Chapter 8

Time passed day by day until, at last, the day arrived when the divorce was fully finalized. Amelia went to the courthouse and was issued the divorce certificate. Staring at the words "marriage dissolved", an oddly serene calm settled over her. She returned to the manor and began packing the last of her belongings. As she sorted through her things, she realized that despite living there for so many years, so few of the items truly belonged to her. Most of the clothes in the wardrobe were plain and practical—all the easier to take care of Matthew. There was barely any expensive makeup or jewelry on the vanity table, and instead, it mostly held medicine kits, sticky notes with reminders about his preferences and needs, and special tools for when he had episodes. Every trace and detail revolved around his life. As she packed each item, memories surged through her like waves. She recalled his rejection when she first arrived, the joy she felt when he first allowed her near, the anxiety she felt during his episodes, and the growing coldness and cruelty he exhibited once Sierra came into the picture. Finally, she slipped off the wedding ring from her finger—the one he had never cared for. The cool touch felt like the final temperature of their five-year marriage. She placed the divorce certificate, the wedding ring, and the sticky notes filled with reminders—everything tied to him—carefully into a box. Holding the box, she walked toward Matthew's study. She gently pushed the door open, and just as she set the box on a corner of his desk, a cold, furious voice rang out from behind her. "Who allowed you to come in? I've told you that you're not allowed in my study! Get out!" Amelia turned around to see Matthew, who had returned when she hadn't noticed, standing in the doorway. His face was terrifyingly dark. She tried to explain, "I was just here to drop something off. I'll leave right away—" "Everything you touch feels filthy to me!" Matthew cut her off, barely listening to what she had to say. The disgust practically spilled from his eyes as he pointed at the door and barked, "Get out immediately! You're not allowed back in here ever again. Do you hear me?" Seeing his agitated, resistant expression, Amelia felt the last ripple in her heart finally settle into silence. She lowered her head and said softly, "I'm sorry. It won't happen again." Never again would she set foot into his study, and never again would she disturb him. She turned around and quietly left the study. No sooner had she stepped out than a servant rushed over in a panic. "Sir! It's bad! Ms. Jensen fell in the garden, and it looks like she sprained her ankle. She's in a lot of pain!" Matthew's expression changed instantly. He no longer cared about anything else—he didn't even spare Amelia another glance—and merely barked a single order to the maid. "Have the study cleaned and disinfected entirely!" Then, he ran toward the garden, his figure quickly vanishing from view. Amelia stood in the empty hallway, watching him rush without hesitation toward another woman. He watched him scoop her up and carry her to the car, then watched the vehicle disappear completely from sight. She stood in the same spot for a long, long time. Then, she returned to the guest room, picked up the small suitcase she had already packed, and took one last look at the place she had lived in for over a decade but had never truly belonged to her. Without hesitation, she turned and left. Outside, the sun felt just right.