When I went back to the house, it felt like walking into a place that had already decided I no longer belonged. The walls stood the same, the furniture untouched, but something in the air had shifted, thick and uneasy, like it was waiting to see whether I would submit or fight. I closed the door behind me without checking if it made noise. I wanted Marcus to hear it. I wanted him to know I was done being careful.
I dropped my bag on the floor instead of placing it neatly where it usually went. The sound echoed louder than I expected, and for a moment, I stood still, listening. No footsteps. No greeting. Just silence. I walked into the kitchen, opened the fridge, and stared inside without seeing anything. My hands shook as I poured water into a glass, spilling some onto the counter. I didn't wipe it. I left it there, watching the water spread slowly, soaking into the surface like a quiet stain.
This house had rules. Marcus's rules. Shoes in place. Lights off. Silence when he needed it. Tonight, I followed none of them.
I turned on the living room lights, every single one, until the room glowed harsh and exposed. I moved the cushions on the couch, not violently, just enough to ruin the order he liked so much. Then I sat down, crossed my legs, and waited. My chest felt tight, but my mind was steady. Whatever came next, I would face it.
Marcus appeared in the doorway minutes later. He took in the scene slowly, his eyes flicking from the lights to the cushions to the water stain on the counter. I knew that look. It was the same one he used during board meetings when someone disappointed him.
"What's wrong with you?" he asked calmly.
I didn't look away. "Nothing."
That's a lie," he replied, walking into the room. "You've been sulking all day. You're careless. Emotional."
I let out a quiet laugh. "Is that what you call it when I stop pretending?"
His jaw tightened slightly. "You're looking for a fight. "No," I said. "I'm looking for an exit."
That got his attention. He folded his arms, his body language closing off, familiar and practiced. "You're upset," he said. "This will pass." It won't," I answered. "I'm not confused. I'm not hysterical. I'm done."
He watched me for a long moment before speaking. "You're talking like someone who forgets where she came from." I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. "I know exactly where I came from. And that's the problem."
His lips curved faintly, almost amused. "You've always been dramatic. "I've always been quiet," I corrected. "There's a difference."
Silence stretched between us. I could feel my heart pounding, but I refused to let it control my voice. "I'm filing for divorce," I said clearly. "I've already made up my mind."
He didn't react the way I expected. No anger. No shock. Just a slow nod, as if I had confirmed a thought he'd already finished thinking. "I assumed you would," he said. "Women like you always leave when reality stops flattering them."
I swallowed hard. "Women like me?"
"Yes," he replied. "Women who mistake comfort for love. I stood, my legs steady despite the ache in my chest. "I stayed because I believed in us. I believed in something you never even tried to build."
Marcus shrugged. "Belief doesn't pay bills, Isla. You knew that once."
The words cut deeper than he realized. They echoed something I had said long ago, something I had used to justify every wrong choice I made. I nodded slowly. "You're right," I said. "I knew that once. And I was wrong."
He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "You'll regret this. You'll leave with nothing."I already have nothing," I replied. "I've been living with a man who never saw me as a wife. He smiled thinly. "You were a good investment."
The word made my stomach twist. "Investment," I repeated. "Is that all I was?"
He didn't deny it. "You were useful. Presentable. Easy to manage."
My hands curled into fists. "And my mother?" I asked quietly. "Was she useful too?"
His eyes darkened, a glint of something ugly passing through them. "She knew the deal," he said. "She came to me before the wedding. Told me everything."
My breath hitched. "Everything?"
"That you weren't hers. That you were adopted. That you needed stability more than truth." He paused, watching my reaction. "She offered you to me. And she offered herself as well."
The room seemed to tilt. I reached for the back of the chair, steadying myself. "You're lying," I said, though my voice lacked conviction. I'm not," Marcus replied evenly. "She wanted security. Influence. You were the price."
I shook my head slowly, pain spreading through me in waves. "So my marriage," I whispered, "was a contract."
"Yes," he said simply. "And you signed it without reading the fine print."
Something inside me cracked, but instead of breaking me, it hardened. I straightened, meeting his gaze without fear. "Then I truly have nothing left to lose."
He scoffed. "You think leaving will make you strong."No," I said. "Leaving will make me free."
He opened his mouth to respond, but the sound of the front door interrupted him. It opened slowly, deliberately, the hinges creaking just enough to set my nerves on edge. Marcus frowned, turning toward the hallway. "I wasn't expecting anyone," he muttered, Neither was I.
Footsteps echoed against the floor, unfamiliar and heavy. I felt my pulse quicken as a shadow stretched across the living room wall. Whoever it was didn't announce themselves. They didn't rush. They moved like they belonged there.
Marcus's posture shifted, alert now. "Who's there?" he called. No answer, the footsteps came closer.
My heart slammed against my ribs as the figure stopped just outside the light. I couldn't see their face, only the outline of a tall body standing between the doorway and the hall, blocking the exit. The air felt charged, tight, like something was about to snap.
Then a voice spoke, low and calm, sending a chill down my spine.
"Isla," it said. "We need to talk." I froze.
Because I knew that voice.
And I knew, in that moment, that leaving this house would cost more than I ever imagined.