The Love We Missed Chapter 01

The Love We Missed Chapter 01

Seven years into marriage, I met the woman I actually wanted.

Vivian made my life feel like something worth living. She was soft, attentive, and looked at me like I still mattered.

Next to her, Claire felt completely washed out. Our conversations had shrunk to daycare schedules and utility bills.

So on our anniversary, I asked for a divorce.

I expected a breakdown, or at least a screaming match.

Instead, she just stopped wiping down the kitchen island and turned around.

“Fine. One condition.” Her tone didn’t waver. “Sell the house, and I’ll sign.”

……

I stared at her. The lines I had rehearsed died right there.

I honestly thought she’d fight it. The two times I brought it up before, she wept all night and demanded answers I couldn’t give.

By the next morning, she had already slipped back into routine, acting as if nothing happened. Seeing her try to appease me had only made it worse.

She didn’t get it. When you fall out of love, everything the other person does feels annoying.

Baking was annoying. Cleaning was annoying. Even her breathing grated on my nerves.

It wasn’t that she was a bad wife. But once a marriage dies, you can’t just heat it up and serve it again.

“That’s it?” I asked.

Claire tossed the cutting board into the sink and packed the food away. “Have I lied to you once?”

“You’re not eating in?”

“No,” she said, drying her hands. “If we’re ending this, let’s do it properly.”

Claire pulled out her phone, put it on speaker, and called my mother. Distant laughter and chatter drifted through the line.

“Mom, could you do us a favor and pick up Mia from daycare?” Claire asked. “Julian and I need tonight to talk through the divorce.”

The background noise seemed to cut out instantly. “…What did you just say?”

“Just bring her to your place, please. We’ll talk later.” She hung up.

I saw the angle right away. She wanted family pressure.

Too bad my mother preferred Vivian anyway. Vivian was young, radiant, and fit right into my mother’s polished world.

We went to the bistro down the street. I slid the menu across the table.

“Get whatever you want. I’ve got it.”

Claire didn’t argue. Once the waiter walked off, I pulled the separation agreement from my briefcase.

“Here’s what I’m thinking for the split,” I began.

“You take the rental condo outright—no mortgage, clean title. I keep the house, wire you a hundred and fifty grand in cash, and cover fifteen hundred a month in child support.”

Claire slid the folder back across the table.

“Not happening.”

“Why not?”

“There’s still four hundred thousand left on that mortgage,” she said evenly. “If you default, the bank comes after me, and I’m not wrecking my credit while you play house with someone else.”

I frowned. That struck a nerve.

I had a good title at a reputable firm and never missed a payment in my life. Default?

She was just playing games.

I took the papers back. “Let’s eat.”

The runner dropped off our first plate: a small skillet of baked mac and cheese.

My fork stopped. A headache began to throb behind my temples.

Right on cue.

She was about to dredge up that miserable basement studio thirteen years ago, when she’d make this after my two a.m. shifts.

I was young, exhausted, and said things I had no business promising. But thirteen years had passed.

No one should be handcuffed to a line they said at twenty-two.

“Claire, stop,” I said before she could open her mouth. “I’ve told you before, I don’t even like that dish.”

She looked up at me, her gaze completely steady.

“I know,” she said quietly.

Without a word, she began spooning the pasta straight into a to-go box.

“It’s for Mia.”