The morning sunlight filtered through the curtains of Anya's modest room, painting the walls with a golden glow. The tiny space, though plain, felt safe; she hadn't felt that way in a long time. As she sat at the small desk by the window, a wave of determination washed over her. It was today, she realized, and now was the start to move on.
She checked her phone, the device that had been hauntingly silent since she left her house. Elliot hadn't called or texted in the past day, and she wasn't sure if that was a relief or another betrayal. Either way, she knew she couldn't wait for him to make the first move. Divorce was the only way out of this mess, the key to her freedom from the man who had destroyed her trust. But facing Elliot head-on was unbearable; the thought of his voice, heavy with apathy or even malice, made her stomach sink. And she couldn't afford that she might reveal her location, too. Once he finds her, that would not be a matter of much time before he manages things his way, and she cannot let that be.
As she sat there thinking about what would come next, the sound of laughter and chatter floated up into her room. The kids were already in the cramped little classroom downstairs, waiting for her. So much happier than the turmoil at bay, their cheeriness was a shock to her system.
Sighing, Anya reached for the phone. She typed out a few brief words, her fingers shaking just a little.
'I want a divorce.'
Simple. Direct. He would know why without needing to talk about it. She stared at the words for a moment, her heart pounding, before hitting send.
She slid the phone back into her pocket and headed downstairs.
The classroom was full of excitement. Colorful crayons and colored paper scattered the tables with the kids trying to make these art projects. Their laughter and occasional screams with joy were just what Anya needed to break her thoughts sometimes.
One little boy, Sam, pulled on her sleeves. "Miss Anya, look!" he said with excitement, holding up a picture that seemed to be a dinosaur with wings.
"Wow, Sam! Is that a flying dinosaur?" Anya asked, kneeling to meet his eye level.
He nodded vigorously. "It's a super dinosaur!" It can fight bad guys!"
"Well, I'd say the bad guys don't stand a chance," Anya said, smiling as she ruffled his hair.
Another girl came up with her paper, shyly holding it in her small hands. It was a drawing of a house surrounded by flowers. "Beautiful, Flora," Anya said softly.
"Is this your dream house?"
The girl nodded with her eyes shining. "It's for you, Miss Anya. So you can have a pretty house too.
Anya's throat tightened, emotion threatening to overwhelm her. These children, with their innocence and pure hearts, were giving her more hope than she had felt in days.
---
Hours passed in a blur of stories, games, and shared laughter. By the time the sun began to dip below the horizon, Anya felt a sense of peace she hadn't experienced in what felt like forever.
It was not until she walked into her room that she realized she had not forgotten the message she had sent. She laid her phone down on the desk, and the buzz of the notification sounded from it.
Opening the message application, she read his response:
'Fine.'
One word. Cold. Dismissive.
She stared at the screen, her chest tightening. She didn't know what she expected; it was anger, defiance, an attempt to salvage their fractured marriage, but "Fine" felt like a slap. It was as if the two years they had spent together, the promises they had made, meant nothing to him.
For one moment, she felt the sting of tears behind her eyes, but she blinked them away. She could not afford to cry anymore, not for him.
Instead, she took a deep breath, setting the phone down with firm resolve. Elliot's indifference only put more cement under her decision. This was the right path, the only path.
As she sat down on her little bed, she glanced at Flora's drawing, still clutched in her hand. The house surrounded by flowers felt like a symbol of something bigger, like a future she could build for herself, free from the chains of her past.
Anya smiled faintly. "One step at a time," she whispered to herself.
Tomorrow would be another day. Another chance to rebuild. And this time, she would do it on her terms.
Next day...
Anya had entered the lawyer's office with a feeling of chill, and, sitting down, she looked at Mr. Harris for a while, her hands moving in her lap, clutching her bag so tightly. She came ready for this meeting, to finally take the step toward her freedom, but the nervous weight within her chest wouldn't let her go ahead.
"So, you've decided to move forward with the divorce?" Mr. Harris asked, his voice calm but cautious.
"Yes," Anya said firmly, though her heart raced. "I want to end this. I can't stay married to him."
Mr. Harris gave her a small nod but did not seem quite comfortable. He instead opened a folder and pulled out a thick stack of papers. Sliding them across the desk, he tapped on one page.
"I need to show you something first," he said, his tone turning serious.
"What is it?" Anya asked, moving closer to read it. As she scanned the page, her stomach sank. The words seem to run together until she saw one part stand out:
_"In the event of divorce, the bride shall transfer 20% of her total assets to the groom as compensation."_
She froze. Her fingers curled around the edge of the desk, and she lifted her eyes up to Mr. Harris. "What. What does this mean?"
Mr. Harris exhaled heavily. "It's an agreement your parents signed before your marriage. It says that if you divorce Elliot, you're required to give him 20% of your total property."
Any attempt to process how this could be true was met with failure. "They never told me about this!"
"They probably didn't think it would ever matter," he said softly. "They believed your marriage would last.".
"But my property. Elliot has all the papers! He's already taken control of everything." Her voice cracked with frustration.
Mr. Harris shook his head. "Legally, the property is still under your name. But this clause is binding. If you want a divorce, you'll need to pay him around $50,000."
"$50,000?" Anya whispered, the words hitting her like a punch. "I don't have that kind of money.
"I know this is overwhelming," Mr. Harris said softly. "But unless you can pay, Elliot could contest the divorce, and it would delay everything."
Anya's heart sank. She had come here determined to break free, to finally take back her life. Now it felt like another trap, one she hadn't even seen coming.
"There has to be another way," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
"I'll keep looking," Mr. Harris promised. "But for now, you'll have to consider this as part of your options. You could try negotiating with Elliot."
Anya winced at the suggestion. The idea of seeing Elliot, of having to speak to him after everything he'd done, was too much to bear. She pushed back her chair and stood up.
"Thanks," she said quickly, her voice tight. "I need to think about this."
---