Chapter 2
After hanging up the phone, I started packing immediately. Though most items in the apartment were mine, I chose to take only a handful. Kenji, due to his job, was often traveling, making this place feel more like a temporary stopover than a home. He would pop in occasionally, only to leave again soon after.
I packed a single suitcase. Among the items I hesitated over were the gifts I’d given Kenji— ranging from toothbrushes to luxury handbags, all scattered around untouched. As I collected these thoughtful presents, I noticed some had even expired. If Mikayla had given him anything, no matter how small, he would treasure it. Reflecting on this, I packed them all away, filling the trash bin in the process.
Taking a final glance at the house filled with memories-our first purchase after marriage-l resolved to leave with dignity. All I carried out was that one suitcase. Five years of my youth, and this was the sum of it.
Driving back to my parents’ house, a place I hadn’t dared to visit since their passing, now became my sanctuary. That night, I fell asleep on the couch, surrounded by their photos. The next morning, I noticed missed calls from Kenji. Returning his call, he answered with irritation.
‘Aren’t we getting divorced? Why ignore my calls? Where’s yesterday’s determination?’
Rubbing my tired eyes, I mumbled, ‘I overslept. Where are you?’ Instantly regretting the question -why should it matter where he was? Having decided on divorce, I shouldn’t have asked. Clearing my throat, I asked, ‘What time can you meet at the courthouse?’
A woman’s mocking laughter echoed from Kenji’s side, followed by his chuckle.
‘Really, Emmeline? Playing these childish games to threaten me? It won’t change my mind. You’re too immature.’ He hung up.
Stretching my stiff neck, I texted him: ‘See you at 2 PM by the courthouse entrance.’
The message vanished into silence, as usual. Shortly after, I stumbled upon Mikayla’s Instagram post-no longer blocked. A photo with Kenji, captioned sentimentally. If I weren’t the one betrayed, I might have admired their love.
[‘At first, I just wanted to know your name. Now I want to spend Christmas, New Year, and every meaningful holiday with you.’]
I silently liked the post. Immediately, Kenji sent several voice messages.
‘Emmeline, are you okay? Mikayla was just reminiscing. What’s with the like?’
‘I’m telling you, my conscience is clear.’
As if cheating could ever be clear. I didn’t respond. In the past, even an emoji from him would prompt multiple messages from me, inquiring about his well-being. Now, let his ‘sister’ worry
about him.
After lunch, I headed to the courthouse. The weather was lovely, a warm breeze caressing my face. I waited in the lobby for hours, repeatedly taking and discarding numbers from the ticket machine until a staff member approached with a puzzled look.
‘Miss, please don’t disrupt our work. Are you proceeding with the divorce or not?’
Of course, I wanted to, but Kenji wasn’t cooperating and wouldn’t answer his phone. After another hour, a staff member suggested, ‘If he won’t cooperate, go home and hire a lawyer to file a case.’
That hit me like a revelation. Why wait for him? I could file a lawsuit! Knowing Kenji, unless he wanted the divorce, he’d find endless excuses not to show up. What was the point of waiting like a fool?
I went straight to a law firm. After securing a lawyer, I drove home. En route, Kenji called.
‘I’m hungry, Emmeline. I want your spaghetti bolognese. When will you be home?’
For a moment, I was transported back to our first year of marriage-cooking for him daily, evening walks after dinner. But those days were over.
‘I’m not coming home. That place isn’t my home anymore.’
Kenji grew irritated. ‘What do you mean, Emmeline? What’s with this attitude?’
Parking under my apartment, I cleared my throat.
‘Kenji, I’m serious about the divorce. I’ve filed a lawsuit. If you won’t cooperate, get a lawyer.’
With that, I hung up.
