Page 40 of The Humiliated Wife
"My parents are getting divorced," he said simply. "My dad moved out Sunday."
Fiona's heart squeezed. "That's really hard."
"I keep getting mad at my mom. Like, yelling mad. But I'm not really mad at her." His voice cracked slightly. "I just... I don't want everything to change."
"Of course you don't. Change is scary, even when it's for the best."
Marcus looked up at her, eyes searching.
"But what if they still love each other?"
Fiona didn’t answer right away. She reached out and set her hand gently on the carpet between them. Not touching him—just there.
“I don’t know,” she said honestly.
She hadn’t said a word about her own unraveling. About the man she still loved and couldn’t stay married to. She wouldn’t. That wasn’t for Marcus.
She was going to have to get a divorce.
Even thinking the word felt jagged. Final.
She took a breath and offered Marcus a crooked smile. “Want to be in charge of the label maker?”
He wiped his nose on his sleeve. “Okay.”
Fiona sat at her desk after Marcus left.
She exhaled and rubbed her eyes. This was real. This was over.
She knew she had to do the adult thing. But the thought ofstarting—of sitting in an office and saying the worddivorceto a stranger—made her feel like she might throw up.
How did people do this?
How did they turn heartbreak into paperwork?
Tears pricked behind her eyes, but she blinked them back. Not here. Not now. She’d already cried enough, hadn’t she?
She didn’t want to be brave. She didn’t want to be wise or mature or strong. She wanted someone else to fix it. To unhurt it. To make it make sense.
But there was no one else. Just her.
The hallway was quiet,the last echo of students' footsteps fading as the lunch bell settled. Fiona sat at her desk, a half-graded stack of spelling tests beside her. She should’ve been working. Instead, her phone sat in front of her, open to the social media app.
Her account now had 38 followers.
Not viral. Not anything close.
But that wasn’t the point.
She clicked the little heart icon. A few new likes, a couple comments.
She thought about Marcus.
Her finger hovered for a moment, then tapped over to the “New Post” screen.
She pulled a Post-it from the drawer and wrote the words out by hand. Simple. Slanted.
“Anger is what sadness wears when it wants to feel strong.”
