Chapter 2: The Divorce Call

My palm left a sweaty print on the kitchen counter as I waited for him to pick up.

The day I agreed to the divorce was just an ordinary afternoon. The kind of sticky, hot Thursday where the AC rattles in the window and the world moves in slow motion. Outside, kids played basketball in the park across the street, their laughter drifting through the open window.

I dialed Jason’s number, but the one who answered was Emily.

"Hello?"

"I’m looking for Jason."

I could hear the TV in the background—probably some reality show. Emily sounded like she’d just woken up from a nap, her voice casual and a little smug.

"He’s in the shower. You wanna leave a message or something?"

Her voice was as bold and self-assured as ever, full of ownership and pride.

It was the same confident tone she used at parties, the kind that made people listen—or roll their eyes. If it had been before, I would’ve screamed, hysterically demanding that Emily get lost so I could speak to Jason.

But now, I knew very well—only Emily could find him.

I pressed the phone to my ear, steadying my breath, forcing my voice to stay even. I couldn’t let her hang up on me like before, leaving me alone like a crazy person.

"Didn’t he say before that he wanted a divorce? I agree."

I calmly said what I needed to say.

It should’ve hurt. Maybe it did, somewhere deep down. But mostly, I just felt tired. Like the punchline to a joke I’d already heard.

I could almost see the surprise on her face through the phone. She paused, maybe expecting a fight.

Emily was silent for a second, then repeated in disbelief,

"You agreed to the divorce?"

"Mm."

As soon as I finished speaking, I heard some shuffling sounds.

A door opened, feet thudded against hardwood. The phone must have been taken by Jason.

Soon, his low, indifferent voice sounded in my ear.

"It’s me."

I knew.

Hearing his voice, I felt a little dazed. After all, ever since he’d moved out of the house half a year ago to be with Emily, we hadn’t contacted each other at all.

The last thing he said to me back then was:

"Melissa, let’s get divorced. If you won’t agree, I’ll move out and file for it myself."

I remember that night too well: the apartment echoing with silence after he slammed the door, my reflection warped in the microwave door as I tried not to cry.

Now, half a year had passed. I’d given in.

"Emily said you want to divorce me?"

Seeing I was silent, Jason spoke first. He probably said this with a frown, his tone tinged with confusion.

I didn’t even understand where his confusion came from. Wasn’t he the one who brought up the divorce?

But now, I didn’t want to argue with him about who started it.

I gave a soft reply.

"If you have time, let’s meet and sign the divorce papers."

After that, I hung up.