I brought up the divorce a week later.
We had just finished, and Ben was about to
leave for some late meeting.
I stopped him, telling him I had something to
say.
As I predicted, he didn’t react.
He only paused, then pushed himself up, his
face a mask of indifference.
“Alright.”
Like he was signing a paper.
“I don’t want the kid either,” I said, “He’ll be
<
your responsibility.”
“No problem.
I insisted, “Thanks for the last few years. It’s
been rough, I know.”
He’d been sleeping with me for years despite
having no feeling. It was rough on him too.
My luggage was minimal, all packed in one
suitcase.
The divorce papers were on the coffee table,
signed.
Before I left, I glanced back.
Ben, bare–chested with scratch marks, stood
on the balcony, smoking a cigarette.
No one knew about my divorce, I hadn’t told
anyone.
Ryan was sleeping in his room.
The rest of my family was celebrating Chloe’s
birthday.
After Ben finished his cigarette, he’d go out.
and find Chloe.
He’d also take a gift for her, the customized
red leotard that he kept in his study. I’d
thought it was beautiful too. But, like the
marriage, it wasn’t meant for me.
No one remembered that, once upon a time, I
had also won a national youth dance.
competition.
