Page 2 of A Way Out
“I want you out of the house,” Vic said, and for the first time in months, Maria fully turned to face him, to really look at him.
He’d changed. Not much, but there were small details that were noticeable now that she actually focused on him.
Those brackets around his mouth were new, and the lines on his forehead hadn’t been there before she’d quietly demanded this divorce.
He was still arguably handsome: tall, muscular, with pale blue eyes and regal features. If one were searching for something, the only potential negative she could note was his receding hairline, which had begun when he was in his twenties. He was forty-two now, ten years older than Maria, and the decades had exposed more and more of his wide forehead.
All of this observation was not why she’d looked at him directly, though. “Pardon?” she finally asked.
“I know we agreed to coparent Riley and that living in the same house would make that easier, but I need space right now,” Vic said.
“It’s a 5,000-square-foot home,” Maria pointed out. “We go days without seeing each other, with very little effort.” Okay, perhaps she did consciously put forth a reasonable effort to that end, but he didn’t know that. Nor did he need to.
Not that Maria wanted to continue to live with her newly minted ex-husband. It was more of a necessity at this juncture.
She was one of those wives who had contributed a great deal to the household, yet none of it was financial.
She managed the staff who ensured her house was clean, that there were groceries in her cupboards, and her yard was impeccable; she even arranged for the standard maintenance on their vehicles. She supposed she’d be an excellent manager, although she doubted she could convince any hiring entity to see it that way.
She’d not worked a day of her life outside of her home, and with her utter lack of a résumé, she couldn’t imagine anyone would be willing to hire her.
Truth be told, she didn’t need to work right away. She had money. Her grandmother had left a sizable inheritance to each of her granddaughters. Maria hadn’t touched hers. She hadn’t needed to. Each time she thought about leaving, finding her own place, joining the real world, she couldn’t convince herself to take that first step.
Because she had no clue what that step was.
“Are you saying you want to stay together?” Vic asked, and oh God, that wasn’t hopefulness in his voice, was it?
They’d not actually had any arguments over the divorce. She had asked for it, he’d ignored her for a few weeks, and then he’d approached her as if the conversation had never happened. After the third time around that merry-go-round, she’d had him served with divorce papers.
He'd hired her lawyer. She hadn’t even known that was allowable.
The lawyer had written all of her requests into the documents, and Vic hadn’t argued with a single one. Including this agreement that they live in the same household and raise Riley together.
“No, Vic,” she finally responded. “I’m not.”
“Why do you want to continue living here? With me?”
“It isn’t with you, exactly…”
They were terrible at communicating. Always had been. For their entire relationship, he’d suggested they do something and she’d gone along with it. It started when she was about to graduate from college. She’d not had a clue what to do then, either, despite her degree and all the resources available to help her start a new career.
Vic had suggested they get married—they’d been dating for about six months at that point—and she’d agreed because it was easier than finding a job and anything was better than moving back home with her parents.
Four years ago, he’d suggested they have a baby, and Maria agreed because that was what she was supposed to do.
“Then what is it?” he asked.
“What about Riley?” she asked, flapping her hand at their daughter, who sat in her highchair, her head bouncing back and forth like she was watching a tennis match.
“I assume you’ll take her with you.”
It was a relief to hear him say it, but did he not want to spend time with his own child? Not that Maria would ask that question, in case he changed his mind. Without a place to live, she would most definitely not win a custody battle, even if they did continue to use the same lawyer.
“I have nowhere to go,” she finally admitted.
“Go to your parents.”
She snorted. He’d always hated the sound. Just like her mother did.
