Chapter One

Pasha

I sighed heavily as I pulled into my driveway.

Today had been draining. After my therapy session, I picked up my prescription and headed to the waterfront to self-reflect. My anxiety had been peaking for weeks now. The feeling of impending doom washed over me, and it had yet to leave. I thought some time by the water would mellow me out because it was my favorite place. Sadly, it hadn't. All I wanted to do was climb into my bed, pull the covers over my head, and sleep.

Unfortunately, that wasn't going to be the case. I still needed to cook dinner even though I was not motivated. Part of me just wanted to order takeout and call it a day. However, that would only start an argument with my husband, and I had no energy to argue today. Raymond's annoyance at me seemed to spike whenever I came home from a therapy session. I felt like he was looking to pick a fight when I was the most vulnerable. It was a horrible thing to feel like my husband couldn't stand me at times.

Things weren't always like this. Once upon a time, he was the most loving and caring man. He dated me with purpose and intention. I moved out of my parents' house and into his to fall straight into my role as a housewife. Raymond was ten years older than me. I met him when I was twenty and he was thirty. My parents hadn't been a fan of our age difference. In their mind, a thirty-year-old had nothing in common with a twenty-year-old.

I didn't care.

He wasn't anything like the guys my age. He moved differently. He showed me different, and that made me want him more. He knew he wanted... to flourish in his career as a cardiothoracic surgeon and have a beautiful family. I was fine with that. I could handle being a wife and mother. I'd watched my mother do it my entire life. My father took care of the bills, and she took care of the home. That was easy enough... until it wasn't. Now, I was barely hanging on by a thread.

Reluctantly, I grabbed my things and stepped out of the car. As I made my way up the driveway, I noticed a pile of suitcases on the front lawn. A frown of confusion settled on my face when I realized that they belonged to me.

"What the hell?..."

Briskly, I walked up to the pile. Upon further inspection, I discovered that trash bags filled with my shoes, lotions, hygiene, and beauty products were packed up too. Frantically, I tried to open the front door. It was locked. I stuck my key in... only to find that it wasn't working.

"Raymond!" I yelled, banging on the door. "Raymond, it's me!"

His car was here, so I knew he was inside. After a few minutes of knocking like a madwoman, the front door finally opened, and my husband stepped out.

He snapped at me. "Stop banging on this door and yelling like you've lost your damn mind!" He stepped outside and closed the door behind him.

I pointed at my things. "What the hell is this?"

"Look... Ain't no easy way to say this, so I'm just gonna put it out there. I want a divorce."

"Raymond!"

"Don't ‘Raymond' me. You had to have seen this coming, Pasha. We haven't been happy in a long time, and it's largely in part to you. All you do is mope around here. I'm sick of the depressed act. You barely cook anymore. You don't clean. You haven't fucked me in months, and even before that, it was like watching paint dry. All you've done in the last year is eat and get fat. I'm not even attracted to you anymore."

"I... I don't..." I struggled to respond. How could I respond?

"You what? What do you have to say for yourself? Go on, I'm listening." He crossed his arms as he glared down at me.

"I've been in therapy... I just need some time—"

"Therapy isn't doing shit. You've been in therapy for almost two years now, and I see no improvement. You can pay for that out of your own pocket now. That means you'll need to get a job. Say it with me, J.O.B."

"How can you do this to me, Raymond?" I was crying profusely at this point. "I'm your wife!"

"You haven't acted in a wife's capacity in so long. When was the last time you felt happy, Pasha? I can't tell you 'cause I don't know myself. I feel like we've been going through the motions, and I'm tired of that. I take care of you, and for the longest, you've been failing miserably to do anything I ask you to when you agreed to marry me."

"You know what's going on with me, Raymond."

"What I know is you use your mental health as a crutch. You got a diagnosis and ran with it. Enough is enough. This isn't the life I envisioned as a married man. I'm tired of feeling like I settled. Look at you. Your hair looks a mess, and you're out here looking like a homeless woman instead of the wife of a doctor. I can't take you in public. I can't have people over. It's embarrassing. You can't even bear me a child—"

I jabbed my finger in his face. "That's so hurtful and unfair. You know my issues with fertility. I've tried and tried."

"Then something is wrong with you." He scoffed. "I know it ain't me. The more weight you gain, the less likely you are to carry. You haven't even tried to lose it, Pasha."

"I've been depressed, Raymond! Do you know what a struggle it is to get out of bed in the morning? I've had to deal with the death of my parents. I've suffered three miscarriages back-to-back. I dealt with postpartum depression that came back stronger after each one. And then... just when I thought my body was finally working with me, I gave birth to a stillborn son—"

"And I get that, I really do. But you just checked out. You checked out of life and out of this marriage. I can't do this anymore, Pasha. You have to go. Get you some real help and move on."

My mouth hung open in disbelief. I couldn't believe this was happening to me. Eight years I'd been with this man. Five of those I'd been a devoted wife. I catered to him and his needs. I put him before myself, and he showed his true colors when I needed him to stand beside me. Last year was the roughest. After giving birth to a stillborn son, my world was shattered.

I developed postpartum, my anxiety was at an all-time high, and I gained a total of forty pounds. I wasn't overweight, but I wasn't the size I used to be. Clearly, I wasn't his preferred size, either. Things changed between us. Raymond wasn't the loving and affectionate man he once was. He turned cold and almost hateful toward me. I kept telling myself once I got it together that things would be better.... If I lost the weight, things would go back to the way they used to be.

I was wrong. Things would never be the same, and now they'd never have that chance. I struggled to verbalize my thoughts. My lips were moving, but not a sound came out. Raymond sighed. Just as he went to speak the front door opened.

"How much longer are you going to be dealing with... this?"

My eyes settled on a petite woman. Her hair was long and straight, and not a strand was out of place. Her clothes were perfectly pressed and well put together. She was beautiful, and everything about her was the complete opposite of my current self. My eyes left her face and dropped to the prominent bulge in her stomach. They bounced from her to Raymond and back to her again.

"Who is this?" I asked just above a whisper.

She stepped out with one hand rubbing her stomach, and wrapped the other around his arm as she spoke to me.

"Adora... Raymond's fiancée and the mother of his child." She flashed a glistening diamond ring at me. "I'm also the new woman of this house, so I'd like you to get your shit off my lawn."

"Raymond..." I whispered. "How could you? Eight years—"

"Please don't start that crying shit," Adora said, holding up a hand. "I'm not trying to hear that. It was bad enough I had to listen to it inside."

"Shut up!" I screamed, jumping at her.

Raymond stepped between us and pushed me back. "I'm not about to have you fighting her. You're embarrassing yourself, Pasha."

"I'm embarrassing myself?" I looked around. "Am I being punked? Is this a prank? Are... Are there hidden cameras?"

Raymond shrugged. "Look, call yourself a ride, Uber, walk... Frankly, I don't care. You're trespassing on private property. You have thirty minutes to get your shit off my lawn, or I will have you forcibly removed. Give me your keys."

Again, I stared at him in disbelief. This was as much my home as it was his. Maybe I didn't work, but I kept this house spotless for years. I kept a hot meal on the table. I made sure our finances were straight. He was the one that made me a housewife. He told me he wanted to care for me as long as I could handle that responsibility. I did that for as long as I could. I was suffering mentally, and he didn't care... He just didn't care.

"The keys, Pasha! You know what..." He snatched them from my hand. "The clock is ticking."

He and his mistress walked back inside without another word, slamming the door behind them. I couldn't move. My body was riddled with shock and emotion. When I felt my chest begin to tighten, I knew I was having a panic attack. The tightening feeling was soon accompanied by the struggle to breathe. I began to pace, trying to calm myself.

Everything I learned in therapy felt useless at that moment. Part of me wanted this episode to just take me out. I didn't want to feel anything. I just wanted to be numb.

Numb to the pain.

Numb to the bullshit.

Numb to life in general. If I couldn't feel it, maybe it wasn't real. If it wasn't real, it couldn't hurt me. I'd experienced enough hurt... I just wanted to feel nothing... absolutely nothing.