Chapter 2

Jorja looked up from her risotto as Arvin walked back inside, his face uncharacteristically serene.

"Who was that?" she asked, her tone casual, a hint of accusation in it for the interruption.

Arvin slid back into his chair. "Just my old orphanage director," he replied, his voice even. "Checking in."

She gave a noncommittal "oh" and her attention was once again captured by her phone screen.

That night, Arvin lay awake in his separate bedroom, the moonlight striping the floor. For five years, this room had been his sanctuary and his prison. He stared at the ceiling, not with anguish, but with a strange, calm sense of finality. The decision was made. The path was clear.

The next morning, at breakfast, Jorja pushed her plate of avocado toast away.

"The bread is stale," she said, wrinkling her nose.

Arvin didn't look up from his own plate. "I bought it from that little bakery you like on Elm Street."

He kept his head down, taking a slow bite of toast. What he didn't say was that he had bought it yesterday, knowing it would be a day old this morning. It was a small, petty act of rebellion, the first of many. He was beginning to untangle himself from the web of her preferences.

Jorja didn't press the issue. She was too busy staring at her phone, her expression a mixture of anxiety and anticipation. Arvin knew what she was waiting for. She was waiting for a text from Cale, confirming their lunch plans. He had seen the name flash on her screen just before she came downstairs.

A moment later, her phone vibrated. A brilliant smile bloomed on her face, lighting up her features in a way Arvin hadn't seen directed at him in years. The sight no longer pained him. It was just data. Information confirming his decision.

He watched her for a moment longer, then reached into the briefcase beside his chair and pulled out a manila folder. He had prepared this months ago, after the flu incident. After he heard her whisper Cale's name in her sleep.

He placed it on the table.

"Jorja," he said, his voice calm and steady. "We need to get a divorce."

"Mhm, okay," she murmured, her thumbs flying across her screen as she texted. She hadn't heard a word.

Arvin wasn't surprised. He had expected this. For five years, he had been background noise.

He opened the folder and turned it to face her, sliding it across the polished wood. He tapped his finger on the last page.

"I need you to sign here."

She glanced up, annoyed at the second interruption. Without reading a single word, she took the pen he offered and scrawled her elegant signature on the line. She was already thinking about what she would wear to lunch with Cale.

Arvin carefully took the document, his hands steady. He tucked it safely back into his briefcase.

"I'll be moving out on Friday," he said.

"Sure, whatever," she replied, grabbing her purse. She stood up, ready to leave.

As she reached the doorway, something made Arvin speak one last time. "Jorja."

She paused, turning back with an impatient sigh.

"Did you hear what I said?" he asked.

She looked at him, her brow furrowed in genuine confusion. "About what? Moving out? Are you going on another one of your little painting trips? Fine, just make sure the house is stocked before you go."

A bitter, humorless laugh escaped Arvin's lips. She hadn't heard. She hadn't listened. She hadn't even registered the word "divorce." Of course she hadn't. Why would she? He was just a part of the furniture.

He shook his head, a small, sad smile playing on his lips. "Never mind. Have a good day."

She shrugged, turned, and walked out the door, her mind already miles away.

Arvin didn't move for a long time. He looked around the silent, opulent dining room, a gilded cage he was finally about to escape.

That afternoon, Arvin drove to the orphanage. It was a modest but cheerful building on the outskirts of the city, a world away from Jorja's mansion. He found Goldie Buck in her office, surrounded by stacks of books and children's drawings.

"I'm going," Arvin said, without preamble. "I'm enrolling. I'm going to Paris."

Goldie' s face broke into a wide, relieved smile. She stood up and hugged him tightly. "Oh, Arvin. I'm so happy for you. It's about time."

She pulled back, her expression turning serious. "You know, I was so angry when you gave up that scholarship five years ago. Such a waste of your God-given talent."

She sighed. "But you're still young. You have your whole life ahead of you. What about Jorja? A long-distance marriage will be hard."

Arvin looked out the window at the children playing in the yard, their shouts and laughter filling the air. He shook his head slowly.

"We're divorced, Goldie."

Her eyes widened in surprise, then softened with a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the past five years. "I had a feeling this might happen. Honestly, son, I think it's for the best."

She patted his arm, her touch gentle and reassuring. "That girl... she was never in your world."

Arvin smiled, a genuine, warm smile this time. He hugged her back, feeling a profound sense of relief wash over him.

"I know," he said. "And it's a good thing. It really is."