Chapter 2 Divorce

In all three years, the number of times they'd had something resembling a friendly conversation could be counted on the fingers of one hand.

In contrast, Micah's texts requesting Darya to show up at the hospital-with sleeves rolled up and a vein picked out-had flooded her WhatsApp inbox.

Bit by bit, message by message, he'd chipped away at the wall she had built around herself to shield her from the ugly, crushing reality-he didn't love her.

Never did, never would.

She had seen their marriage as a way to share a life with the man she loved.

He had probably seen it as a transaction.

"A deal's a deal," he'd often say.

Regina's photo was the wrecking ball that finally brought the entire wall crumbling down.

Darya rose to her feet, closed her eyes to wait for the dizzy spell to pass, and tried to ignore the dull ache in her heart.

She was normally a resolute sort.

Still, to write off three years of her life, to acknowledge they had been an abject failure, was a bitter pill to swallow.

Darya's eyes were red-rimmed but remained dry.

She would not cry.

She stood there a moment, collecting her thoughts and emotions.

The front door of the house burst open.

Micah, tall and elegant in a charcoal grey suit, strode in on his long legs.

Annoyance flickered in his eyes when he saw her in the living room.

It intensified into fury when he noted the iPhone clutched in her hand.

"If your phone's working, why didn't you answer my texts or calls?"

Darya took in his expression, committed his striking features to memory.

This would probably be the last time they stood this close together.

Micah, a man of action, grabbed her wrist and started moving toward the door.

"You are needed at the hospital, pronto."

"I know." Darya dug in her heels, had to hold on to the sofa's headrest to prevent herself from being dragged off.

"Then why aren't you moving?" Micah blew out an impatient breath.

"I'll go to the hospital. I'll give blood. But there's one thing I need from you first."

"Money? It's already been transferred into your account." Micah thrust both hands into his pockets. "Check it."

"It's not about the money."

"Then what is it? Get to the point. We are wasting time here."

"I want a divorce." Darya's icy tone matched his.

Carefully, she made her face blank, tried to hide the anguish in her voice.

Micah took a second, more careful look at his wife.

He knew his hearing worked fine, but he wasn't so sure of it for a brief moment.

Did she just ask for a divorce?

Wasn't she the one who had coerced him into marriage in the first place?

What changed?

He spoke his mind. "I need an explanation."

"I don't have one. If you want me to give blood to Regina, that's the condition."

"That wasn't the deal we agreed on."

"I know. I broke my word. Sue me." She shrugged.

Surprise flitted across his face.

Micah had never seen his wife so... confrontational.

She appeared to be calm, but he'd detected what might be anger smouldering in her big, round, bloodshot eyes.

Yet, in his mind, there was no logical reason for her to be mad.

Things were what they had always been.

An idea popped into his head.

Could this be one of those mood swings women were famous for during their time of the month?

A friend had once told Micah-likely from personal experience-that there was simply no reasoning with a woman being visited by Aunt Flo.

Micah considered it politic to go along with her suggestion for now.

Maybe she would cool down in a couple of days and back-pedal, which would give him the upper hand in the negotiation of their new deal.

"Okay." He nodded. "Have you drawn up the papers?"

"Uh, no." Darya hadn't expected him to agree to it so quickly.

But then, he had always been the decisive sort.

"I'll print out a sample divorce settlement agreement. We'll both sign it, mail it to Family Court. Since it's going to be a no-fault divorce, I assume it'll be approved by the court fairly quickly."

He was already moving toward the winding staircase.

His study was located on the second floor.

In a daze, Darya waited for him to come back down with two printed copies of the agreement, then signed both.

As Micah put down his name on the dotted line, a vague feeling of unease niggled at the back of his mind.

But he pushed it aside.

"Done." Micah slid one copy into a manila envelope and sealed it. "I'll drop this off at the post office on the way to the hospital. Let's go."

Darya stuffed the other copy into her purse, fought to keep down the lump rising at the back of her throat.

He'd made it seem so easy.

Had he been waiting a long time for this moment?

She followed him out of the house, into his Bugatti La Voiture Noire, and stared out the window during the entire ride.

Micah glanced at her from time to time, rubbed at the tension between his brows, and battled the urge to second-guess his decision to sign the divorce papers.

Was her impetuosity really triggered by PMS?

Would things really go back to normal after two days?

He hoped so.

Neither of them said a word until the car pulled up outside Hagen General.

Regina was sitting up in the single bed of the VIP private room Micah had booked for her, looking fragile like a delicate flower.

A doctor in a white lab coat was sitting in a chair nearby, dozing off.

Regina's eyes lit up when she saw Micah enter the room, but her face fell as Darya stepped inside.

Darya didn't miss the flash of resentment in those beautiful, kohl-lined eyes.

"Micah, I told you, I'm fine." Regina complained to him in a tone of familiar intimacy. "You didn't have to bring Darya all the way here."

She covered her mouth with a hand and coughed daintily.

"She's already here. Might as well be useful." Micah turned to Darya. "Roll up your sleeve."