I watch him go and when I pull my focus back to my table, I catch Jason still watching me.
“Don’t start.”
He pushes his lips out and nods. “I’m here. You know that, right? You were there for me.”
Yeah, when I knew he was hesitating about going for a woman he wanted who wanted him back and both were too stupid to make a move. This is different.
I know what he wants to hear, so I give it to him. “I know. Thanks.”
“Good.”
An hour later, the plane has landed, I’ve grabbed my luggage and I’m in the back seat of a Town Car being driven home.
I pull up my phone again and hit call. My knee bounces while I wait…
“Hey, you’ve reached Madison Hendrix. I’m not available right now…”
I end the call. Try again. Four more times only to get the same voicemail message. It’s not like her to completely ignore me.
Which means by the time the car pulls into my curved driveway in a suburb outside Charlotte thirty-five minutes later, I’m passed the point of slightly concerned or pissed off.
I’m getting worried out of my brain.
What if something happened?
I’m attacked at the ankles as soon as I step inside the front door.
Scooping up Bruiser, our seven-pound Maltese fur ball I bought for Madison after her second round of fertility treatments didn’t work, I slam the door closed. We have a housekeeper who helps Madison with the upkeep of the house and yard. If Madison’s not home, Bruiser’s usually kenneled in his own private dog room we made for him. I’d texted Cara earlier and told her she didn’t have to wait for me and could leave him out. The poor guy’s been kenneled way more than usual in the last week.
Once my cheek is covered in small doggy slobber and he settles in my arms, I set him down at my feet.
The house is quiet. Eerily so. Madison always has music on. She’s not a huge television watcher but she loves books. I usually come home from a trip to see her settled in her pajamas, a glass of wine she’s been nursing, her Kindle on the coffee table and some kind of music, either pop, country, or classic depending on her mood, filtering through our house system.
To come into the house and have it absolutely silent is nerve-wracking.
At my feet, Bruiser barks once, twice and then spins in three circles before taking off like a rocket for his food bowl.
“All right. All right, little man.”
I’ll feed the dog. Call Madison. Again.
And then I’m fucking going to bed to figure out what in the hell is going on and deal with it tomorrow with a clear head.
Once I’ve dished out Bruiser’s food and made sure he has fresh water, I send a quick thank you text to Cara and open the fully stocked fridge. I’m rummaging through the contents when the doorbell rings.
Bruiser loses his shit at the sound like he always does and slips and slides on the tile floor as he races to beat me there. I scoop him up on the way, checking the clock above our fireplace.
It’s freaking ten o’clock. Who in the hell could it be?
A large male figure dressed in what looks like a uniform through our frosted glass front door, makes the hair on my arms rise.
The hell?
As soon as I open the door, a man who was facing to the side turns to me.
Instantly, I take him in and double blink. The badge on his chest and the police car in my driveway make me freeze. In his outstretched hand, he’s holding a manila envelope.
“Mr. Hendrix?”
“Yeah?” In my arms, Bruiser squirms, so I set him down inside, close the door behind me, and step on the front porch before replying further. “Can I help you?”
“Sheriff Butler, sir, and you’ve been served.”
His words blur as he speaks. “Served what?”
“Dissolution of marriage. Now, there’s a form on top in the envelope I need you to sign showing receipt of the papers. My suggestion, get yourself a lawyer, file a return by the date provided.”
Dissolution… of marriage?
“The hell?” I rip the envelope out of his hands, shaking so hard as blood rushes straight to my brain and to my ears where my heart thumps. It takes me several tries to tear open the envelope before I find the metal clasp, flip it, and take out the papers.
“You’re kidding me.” Words stall in my throat and my chest grows unbearably icy.
She wouldn’t do this. Would she?
At the top of the papers is a professional-looking letterhead.
Ritter Family Law Firm along with a second name I don’t recognize. But the one I do know is enough.
Madison’s uncle is a lawyer. Ritter is her maiden name.
Shit.
Right there, in black ink. The words, Petition for Dissolution of Marriage stare back at me, growing blurrier the longer I stare at them.
“Mr. Hendrix—”
“Sebastian.” I glare up at him.
This isn’t his fault but I’m pretty certain if it wouldn’t get me sent to jail, I’d punch him in the face.
“I didn’t come here to cause problems, and I’m not the reason for your understandable anger. I am, however, doing my job. If you could sign the acceptance.”
I bite back a growl and clamp my teeth together. I’m vaguely aware his hand is at his hip near his holster and holy fucking shit.
She’s doing this.
She’s actually left me and she’s doing this. My knees shake as I unfold the top sheet of paper, the acceptance the Sheriff has mentioned. Beneath it is another envelope. My name is on it, written in loopy, familiar handwriting, I want to tear it in half without reading. How kind of Madison to send me a note along with divorce papers.
A pen ends up in my line of sight.
“Fine.” I take it without looking, scribble my name and hand the letter back to him.
“Thank you,” he says, folding the paper and taking the pen from me. “Take care, Mr. Hendrix.”
He turns and heads back to his patrol car. I’m frozen to my spot on my porch until it’s far from sight.
Then, I turn and throw up into the bushes off our front porch.
Sebastian,
I’m a coward for this. I know this. But you wouldn’t let me leave and you wouldn’t listen to me in all these years I’ve tried explaining. I want my baby. Ours. One I carry in my body and birth into the world. Now, we know with certainty that will never happen. I understand there are options. I’ve crossed those off. Please.
It’s over.
Let me find my peace adjusting to the latest news. Perhaps this way, we’ll both eventually get what we want but there’s no hope of it—
The paper crumples in my fist. I pull my arm back and fling it, unsatisfied it only bounces off the kitchen island before dropping to the floor. A scream tears from my throat and I look for something more substantial to throw. Something that will shatter like she’s just done to me.
“Fucking bullshit. All of this is such bullshit.”
The final flames of my marriage ending are going up right in front of me. I pull out the papers she had dropped off like she had it timed to do as soon as I got back home and read them.
Every minute that passes burns the hole she’s creating brighter and bigger.
Twenty minutes later, I am pissed.