Part I – Alister
The scent of freshly brewed coffee lingered faintly in the air, mingling with the soft creak of wooden floors and the distant hum of morning traffic. Alister Crane stirred under a thick comforter, sunlight slicing through the gaps in the old curtains of his brother's guest room.
His eyes opened slowly.
No dreams. No nightmares. Just… blankness.
The digital clock beside him read 7:04 a.m. The room was still, the kind of stillness that follows a storm. He sat up, the soft rustle of sheets the only sound accompanying his breath.
He reached for his phone.
22 missed calls. 17 messages.
All from Sarah.
He didn't open a single one.
No tears came. Not even anger. Just that same dull ache behind his ribs. A space that used to be full.
He set the phone back down.
There was something strange about waking up in someone else's home after walking out of your own. The sheets felt unfamiliar. The silence rang differently.
But for the first time in months—maybe years—he didn't feel like he was suffocating.
He pushed himself up and swung his legs off the bed. He grabbed the T-shirt Marcus had loaned him and stepped out of the room.
The smell of eggs and toast hit him first.
"Morning," Marcus called from the kitchen, flipping something in a skillet. "I figured you'd be up early."
Alister offered a tired nod, sliding into a stool by the island. "Didn't really sleep. But thanks."
Marcus turned off the stove and plated breakfast. "Figured as much. Thought food might help."
Alister stared at the eggs, fork in hand, before quietly asking, "How long did it take you to stop feeling like a ghost?"
Marcus paused, leaning against the counter. "When Vanessa left me? About six months. First month was numb. Second was anger. Third was paperwork. And the last three were me slowly remembering who the hell I was before her."
Alister looked down. "I'm not angry. Not the way I thought I'd be."
"You will be. But don't force it. Right now, you're in survival mode. That's enough."
There was silence for a while. Just the clink of cutlery.
Then Alister said it.
"I'm filing for divorce."
Marcus didn't flinch.
"Good," he said.
Alister blinked. "You think so?"
Marcus met his eyes. "Look, I've watched you bend over backward for that marriage. Hell, you damn near broke your spine for it. But relationships—good ones—don't demand martyrdom. If she wanted to fight for it, she should've thought about that before she opened her heart and her body to someone else."
Alister ran a hand through his hair. "I just… I keep asking myself if I could've done more."
Marcus leaned forward. "You did everything, Alister. You carried both of you through hell. But if the person next to you lets go of your hand, you don't keep walking until your arm rips off. You stop. You save yourself."
The silence that followed felt heavier than before, but also clearer.
Alister picked up his phone and scrolled to a contact:
Chloe Reyes – Family Law
She was one of the partners and the most respected divorce attorneys at his firm. Sharp, unflinching, and fiercely professional. They'd worked together on several high-profile cases.
He texted her.
"Need to talk. Personal. Urgent."
Less than a minute later, his phone buzzed.
"My office. 10 a.m. I'll clear my schedule."
Alister turned to Marcus. "Let's get this over with."
10:03 a.m. — Reyes & Stan Law Firm
The office was sleek and minimal—glass, steel, and sharp lines. Alister sat across from Chloe Reyes, a woman in her mid-30s with tailored suits, flawless posture, and eyes that never missed a thing.
She skimmed through the summary Alister had given her.
"So she's been having an affair with one of your friends for over a year?" she confirmed, her voice crisp.
Alister nodded. "Ethan Harper. He used to be close. Not anymore."
Chloe leaned back. "Do you want to pursue fault-based grounds? Infidelity?"
"I don't care about the spectacle. I just want out. Peacefully, if possible. Cleanly."
She gave a slight smile. "Spoken like a man who's already mourned the marriage."
"Just send the papers. Today."
"I can have the documents drawn up and couriered by evening."
Alister signed the documents without hesitation.
No shaky hands.
No second guesses.
The pen glided across the signature line.
Alister James Crane.
Done.
Chloe glanced at him, more gently now. "If you ever need to talk, off the record—I'm not just your colleague."
"Thanks," he said. "But I think I'm all talked out."
Part II – Sarah
Two days later.
Sarah sat in the living room, wrapped in a blanket that felt colder than usual, her hair in a loose bun, her eyes ringed with shadows that hadn't been there a week ago.
Beside her on the couch sat Lena, her best friend since college. The same friend who'd sat through every fashion show, every wine night, every heartbreak. The same friend who had suspected but never asked.
Neither had said much in the past hour. The TV was on, but muted.
Sarah stared blankly at the screen, her phone buzzing every ten minutes.
Ethan Harper.
Again.
She didn't answer.
She hadn't for two days.
She couldn't even look at his name without wanting to hurl the phone across the room.
When the affair had started, Ethan had felt like escape. A reckless, selfish, intoxicating escape. But now? Now he felt like a stain she couldn't scrub off. Every message from him was a reminder of everything she had destroyed.
Lena gently broke the silence. "You should eat something."
Sarah shook her head. "I'm not hungry."
"You've said that five times today."
"I mean it five times."
Lena sighed but didn't push further.
"You haven't told me what happened," Lena finally said. "After Alister found out. You haven't said a word."
Sarah spoke like a ghost. "He came home. Said he got the message. Said he knew. Then he just… spoke."
"Spoke?"
"He laid everything bare. Every time I hurt him. Every moment he stood by me. Every second I didn't see him bleeding right next to me."
Lena looked down.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
Sarah turned, eyes glistening. "Did you know?"
Lena hesitated.
Sarah's voice sharpened. "Don't lie."
"I suspected," Lena admitted. "I saw the way you flinched when he texted. The way you smiled at your phone when it wasn't him."
Sarah's hands shook.
"Why didn't you say anything?"
"I didn't know if you'd listen. You were spiraling, and I didn't want to lose you. But I should've said something. That's on me."
Sarah looked away, pain flickering in her expression. "I think part of me wanted to get caught. I just didn't think it would feel like this."
Before Lena could respond, there was a knock at the door.
They both turned.
"I'll get it," Lena said.
She opened the door to find a courier standing with a package. She signed the slip, thanked him, and shut the door. The package was small, flat. No return address.
Her stomach dropped.
She didn't even need to open it to guess what it was.
But she did anyway.
And there they were.
The divorce papers.
Lena stood frozen, the folder in her hands like a hot coal.
Sarah glanced over and frowned. "What is it?"
Lena didn't answer.
Sarah stood slowly, walking over, her eyes narrowing as Lena hesitated.
"Lena," she said, voice quiet but firm, "what is it?"
Lena's hands trembled as she passed the folder over.
Sarah opened it.
And the world tilted.
The air left her lungs.
She stared at the bold title at the top: Petition for Dissolution of Marriage.
Below that: Filed by Alister James Crane.
Her hands clutched the folder tighter as if she could will it to disappear.
Her voice cracked. "He filed."
Lena whispered, "Sarah..."
Her eyes darted to the signature.
His name. Signed in ink. Final.
Her breath caught. "He really meant it."
"He's protecting himself," Lena said gently. "And maybe… maybe that's okay."
Sarah sank onto the couch, papers in hand, her face pale.
She had known it might happen.
She had feared it.
But some part of her—some small, arrogant, hopeful part—believed that maybe, just maybe, Alister would pause. That he would hold out for the love they once had.
But now there was ink on paper.
And love wasn't enough.
Tears fell silently down her face.
Not the hysterical sobs from two nights ago.
Just a quiet, continuous stream.
Lena sat beside her, unsure what to say.
Sarah clutched the folder to her chest, like maybe holding it close would change what it meant.
"I thought I could fix it," she whispered. "I thought I had time."
Lena rested a hand on her back.
And together, in the silence of a house that used to be a home, they mourned something already gone.