I Need a Divorce
Sophia's POV
The clock read 2:07 a.m.
Again.
I sat at the edge of the bed, cold toes curling into the carpet, listening to the silence stretch through our mansion. The sheets beside me were untouched. Pristine. Like he'd never planned to come home at all.
The city buzzed beyond the glass walls of our bedroom, neon signs blinking like tired eyes. I wrapped the silk robe tighter around my body and stared at the door, waiting for it to open.
Not out of hope—no, that left me a long time ago—but out of habit.
Henry Johnson, my husband, was never home anymore.
Or maybe he was, just never with me.
I used to count the hours. I used to call. I used to worry.
Now, I didn't even flinch when the clock passed midnight.
I stood slowly and made my way downstairs, feet silent against the steps, the way someone moves in a home that no longer feels like theirs.
I didn't bother turning on the lights. I knew this place too well, even in the dark.
Our kitchen gleamed in polished chrome. It used to be my favorite space. I hosted dinner parties here.
Laughed with friends over wine. Cooked breakfast with Henry on Sunday mornings, his hands around my waist, his kiss on my neck.
Now, it felt like a showroom. Empty. Loveless.
I opened a bottle of water and leaned against the island, letting the cool air from the fridge brush my legs. I stared at the door again. I knew the sound of his footsteps.
The way the lock clicked when he came in late—always soft, always slow, like he was trying not to wake a version of me that no longer existed.
But tonight, I wasn't pretending anymore.
When the door finally opened, it was 2:31 a.m.
Henry stepped inside in his suit, his tie loose, jacket slung over his arm. He looked surprised to see me standing there in the kitchen, like he had forgotten he had a wife at all.
"Didn't know you'd be up," he said, adjusting his cufflinks like this was just another night.
"I couldn't sleep," I said flatly.
He nodded once and moved past me to the fridge, grabbing a glass bottle of sparkling water. We stood there in silence, two strangers in a house built on promises.
"You've been late a lot lately," I said carefully.
"I've been working," he replied without looking at me. "I've got three deals in motion. One in Tokyo, one in Dubai. You know how it is."
"No," I said. "I don't."
That made him pause.
He turned toward me, leaning against the counter, eyebrows raised.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means I don't know where you are most nights. It means I don't know who you are anymore. And maybe I'm finally done pretending that I do."
Henry sighed. "Sophia, come on. Not this again. We've talked about this."
"No," I said. "You talked. I listened. And I stayed. I've stayed through the excuses, the late nights, the silence, the lies—"
"Lies?" His voice hardened.
"You don't have to say it," I cut in. "I'm not accusing. I'm just telling you what it feels like to be me. Like I'm an obligation you forget to check on. A ghost in this house."
He ran a hand through his hair, exasperated. "Jesus, you're being dramatic."
I felt the lump in my throat but swallowed it down. "I'm tired, Henry. I've spent years trying to hold this marriage together while you're out building your empire.
And I was proud of you. I was proud of us. But somewhere along the way, I disappeared."
He didn't say anything. That silence said more than words ever could.
"I need a divorce," I said softly, but clearly. "I want out."
Henry's head snapped up.
"What?" He sounded.
"I don't want this life anymore," I said. "Not like this. Not with someone who doesn't even see me."
He blinked at me like I had spoken in a foreign language. "You're not serious, do you?"
"I am." I said.
"This is ridiculous." He set the bottle down too hard. "You're going to throw away everything because I work late?"
"Because you never come home, Henry. Because you don't touch me, don't talk to me unless it's about business or appearances. Because I haven't felt like your wife in years."
"Don't be so dramatic."
There it was again. That word.
I almost laughed.
"Do you even love me anymore?" I asked, quieter now.
He didn't answer.
And that was the answer I needed.
I turned to leave, my fingers trembling as they brushed against the counter.
"I'll have my lawyer send over the paperwork," I said over my shoulder.
"You're making a mistake," he snapped. "You think you'll survive without me? You've built your life around my name, Sophia."
I stopped in the doorway and looked back.
"No, Henry. I built this life with you. I just forgot I didn't need to keep sacrificing myself to keep it."
He opened his mouth to reply, but I didn't give him the chance.
I walked away.
Upstairs, I closed the door behind me and finally let myself breathe. My chest ached, not with sadness but with the weight of all the years I spent swallowing my needs. Tonight, I chose myself.
I curled back into bed, pulling the duvet over me as tears slipped silently down my cheeks. Not tears for Henry. But for the woman I had been—the one who waited, who hoped, who loved someone who stopped loving her back.
She's gone now.
In her place stood someone else.
Tired.
Wounded.
But finally awake.
---
The Next Morning
Henry was gone when I came downstairs. No note. No message.
Only his untouched espresso cup on the counter and a lingering scent of his cologne.
It should've hurt more. But instead, it made everything feel final. Clean, almost.
I made myself coffee and sat by the window, legs curled beneath me, watching the city come alive. It had been a long time since I felt this still. This alone.
There was no yelling. No grand fight. Just the death of something that had been dying for years.
I took out my phone and scrolled to my contact list. My lawyer's number was already there—saved but never called.
Until now.
As the phone rang, I stared at my reflection in the glass.
I didn't look like the woman Henry had married. I looked stronger. Sharper.
Broken, maybe—but not defeated.
"Good morning, Sophia," my lawyer's voice came through. "What can I do for you?"
"I'm ready," I said. "Let's start the divorce process."