Divorcing You This Time

ꭗ — East Houghton Manor, Surrey

OCTOBER 2018

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It’s gray today, of course, as expected.

It’s as if even the sky mourns the absence of Marshall left in our hearts — especially in mine, when the day broke on a peaceful morning and his heart no longer beat.

Cancer, they said.

But how is that possible? No one knew, not until he took his final breath. The doctor, who was also a family friend, honored Marshall’s wish to keep it secret from the media and, most importantly, from the family.

Now, as his body is sealed in the family crypt beside Louis Houghton, his firstborn, I wonder if he endured all that pain alone just so he wouldn’t burden those around him, the people who loved him despite his flaws, and whom he loved too.

I touch the plaque on the headstone, the marble cold beneath my fingers, sliding over the engraved words and tightening the ache in my chest.

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Marshall Edward Houghton

12th Earl of Houghton

1943 – 2018

Loyal servant of the Crown and Country.

Honoured in life and beloved by those who knew him best.

May he find peace eternal, as he gave it in life.

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I thought I had cried all the tears inside me, but still my eyes burn as if I hadn’t shed a single one since I found him cold in his bed, thinking about how death, my old friend, could be so cruel to me.

It’s always been part of my life, but I had hoped it would leave me in peace with the one man who accepted me.

Of course not, how could I hope for that?

The first time my world fell apart, I was five years old.

I lost my parents in a tragic crash involving three other cars and a runaway truck. Thankfully, I remember nothing from that time. They say I blocked out the memories because they were too painful. But I still dream of the sounds and colors of sirens eventually.

Later, I found out that I spent twenty minutes among the wreckage, with my parents already deceased in the front seat.

Thankfully, my earliest memory is a colorful one. My aunt Amelia, my mother’s younger sister, took me in and cared for me as if I were her own. Those were happy years. I had a family, and a cousin so close that it wouldn’t be wrong to call her my sister.

But then, once again, death came for me and took my aunt’s life in another car accident.

It’s the Sinclair curse, they said.

After the heroic death of my grandfather, Harold Sinclair, who saved the very man now resting behind this plaque, his descendants died one by one.

I am the last person with Sinclair blood, and it’s something that will haunt me for the rest of my life...

Well, not exactly the only one anymore.

The wind gently moves through the old trees. The rustling of the leaves sounds like a soft lament, almost a sad song, and I wonder if Marshall can hear it, wherever he is now.

I stand there in front of the crypt, not caring about the light rain beginning to fall. The droplets run down my face, mixing with the tears I no longer try to hold back.

In some way, I’m glad it’s raining... that way, no one has to see how broken I am inside.

“You left without saying goodbye,” I murmur, voice faltering. “Without giving me a chance to thank you for everything.”

He’s the one who saw me, my most important father figure.

It was Marshall who took me in and made me feel treasured.

“I’ll take care of it all,” I promise, almost whispering. “The legacy, the memory, your will… Everything you left behind.”

I touch my belly, gently caressing the new life growing inside — something I never got the chance to tell him about.

My fingers hesitate, feeling the gold ring heavy on my finger for a second, but I don’t dare speak it aloud.

Crushing the stem of the white rose in my hand, I let the thorns pierce my skin. I don’t care at all. I don’t even feel the pain.

Even as my blood stains the petals red, I don’t blink.

Actually, it’s more than welcome.

“Grandpa…” I smile through tears, “You’re going to be a great-grandfather.”

I close my eyes for a moment and allow the confession to sink into the silence. The secret I’ve held alone beats beneath my skin, alive, warm, and terrifying.

Marshall deserved to know.

But it’s too late now.

I kneel gently and lay the blood-stained rose at the foot of the crypt, watching the petals soak up the rain and turn white again, as if given a second chance.

Then I rise again, slowly, hands resting on my belly, guarding the life inside me like one guards an ancient, precious treasure, and walk back to the mansion with slow steps, letting the rain wash over me... my grief, my mourning — or at least try.

The interior is quiet but not empty. It’s the kind of silence that weighs heavily, as if every part of the house still echoes with muffled voices from the wake, hushed footsteps, and murmured condolences.

The smell of old wood and candle wax hangs in the air, mixed with the fading scent of freshly cut flowers, and everything feels frozen, as if time hasn’t moved on since his death.

I climb the main hall stairs quietly and slowly, knowing my shoes will leave wet prints on the Persian rug, but I don’t mind... Everything now feels meaningless.

My body guides me, as if it knows where to go before I decide, and of course, where else would I go? There’s one last place I need to say goodbye to, to truly let him go.

Marshall’s study.

But the already half-open door causes me to pause for a moment.

That room was always sacred to the old Earl. I remember hiding behind the leather armchair or the cracked door to watch him reading quietly, glasses slipping down his nose.

But when I push the door open with my fingertips, my eyes widen at something that makes my heart stop.

Blood drains from my face, and darkness clouds my vision. I have to grab the doorframe to keep my legs from giving out.

Christopher, my husband, with his tousled brown hair and slightly unbuttoned black shirt, is sitting in that same armchair I once thought was a fortress… the best hiding spot of all.

My husband, with that usual distant, serious look and those cold brown eyes… and Evelyn, his mistress, perched on Marshall’s desk with her legs crossed as if she owns the place.

Seeing them in that sacred space hits harder than any death. My chest tightens so much I can’t breathe.

For a moment, the silence screams.

Evelyn slowly turns her head, as if she had been waiting for this moment with a touch of cruel satisfaction, and smiles, happy to see me broken in every way possible.

“You couldn’t even wait for the body to cool?” My voice comes out low, trembling, eyes filling with tears more painful than grief — they’re filled with betrayal.

I knew, of course.

I knew Christopher’s heart had always belonged to this woman… But I hoped our marriage, even if it were forced, would be enough to stop his feelings for her.

I expected respect for the will, the order of his grandfather, who had just been buried beside his own father’s headstone.

“Charlotte,” Christopher says coldly, his eyes dropping to the floor as if he can’t face me. And maybe he truly can’t.

His jaw is so clenched that a muscle jumps beneath his trimmed beard, and the fingers holding a folder dig in tighter before finally stretching it toward me.

He doesn’t get up.

He doesn’t look at me.

Yet, I can see that there’s nothing but contempt on his face.

He just waits for me to come to him, like a dog, like I’ve done through all these years, and he says, with no regard—“I want a divorce.”

“Divorce?” I repeat, and the shock transforms into a soft, shaky laugh.

Christopher finally looks at me, his sharp, intense eyes piercing straight into my chest, turning that laugh into a twisted smile.

My fingers curl slightly, scratching the doorframe.

“For what? So you can be with that homewrecker?” I glare harshly at Evelyn, who keeps smiling with lips painted red as if she’s tasted my blood. “You really couldn’t even respect your family’s mourning, Christopher…”

“You know very well I never wanted this.” He motions vaguely between us, not really looking at me anymore. “I never wanted this marriage. You all forced me — you, Charlotte… and that old man.”

If I didn’t know better, I’d think he almost choked on the words. If I didn’t know better, I might even believe there’s a lump in his throat ever since he heard Marshall had gone to sleep and never woke up… that he left this world before we had the chance to say goodbye.

“Evelyn is…” He pauses, swallowing hard, his reddened eyes tired with dark, deep circles, turning to me. “Evelyn is the woman I love.”

Those words… I’ve heard them so many times before, but they’ve never shattered me like they do now. They’ve always cut deep, left everything inside me raw, bloody, exposed, and messy.

But now…

Now, everything is bare.

As vulnerable as I was so many times before him, hoping, longing, for a touch, a gesture, a chance. As bare as the truth that he now tosses in my face with the same coldness one uses to slip off a ring.

My heart shatters into a million pieces, and once again, I lose my breath.

My throat tightens, with a burning sensation in my eyes, but I fight back the tears.

I’m not even sure why I refuse to let them fall this time, after all, I’ve cried in front of Christopher so many times.

I begged him to give us a chance.

I humiliated myself.

I knelt before him, my soul laid bare, with bruised knees from chasing a love that never wanted to be there.

For six months, I played the wife, the lover, the friend, the shadow—and still, it wasn’t enough.

It never made a damn difference.

Now, my husband looks at me with that expression… vacant, almost relieved… As if I had been a burden to him…

A life sentence in a wedding dress.

“Do you know how many times I’ve swallowed all of this in silence?” I murmur, stepping forward without breaking his gaze. “How many times have I heard it echo in your absence? In the way you didn’t touch me… in the way you came home late and never looked at me properly?”

Christopher lowers his eyes but says nothing.

Evelyn, on the other hand, crosses her arms, and her smile widens even more. She twirls a lock of her black hair around her finger with a bored, indifferent gesture.

“You made me believe it was all my fault — that I wasn’t enough, that I was difficult, dramatic, possessive.” I laugh again, now full of pure sarcasm and bitterness. “Did you ever care about me?”

Christopher tightens his jaw, and I take another step, releasing my grip on the doorframe and moving closer until I can smell her perfume mixed with his… until I can taste the bitter flavor of betrayal lingering at the back of my tongue.

“You want a divorce?” I shake my head, lifting my chin defiantly, a new laugh on my lips. “Too bad... I’m not giving you a damn thing.”

“You will,” he says simply, as if he’s not even slightly disturbed. “I’m not asking, Charlotte.”

Christopher’s voice falters softly, lost in the sound of a drop hitting the floor and shattering the brief silence. Slowly, slightly, his eyes widen and drop to my hand, smeared with warm, thick blood from the thorns.

Still, even as I spill my blood in this sacred room, I feel nothing.

I’m so numb that even my chest no longer aches.

Evelyn steps closer to Christopher, still wearing that mocking smile, and touches him with a casualness that makes my blood run cold. Her hands rest on his shoulder and neck, in a possessive, calculated gesture to remind me he’s hers — that he always was.

“You always got what you wanted, Charlotte…” Evelyn’s voice is soft and velvety. “You had the name, the title, the house, but now it’s my turn. Please, don’t be like this… we’re not to blame for falling in love. Besides, Christopher always made it clear he loves me. You’re the one who came between us and ruined everything. How is that fair?”

My hands bleed, but it feels like the blood isn’t even mine… like the cut belongs to someone else.

Rage swells through my veins, hot, slow, and thick.

But it’s not the kind of rage that erupts… It’s the kind that erodes, that rests deep in the bones... a silent, cold, almost graceful fury, the kind that needs no shouting to be understood.

“Charlotte, don’t make this harder than it needs to be. My grandfather is dead… there’s no reason to drag it out.”

“I already told you, Christopher. I’m not giving you that damn divorce,” I growl, my eyes sharpening just like my voice. “Do you really think I’ll let that low-class whore take my place?”

“You don’t have to decide anything — I’m the Earl now. It’s my call.”

“Congratulations, Christopher, I bet you’re thrilled!” I snap back sarcastically, eyeing both of them from head to toe, unable to hold back the fury threatening to spill over. Then I flash a mocking smile and add, “But you forgot one small detail, darling.”

Christopher remains silent, but his eyes twitch slightly, a small crack forming in the wall of indifference he’s carefully built.

“While you were busy screwing your mistress during the reading of the will, you didn’t hear clause seventeen.”

Evelyn pauses mid-hair twirl, her expression stiffening for a moment, and Christopher truly pales, as if the blood still dripping from my hand has just been drained from his face.

“Clause… what?” His voice comes out weak.

I raise my chin, the smile still on my lips, but now colder, more controlled, almost cruel like him.

“With Marshall’s shares, you can stay as the majority shareholder of the company. But if we divorce…” I pause, letting my words sink in.

Evelyn’s smile flickers for a moment, and she leans toward Christopher, whispering in his ear, “Baby, what does that mean?”

“It means Marshall Houghton left all his shares in the company to me, not to Christopher.”

Evelyn turns pale, her face finally twisting into something I recognize and savor — panic.

“You’re lying! That doesn’t make sense! He’s the rightful heir... he’s Marshall’s grandson—”

“But he loved me more than anyone,” I say proudly, knowing my words will cut deeper than Christopher will ever admit. I don’t have Houghton blood, of course… But Marshall never hid his favoritism.

“Call your lawyers, Christopher. Confirm what I’m saying. You can divorce me if you want, but those shares will slip right through your fingers like sand. And in the end…”

I place a hand on my belly, raising my chin again and looking at them with superiority, “… I’ll make sure you lose absolutely everything.”

“And how would you do that?!” Evelyn mocks, her laugh clearly forced.

“How?” I repeat, and the word drips like sweet venom. “I’m the legal wife, heir to the shares... pregnant with the next direct heir of the Houghton family.”

Christopher finally looks at me, really looks at me. His eyes widen slightly, as if the news is a true nightmare, the most unpleasant surprise of his life, and I admit, it hurts even more.

Then his expression darkens with something I don’t understand, and I’m not sure I want to.

The silence in the room becomes absolute, with seconds dragging on… until Christopher finally breaks it with a cold, distant, indifferent voice:

“Very well. If you choose to stay trapped in a loveless marriage, so be it. But from this day on, Evelyn will live with us at Rosehollow Estate. Accept it or sign the divorce papers — you can complain all you want.”

I squeeze my bleeding hand, making more drops stain Marshall’s office in a grim farewell, swallowing all my protests.

“But keep in mind that we’ll never be a happy, passionate couple...” he pauses, looking at me with tired eyes, then adds quietly, through gritted teeth, “I swear it, Charlotte... I will never love you.”