The Delayed Divorce

Standing in the dead center of the sprawling master bedroom, Tessa raised a trembling finger, pointing directly toward the massive, open doors of the walk-in wardrobe. “And the clothes in the closet… Burn them all.”

She forced the harsh words past the jagged lump in her throat, refusing to let her voice crack. “My cousin is quite prideful,” Tessa insisted, her tone tight with suppressed agony. “She will get incredibly angry if she moves in and sees them hanging there.”

She didn't wait for Desmond to process the demand. Tessa pivoted on her heel, marching straight into the closet. She reached past the rows of designer fabrics she rarely wore and grabbed a heavy, expensive velvet jewelry box. Walking back into the main bedroom, she forcefully presented the velvet box, shoving it toward a stunned Desmond. He stared at the dark fabric, blinking in silent confusion.

“Everything you gave me over the past three years is in here,” she stated, her voice laced with a dark, self-deprecating irony. She unlatched the lid, exposing the glittering diamonds and pearls resting on the satin interior. “Sloane would never stoop so low as to wear anything a pathetic substitute has already worn. I know her standards. Ask Gideon to sell it all. Or give it away to the household servants. Do whatever you want with it, just get it out of my sight.”

She wanted every single trace of her existence in this sprawling house entirely erased, wiped clean as if she had never crossed the threshold.

Desmond stared down at the velvet box in his hands. He was suddenly gripped by a suffocating, inexplicable tightness in his chest. The air in the room felt too thin. He reached instinctively for his pocket, pulling out a cigarette to steady his nerves, but stopped abruptly. Remembering how much she hated the smell of smoke in the bedroom, he shoved the cigarette back and placed the velvet box on the nearest dresser. He desperately tried to rationalize the sudden panic rising in his throat.

“Are you saying you want to erase every single trace of you ever being here?” he asked, his voice low and strained.

Tessa let out a hollow, cynical smile. “Why not? You never wanted me in the first place. You wanted me gone.”

Desmond stepped forward, the distance between them shrinking. He needed to stop this momentum. He sternly reminded her of the brutal reality waiting outside these walls. “Your mother isn’t doing well. You know her heart cannot take severe shocks. Think about the devastating toll a sudden, scandalous divorce would take on her right now. If she knew we were divorcing while she was critically ailing...”

The mention of her dying mother was a cruel, effective strike. Tessa’s tough, indifferent facade instantly crumbled into tearful desperation. “That’s why I hope you can keep this a secret for now,” she pleaded, her voice breaking into a ragged whisper. “Don’t tell her anything. And my cousin’s family... you have to stop them from running their mouths.”

Desmond’s jaw clenched. “I am busy every single day. I cannot monitor your relatives every second. Now that your mother is hospitalized, they will visit. They will talk.”

Tessa’s mind actively crumbled under the crushing, unimaginable weight of her mother's terminal cancer and the inevitable, vicious gossip of their opportunistic relatives. “What else can I do?” she cried out, her hands flying to her hair. “With the condition she is in, she worries about me the most. If she finds out I’m divorced and thrown out, she won’t be able to survive it!”

Unable to watch her break down any further, Desmond took a long stride forward. He forcefully pulled her fragile, shaking body into his strong arms, pressing her face flush against his chest.

“We're not divorcing,” he declared, the rumble of his chest vibrating against her cheek.

Stunned by the jarring reversal, Tessa froze. Her hands, which had been pushing against his ribs, went limp. She slowly looked up, her tear-filled eyes wide with shock, searching his face for a lie. “What did you say?”

Desmond tightened his hold, suppressing the storm of befuddling emotions clawing at his insides. He solemnly promised her, looking directly into her red-rimmed eyes. “We will delay the legal separation until your mother's medical condition finally stabilizes. You don't need to worry about the astronomical medical costs required for her treatments. Acting as your legal husband, I will personally cover all the bills. It is my duty to provide for my wife.”

Overwhelmed by the sudden, dizzying relief of his words, Tessa's last remaining walls shattered into dust. The sorrow she had been holding back for days exploded. She finally broke down, wailing loudly against his chest. She buried her face into his tailored shirt, her fingers curling into the expensive fabric, clutching him tightly like a drowning woman clinging to a life raft. Desmond stood still, listening to her ragged sobs, feeling a strange settlement in his blood now that she was anchoring herself to him again.

Later that evening, once the violent emotional storm had subsided into quiet sniffles, Desmond led her downstairs. He forced her to eat a light supper, reminding her she needed her strength for the hospital tomorrow. The quiet domesticity felt surreal, suspended in a fragile bubble.

After supper, they returned to the second floor. As per her long-standing habit, Tessa pulled out fresh clothes for him to change into. As she smoothed out the fabric of his sleepwear, the memory of the afternoon resurfaced, stinging her raw nerves. She brought up her earlier desperate phone call, her heart bleeding as she painfully noted the humiliation she had swallowed.

“I did call you when I was at the hospital,” she noted softly, her back to him. “Sloane answered your phone.”

Desmond loosened his necktie, smoothly deflecting the accusation hidden in her tone. “I was busy helping Sloane apply medicine to her injured wrist. I couldn't free my hands to answer the call.”

Tessa closed her eyes, the image of him tenderly caring for the other woman slicing through her chest. “If we don’t divorce now, what will you tell her? She’s waiting for you.”

Desmond didn't miss a beat. He arrogantly insisted, his voice smooth and untroubled, “I’ll discuss our delayed divorce with Sloane. She is my childhood friend. She will be perfectly understanding about the situation with your mother.”

That night, the master bedroom felt cavernous and cold. Desmond had retreated to his study to handle work, leaving Tessa alone. She had taken a shower to wash off the hospital smell, but the hot water did nothing to thaw the ice in her veins. She emerged from the bathroom and sat numbly on the edge of the large bed. Her hair was dripping wet, soaking the shoulders of her thin pajamas, but she didn't care. She sat motionless, staring blankly at the patterned wallpaper, leaving her fully packed luggage untouched in the far corner of the room.

The bedroom door opened. Desmond walked in, pausing when he saw her vacant state. Without a word, he walked into the bathroom and retrieved a dry towel. He crossed the room, standing behind her seated form. He draped the towel over her head and patiently, meticulously, began to dry her soaking hair. He moved the towel with practiced care, absorbing the moisture before switching on the hairdryer.

The warm air cascaded over her scalp. His fingers gently combed through her strands. It was an act of such quiet, devastating tenderness that it only deepened her agonizing grief. She sat there like a wooden puppet. In the past, this exact gesture made her feel like the luckiest woman alive. Now, it was sheer torture. He could be this gentle to a woman he didn't love, simply out of duty.

“I’m thinking about you being so kind and considerate,” she spoke up, her voice barely a whisper over the hum of the dryer. “Once you’re finally together with your childhood friend, you would love her even more, wouldn’t you? You’ll treat her even better.”

Desmond entirely deflected the painful question. His jaw tensed. He clicked the hairdryer off, the sudden silence heavy and suffocating. His face tightened as he abruptly changed the subject. “Your hair is dry. Go to sleep soon. I have an early meeting tomorrow.”

He dropped the dryer on the bedside table and walked away, heading straight for the bathroom to take a cold shower, leaving her question hanging in the chilled air.

Early the next morning, the fragile peace Desmond had constructed was violently shattered.

Shortly after Desmond’s sleek car pulled out of the mansion’s driveway for work, the heavy front doors swung open. His formidable, sharply-dressed mother, Margot Prescott, burst through the entrance. The clicking of her designer heels on the marble floor echoed like gunshots.

Tessa stood in the living room, preparing to leave for the hospital. Seeing her mother-in-law, a familiar chill ran down her spine. Margot’s sheer, unfiltered disdain for Tessa’s rural, low-class background was immediately apparent in the severe curl of her lip. That hatred was only magnified by Tessa's hated infertility.

“You're early today, Margot,” Tessa greeted, keeping her posture rigid.

“What? Can’t I come into my own son’s home whenever I please?” Margot snapped, stalking forward. She didn't bother with pleasantries. She reached into her expensive handbag. “I’ve consulted with a famous medical expert in gynecology. You can consider artificial insemination given your pathetic condition.”

Margot barked the words like an army general barking orders at a lowly private. She aggressively shoved a stiff appointment card directly into Tessa's trembling hands. “When Desmond gets back, let him know. You have an appointment tomorrow.”

Tessa stared at the crisp white card, her vision blurring. Her entire focus was consumed by the terror of losing her sick mother. She was spending her days in hospital wards and her nights bracing for a divorce. She couldn't do this.

Tessa gently and politely pleaded, looking up at the imposing older woman. “Margot, can we wait? Just for another two years? I’m not that old, and right now my mother...”

This polite plea caused Margot to absolutely explode. The older woman’s face flushed a furious, mottled red. She stepped aggressively into Tessa's personal space. Raising her hand, Margot violently pushed her manicured fingers directly into Tessa’s forehead, forcing the younger woman's head back with jarring force.

“What do you mean wait?” Margot screamed, spit flying from her lips. “Do you know how shameful it is when I’m compared to the other madams in this city? You have been married into this family for three years and you have nothing to show for it! This is all because of you!”

Tessa stumbled back a half-step, her forehead throbbing from the sharp poke. She clutched the appointment card, her knuckles turning white.

“We are the Carlisles!” Margot viciously blamed her, her voice echoing off the high ceilings. “Our prestige in Valerius City is pristine! Or at least it was, until you came along. You have single-handedly tarnished our reputation. I have to avoid social gatherings because I am constantly interrogated about my son's barren wife!”

Accustomed to silently enduring this horrendous abuse in secret to spare Desmond from being agonizingly caught in the middle, Tessa lowered her head. She bit her lip until she tasted copper, wrapping herself in complete, submissive silence. She never told Desmond about these attacks. She loved him, and she knew he respected his mother. She took the blows so he wouldn't have to choose.

The vicious verbal onslaught was only interrupted by the rattling of fine china. The elderly housekeeper, Mrs. Higgins, nervously arrived in the living room. She carried Margot's daily medicinal concoction on a polished silver tray.

Margot whipped her head around, immediately redirecting her venomous complaints toward the staff. “You should really teach her more about her duties, Mrs. Higgins!” she loudly berated, gesturing wildly at Tessa's bowed head. “She is a useless piece of trash! A pathetic excuse who has the absolute inability to bear a male heir! What is her entire worth as a woman if she can't even give my son a child?”

In response to the degrading tirade, Mrs. Higgins stopped walking. She set the silver tray down on a nearby console table. Instead of bowing her head in agreement, the elderly housekeeper firmly furrows her brows. She boldly stepped up, positioning herself between the raging mother-in-law and the trembling young wife.

Mrs. Higgins looked Margot directly in the eye, smartly using Desmond's own authoritative decree to silence the older woman's screaming fit.

“Mr. Desmond said that she doesn’t have to do anything,” Mrs. Higgins stated firmly, her voice ringing clear across the tense living room. “He said she simply needs to maintain her own happiness.”