I still hear Gerald’s voice some nights: “I’ve filed for divorce.”
That was what he said when I opened my eyes in the hospital.
I had been awake for maybe two minutes. My throat was dry. My legs were in traction. My head was wrapped in bandages. Gerald stood at the foot of my bed with a lawyer beside him, pressed a pen into my hand, and said it like he was announcing a change in dinner plans.
I’ve filed for divorce.”
I stared at him and whispered, “You’re not serious.”
He gave the smallest shrug. “I am. I need a wife, Lisa. Not a burden.” Then he leaned a little closer and said, “The house is staying with me. It always suited me more, anyway.”