1
It was cold in the giant sitting room. The minuscule fire did little to keep Alyssia warm. She tucked herself tighter into the worn leather armchair, the rough texture of its arms familiar beneath her fingertips. The faint, acrid scent of smoke mingled with the oppressive chill of the air, biting into her skin. It was four in the morning, and her husband still wasn’t home. No doubt he’d found some busty blonde to fall into bed with; her sources told her that lately he’d been going for redheads. Whoever she was, Alyssia hoped she was worth it.
The flames danced in the grate, crackling intermittently—a sharp counterpoint to the eerie silence. Their usually graceful movements seemed jerkier now, as if mirroring her tumultuous thoughts. The darkness of the night seemed to close in on her, heavy and suffocating. The room felt smaller than usual, the vaulted ceilings and vast expanse closing in on her with every breath, and the moaning of the winter wind outside reminded her of a woman lost in the turmoil of grief.
Woman after woman paraded across her vision, their mocking faces and jeering laughter echoing in hermind. How many were there? Had promises been made, or was it just sex? Could she ever trust her husband again? Her normally meek outlook on life was gone. Cold anger had taken over every cell in her body since that moment. She wasn’t even interested in an argument; she just wanted to be done with the whole sorry saga. She knew, however, that her husband wouldn’t just roll over and agree to what she wanted. If anything, he’d fight her to the end to stay a family. There wasn’t much of a family left, but he’d never been one to see things her way.
She heard the front door open, then close, followed by her husband’s footsteps. They always seemed to echo ominously on the marble floors, each step a reminder of his relentless advance. She took a deep breath, feeling the chill of the room more than the flames’ warmth, which barely reached her fingers. In her mind, she envisioned the confrontation ahead, a battlefield where words were her weapons, although she had never been a skilled warrior in this arena.
Drawing strength from deep within, she tried to sever the ties to memories where he’d stood like a shield, fighting for her honour. She realized that, at least for this moment, those memories must fade so she could stand on her own, strong and resolute. She had to keep thoughts ofthe past locked away in a box, or she ran the risk of falling apart. And she couldn’t afford that. Not now.
“You’re still awake?” came her husband’s deep voice as he entered the room. He was as handsome as ever, his brown hair gently curling over his forehead, and even wearing her favourite blue suit, but the sight of it didn’t excite her the way it usually would. Instead, she felt nauseous, as if the suit itself had betrayed her.
Her stomach churned, a turmoil that echoed in her mind: what had changed between them? How could everything look the same yet feel so different? She swallowed and turned to face him, no longer caring if her face showed how angry she felt.
He looked tired, as he always did lately, but he still had that devil-may-care swagger about him that she’d once adored. Her husband was a man used to being in charge, used to having men and women bow down before him, and to an extent he expected the same thing at home. Every inch of his body was proud and upright, his face open and smiling as he tossed his keys into the dish. When he looked at her, his face fell at the sight of her icy expression.
“Was she any good?” she asked, not even bothering to mask the bitterness in her voice. “Don’t lie to me, either,Antonio. Reynolds already told me you went to a brothel. Was she younger? Prettier?”
Her husband stared at her, taken aback by her bluntness. He was used to his wife being the quiet, firm one, not this icy statue that stood in front of him. Yes, she had been angry with him before, usually for things like not tipping the driver or not washing up, but that again was done in a calm, gentle way that made it seem like it washisidea to rectify the issue, rather than a chastisement from his wife. The coldness … that was new. Uncertain, a bit like skating on a frozen lake that may or may not be frozen solid.
“No idea what you’re talking about, darling.” his mind raced, but he tried to keep the anxiety out of his voice. “I went to anightclub, but that was to meet a client. I can assure you, I did nothing other than drink overpriced vodka and wish I were at home with you!”
Alyssia ignored his questions and took down a piece of paper from the mantelpiece. Antonio stared at her, swallowing nervously as she looked at it, then handed it to him, her hands shaking slightly. For a moment, he thought it was a letter saying someone had died, but the paper was too thick for that.
“I want a divorce,” she told him flatly. “I’ve had enough of your antics, your lies, your blatant disrespect … I’m done. Go and be with whoever you want to be with, for however long you want to be with them, and wherever you want to be with them. I don’t want to see you again.”
Antonio’s eyes widened as he took the document from her. He couldn’t believe that she was really going to break up their marriage, but the paperwork in his hands was most definitely real. His cheeks began to flush with anger and shame, although whether that was genuine rage or just anger at being caught out, he couldn’t tell. He looked at the terms of the divorce, which were surprisingly fair, and shook his head. Words like ‘equal division of assets’ and ‘Mr Blackwood’s assets remain his’ danced in front of his eyes, and he crumpled the document in his fist with a growl.
“Why do you want a divorce?” his voice was incredulous. “I’ve donenothing, Alyssia! All I’ve done is sit in a shitty little nightclub with a client who was more interested in the strippers than he was in the deal I was offering him! And here you are, acting like I’ve fucked everyone from here to Manhattan!”
Alyssia jumped as her husband slammed his fist into the nearest wall, feeling tears spring to the back of hereyes. Was she being unfair? Should she have served the papers so soon? Or should she have just swallowed his latest affair and smiled, as her mother had done so many times in her life? Her thoughts started to race, her heart hammering in her chest, and it was all she could do to draw herself upright, swallow the fear, and look her husband in the eyes.
“Are you insane?” he asked, his voice laced with venom as he rubbed his knuckles, which were red where they’d made contact with the wall. “Divorce? Absolutely not. You’ll never get our fathers to agree, for a start, and even if yours did, mine wouldn’t. Our families have come too far and sacrificed too much for our marriage to fall apart!”
“I already have my father’s blessing. I spoke to him earlier today, and he agrees with me. Your affairs have gone too far, and now our family’s honour is at stake,” she replied, turning away from him and staring at the dent in the wall. “Besides, I refuse to become like my mother. You saw what my father’s … extracurricular activities … did to her, and the effect it had on me and my siblings. Even my grandfather eventually admitted it was better to divorce than to be in that situation.”
“I amnotyour father!” He tossed the balled-up documents onto a nearby coffee table. “Don’t tell me you think I’deverlay a hand on you!”
“I know you wouldn’t hit me. That’s not the problem. The problem is your affairs. They’ve gone too far and they’re happening too often ... and it’s not just me that I have to think about now.”
Antonio scowled and turned towards the fire, his back rigid with repressed anger. He looked taller somehow, and almost as if he were ready for war. An uncomfortable silence fell, the only sound the crackling of the flames as the fire finally took, flashes of orange and gold dancing on the walls. Alyssia gingerly perched herself on the sofa, waiting for her husband to speak. When he finally did, his voice was tight and formal, as if he were talking to a stranger.
“My …liaisons, as you call them … are over now,” he began. “You may not believe that, and that’s your right, but they are. Tonight was the last one, and even that was more of a goodbye drink than anything else.”
“Do you really think telling me that makes a difference? ”
“I know. There have been others, and nothing I say will ever make up for that, but it’s over. All of it. Thepartying, the drinking, the women … all of it’s ended, because ...”
“Because …?”
Antonio sighed, rising from his crouched position in front of the fire. He folded his arms and looked at his wife, wondering when they’d grown so far apart. Four years of marriage didn’t look like a long time on paper, but sometimes it felt like a lifetime. On days like today, that lifetime felt like an eternity.
“You go first.” He raised an eyebrow. “I want to know who else you need to think about. I mean, as far as I’m aware, it’s just us, so ...”
Alyssia looked down at her feet, wishing that the news could be anything other than what it was. She’d been back and forth to the OB-GYN clinic six times that week, each time praying for a different result, but it was always the same. Even her doctors had told her that the results were only going to stay the same, and not magically disappear. Most women would think it a blessing, but she wasn’t most women. Instead, she was the blinded wife who’d only just taken her blindfold off, and she didn’t much like what she saw. If only she could put the blindfold back on and pretend none of it had ever happened.
Alyssia finally looked up at Antonio, whose eyebrows furrowed as he took a few steps towards her, before raising his hands and staying still as she flashed him another angry glare. She desperately wanted to walk into his arms, bury her face in his chest, and blurt the news out into his suit. Her pride, however, meant that she couldn’t. Her days of relying on her husband were over.
