from scratch. You threw a showcase that had everyone in the city talking. You can do this too."
"But what if he really has changed? What if those recordings were just... a moment of weakness? What if I walk away from something that could have been saved?"
"Honey." Skylar's voice was impossibly gentle. "You've been asking yourself those questions for eight years. At some point, you have to stop waiting for him to become the man you need and start building a life without him."
She was right. God help me, she was right.
I thought about the past few months. The gala. Grace's revelations. The confrontation in the Rolls-Royce. Leaving my ring on Clayton's desk. The showcase. His letter. The rain-soaked night in my studio.
And now this. The final nail in a coffin I'd been building for years without realizing it.
Every time I started to believe in him, something new emerged to shatter that belief. Every time I let myself hope, the universe delivered another reminder that hope was a luxury I couldn't afford.
Maybe Skylar was right. Maybe it was time to stop hoping and start moving on.
"I need a lawyer," I said quietly.
Skylar's eyes widened slightly. "Are you sure?"
"No." I laughed bitterly. "I'm not sure about anything anymore. But I know I can't keep doing this. I can't keep riding this emotional roller coaster, waiting for the next drop, the next loop, the next moment when everything falls apart again."
"Okay." Skylar squeezed my hands again. "I know someone. Rachel Torres. She handled my cousin's divorce, and she's a total shark. Expensive, but worth every penny."
I nodded slowly, feeling something settle in my chest. Not peace, exactly. More like resignation. The quiet acceptance of someone who had finally stopped fighting the inevitable.
"Can you drive me home?" I asked. "I don't think I should be behind the wheel right now."
"Of course." Skylar helped me out of my car and into hers, promising to send someone for my vehicle later. As we pulled out of the parking lot, I stared out the window at the city lights blurring past, and thought about endings.
About how sometimes the bravest thing you could do was walk away from something you loved.
I called Rachel Torres the next morning.
She was everything Skylar had promised: sharp, professional, and ruthlessly efficient. She didn't waste time on sympathy or small talk. She just listened to my situation, asked pointed questions, and started outlining my options with clinical precision.
"Given the circumstances, I'd recommend filing on grounds of irreconcilable differences," she said over the phone. "It's the cleanest approach. Less messy than trying to prove fault."
"What about the prenuptial agreement?"
"We'll review it thoroughly, but based on what you've told me, you should be entitled to a significant settlement regardless. The prenup protects his family's assets, but anything acquired during the marriage is fair game."
I didn't want his money. I didn't want anything from him except my freedom. But I nodded along anyway, taking notes, trying to focus on the practical details instead of the screaming ache in my chest.
It took three days to prepare the papers.
Three days of meetings with Rachel and her team. Three days of reviewing documents and signing forms and discussing strategy. Three days of not sleeping, barely eating, and ignoring the steady stream of texts and voicemails from Clayton.
Please, Jen. Let me explain.
I know you need space, but I can't stand not hearing your voice.
I love you. That's never been a lie. Please believe me.
Each message made it harder to breathe. Each one reminded me of why I was doing this, and why it felt like cutting out a piece of my own heart.
On the fourth day, I had the papers delivered to his office.
I didn't do it myself. Couldn't bear the thought of seeing his face when he realized what I'd done. So I hired a process server, someone professional and detached who would hand him the envelope and walk away without emotion.
Skylar was with me when it happened. We were sitting in my loft, drinking wine we didn't taste, when my phone buzzed with a text from Clayton.
I just got served divorce papers.
I stared at the words until they blurred.
Jennifer, please. Don't do this. I know I fucked up, but please don't end us like this.
Another buzz.
I'll do anything. Sign over everything I own. Give up the company. Move across the country if that's what you need. Just please don't divorce me.
My hands were shaking so badly I nearly dropped the phone. Skylar reached over and took it from me, reading the messages with a grim expression.
"Do you want me to respond?" she asked.
"No." I took a shaky breath. "I need to do this part myself."
I took the phone back and typed out a response, each word feeling like a goodbye.
I meant what I said, Clayton. I need space. I need time. And right now, I need to know that I can survive without you. Please don't contact me again until the divorce is finalized. If you ever loved me, you'll respect that.
I hit send before I could change my mind.
His response came almost immediately.
I've always loved you. I will always love you. And I will spend the rest of my life proving it, even if you never believe me.
Then nothing.
I turned off my phone and let Skylar hold me while I cried.