Beyond Divorce: He Is Not The Same

ey. His head throbbed, a dull, rhythmic ache behind his temples, but his senses were screaming. The air smelled of expensive lavender de

the frame was good-broad shoulders, long limbs-just soft and unused. The muscle memory of a thousand fi

is skull. Chris Olson. The failure. The husband who

he silk pillowcase. Even in sleep, her brow was furrowed, a permanent etching of dissatis

sed, soft. He clenched them into fists, watch

old as a winter sky. She saw him sitting there, starin

. She sat up, clutching the sheet to her chest, expecting the usual routine:

link. He looked at her not as a wife, but as a target asses

was deeper than she remembered, strip

lt a sudden, inexplicable shiver crawl up her spine. The w

silk robe. She tied the belt tight, armor against a man she no longer respecte

t, dry sound. It mig

cover himself as he usually did. He stretched, his back arching, the

igarettes there-hers. He shook one out and lit it. The

the statement hanging in the air li

g bright orange. He exhaled a stream of g

dn't look at her. He didn't ask if she was okay

feeling a sudden, sharp pang of displacement. It was her r

her voice rising. "Did

bathroom door. He

" he said. "Stop screami

r click

as hammering against her ribs, a frantic, confused rhythm. She had expec

. Dark circles under the eyes. A weak jawline he would have to

to the reflection. "Rest e

ter on his face. He dried off, wrapped a t

h of the room, her arms crosse

to regain the upper hand. "Is this some new t

h force to make her stumble back a step. It wasn't violent,

walking into the hallway

followed, her footsteps quick and uneven,

and lemon polish. The stack of documents

fountain pen. The metal

he entered the room. "The settlement is gene

e last page. He signed Chris Olson with a jagge

the desk. It rolled and hit the stack

," he