Chapter 1
Anna
Three Years Later
I stare at my laptop screen and reread the title of my article.
After the Papers: How Women Reclaim Their Lives After Divorce
By Anna Delgado
Senior Feature Journalist, The Manhattan Daily Gazette
A satisfied smile curves my lips. They say writing is the pulse of a journalist, a way to turn emotions into words.
For me, this article is exactly what I can say holds a special place in my heart.
Sure, I’ve written about celebrities, politicians, and scandals before—stories that made headlines, stories that sold.
But this isn’t just another assignment. This isn’t me writing as just a journalist. This is personal.
My thoughts drift to the incredible women I’d interviewed for this article. Their stories were nothing short of inspiring.
A Brooklyn bakery owner who turned her heartbreak into honey-drenched cinnamon buns and built a six-figure business...
A florist in Queens who channelled her grief into each bloom, every bouquet an act of quiet rebellion...
A tech founder who built an app to help single women access emotional and financial support after toxic breakups…
Each of them reminded me what it felt like to be left behind. To question your worth simply because someone else couldn’t see it.
And through this piece, I wanted my voice to reach those women who rarely stop to acknowledge what comes after the papers are signed.
I wanted them to see that the silence following a divorce doesn’t mean it’s truly the end.
Yes, it marks the end of a name, a home, a future you once built your entire world around.
But even amid the ending, there’s a stir of a new beginning.
One that belongs solely to you. A life where you no longer shrink yourself to fit the outline of the person who broke you.
Instead, you rise, not as someone’s ex, but as a stronger woman, reshaped and reborn.
Exactly what I did.
My fingers hover over the keyboard for a second longer before I finally hit save.
I shut my laptop and lean back in my chair as the late evening light pours through the floor-to-ceiling window behind me.
A quiet sense of pride settles in as my gaze wanders around my office.
The soft cream walls. The bulletin board in the left corner, overflowing with story notes and reminders.
The tall bookshelf on my right that holds my favorite books.
Two large potted plants standing like guards on either side of the door.
My dark oak desk in its usual beautiful mess.
And beside my laptop sits a framed photograph of my parents, the ones I lost in a car accident when I was ten.
Their faces remind me of why I never gave up.
Why I never let heartbreak define how my story would end.
Letting out a breath, I think back to the day I first walked into this office four years ago.
I had no idea it would one day feel like home.
Back then, I was just trying to gain experience, one more stepping stone toward something bigger.
But between chasing deadlines and uncovering hidden stories, I found more than just a byline.
I found my voice. And somewhere along the way, I became one of the top journalists in the city.
Something that still feels a little unreal to be honest, even now.
A soft knock at my door pulls me back to the present, and I straighten in my chair just as my editor-in-chief, Sabrina, pokes her head in.
“Anna, can I have a word?”
I nod with a smile, already pushing to my feet. “Of course.”
She steps inside with a file in hand, her black heels somehow silent against the floor.
Dressed in her signature black blazer and bold red lipstick, with her blonde hair pulled into a sleek bun that doesn’t dare move, Sabrina radiates the kind of authority that commands a room simply by walking into it.
Reaching my desk, she flops into the chair opposite me and places the brown file on the table before crossing one leg over the other with effortless grace.
I take a moment to study her. Even in her mid-fifties, she carries a poise and energy that make it impossible not to be in awe.
And I’ve been truly lucky to have her as my mentor since the day I joined, gaining the chance to learn so much more from her.
She leans back slightly. “How is it going?”
“Busy, but productive. I made some progress on the piece I’m working on,” I reply, sinking back into my chair. “I’ll have a few revisions emailed to you by tomorrow so you can review them before we finalize it.”
She nods, her smile approving. “Perfect. I’ll take a look as soon as I can.”
I nod back, curiosity twisting in my chest as I keep my eyes fixed on her. Something tells me she’s not here just for the casual chit-chat. That gleam in her eyes… it’s the same one I’ve seen before, the one that usually signals she’s about to drop something massive.
“I’ve got something big. And you’re the only one I trust with this,” she continues.
There it is. Bingo. I knew she had another assignment lined up, one that would bring in numbers for the company.
“Alright. What is it?” I ask, slipping into work mode instantly.
Sabrina leans forward and slides the brown folder across my desk. Her red-painted nails tap twice on the cover before she lets go.
“We’ve landed an exclusive interview with the most elusive billionaire in the country. He’s practically impossible to pin down, but I pulled a few strings, and it’s ours.”
My eyes drop to the name on the folder, and my stomach twists instantly.
Landon Hayes.
My heart slams against my ribs, and I grip the sides of my chair to steady myself, but it’s of no use. No amount of steel in my spine could’ve prepared me to see his name again.
“Hotelier tycoon, and a cold, cutthroat businessman. While the tabloids have linked him to different women over the years, spinning stories and rumors, nothing has ever been confirmed. The press has repeatedly tried to secure an interview, but no one has succeeded… until now,” she says, so effortlessly, completely unaware of the invisible knife twisting beneath my ribs.
“God, I don’t know why I’m even telling you this. You’ve heard of him, obviously.”
The irony is so thick, I could choke on it.
Of course I’ve heard of him. He’s my husband. Correction. My ex-husband.
But Sabrina doesn’t know that. No one here does. When I joined the Gazette, I made a deliberate choice to keep my marriage a secret. I didn’t want anyone questioning whether I could juggle deadlines and domestic life.
Looking back now, I’m almost glad I never told them.
Because Landon didn’t even wait until our first anniversary to sign the divorce papers.
Hell, he didn’t even have the decency to face me.
Just left them on the table like a goddamn Post-it note.
As if our vows meant nothing to him. As if I meant nothing to him.
She leans back in her chair, a smirk playing on her lips. “Anyway, what matters is that, for reasons still unknown, he has finally agreed to a sit-down. And I want you to write this article,” she continues, her voice bright with excitement.
I blink. Once. Twice. A silent pep talk echoes in my head.
Don’t react. Don’t let it show. Don’t let her see that the man she’s talking about once held my heart in his hands and then crushed it without a second thought.
And that the worst part is, he walked away as if he had been miserable in our marriage, as if I was the reason for his misery.
Not once did he stop to consider that marriage was a change for both of us, and it was not just his precious bachelor life that he had to sacrifice.
Yes, we had our share of arguments like any other married couple, but we also had good times.
None of that ever seemed to matter to him… only his version of the sacrifice did.
“You want me to do the piece?” I manage at last, my voice flat, my gaze steady.
“Of course. You’re the best we have, Anna,” she replies, her tone leaving no room for argument. “I’m not giving this to anyone else. Your voice, your depth… it’s exactly what this profile needs.”
I cross my legs and press my thighs together, slipping into the detached composure I’ve perfected since the day he left. It’s how I survive every time his name pops up in the headlines about his success or in every rumor about his affairs, even though it guts me every single time.
“Of course,” I agree, the words tasting like iron on my tongue.
Every fiber of me wants to snap, to throw the file back at her and say, ‘To hell with this assignment.’ But I can’t.
I can’t let my emotions interfere with my work, no matter how painfully my chest tightens at the thought of seeing him again.
“Good. I’ll get in touch with his assistant and confirm the timing. I’m pretty sure we’ll lock in something for tomorrow.”
My nails dig into my palm as I force a nod. Great.
She’s just about to stand when she pauses, her hand still on the armrest. “Listen… by any chance, do you know Landon personally?”
My insides churn at the question, but I school my expression into something confused.
“No,” I say smoothly, even forcing a slight frown. “Why would you ask that?”
Sabrina tilts her head slightly, her eyes narrowing with quiet curiosity. “I wasn’t going to bring this up because I figured it was nothing, but…” She pauses, then leans in just a little. “Landon’s assistant specifically mentioned that he requested you for the interview.”
My throat tightens. Blood rushes to my ears like a tidal wave.
“He did?” I manage, my voice barely above a whisper.
She waves her hand, brushing it off casually. “Probably because you’re the best at what you do. You know how these big shots are, ego and all that. They want the most high-profile journalist in the city writing their story.”
I nod, trying to force a neutral expression. “Right. Makes sense.”