The Barren Ruins of Old Love

The divorce papers drifted down and landed on the carpet. Victor stared at the words on them, as if he were reading them for the first time. Then he laughed, and there was anger and contempt in it. "Bella, are you done throwing your tantrum?" "All because I didn't pick up your call?" "Fine, I admit it. I didn't know it was that serious. That's on me." "But you don't need to threaten me with divorce." I looked at him, calm. "I'm not threatening you." "I'm telling you." His face went ice cold. "Who do you think you are? You think you can survive without me?" "The clothes on your back, the things on your hands, which of it didn't I give you?" "Don't forget, you didn't even finish college before you came to me. You've never worked a single day in your life." The words were knives, each one sinking into my chest. He was right. Once, I thought he was my whole world. For him, I gave up my degree, gave up my friends, and chose gladly to be the woman standing behind him. I thought that was love. Only now did I see it was just a joke. "So this is your excuse for cheating?" I asked. It was like I'd stepped on a nerve. He exploded. "I didn't cheat!" "Georgia and I are just business partners!" "Stop being unreasonable!" I didn't have the energy to argue with him anymore. "Just sign it." "I don't want the car, the house, any of it. The two hundred thousand dowry my mother gave me when we married, give that back to me." "Then we're square." He glared at me, like he wanted to bore a hole through my face. "Fine. Very good." He gritted his teeth, picked the papers up off the floor, and dug a pen out of the drawer. "Bella. Don't come crying about this later." He signed his name at the bottom, a hard, slashing scrawl. Then he threw the papers back at me. "The money. I'll wire it tomorrow." "Now get out of my house. Right now." I didn't feel a shred of longing. I stood, and pulled open the closet. It was packed full, all of it clothes and bags he'd bought me. I didn't take a single thing. From the very back corner, I dug out a battered old suitcase. Inside were a few old outfits I'd worn when I first came to him. I dragged the suitcase to the door and stopped. "Victor." I didn't turn around. "Our baby was a boy." "The doctor said he was almost three months along." I could feel the stare behind me freeze in an instant. I didn't wait any longer. I pulled the door open and walked out. The night wind hit my face, and only then did I realize my cheeks were already soaked with tears. Goodbye, Victor. Goodbye to my dead love and my dead child. I dragged the suitcase through the late-night streets, walking with no direction at all. My phone chimed with a bank alert. Victor had wired me five hundred thousand. Three hundred thousand more than the two hundred I'd asked for. Like charity. Or like hush money. I checked into a budget hotel for the night. The next day I started looking for a place to live, and for work. Victor was right. I'd been cut off from the working world too long. The résumés I sent out sank without a trace. Interviewers looked at the long blank stretch on my résumé, contempt in their eyes. "Miss Fox, you've spent these last few years at home as a housewife?" "Sorry, this position requires relevant work experience." I was turned away, again and again. The money I had left kept shrinking. The wound low in my belly still ached faintly. That day, I went to the hospital for my follow-up. The doctor who saw me was still that young one. His name was Bill Harding. He looked at my chart, a slight frown between his brows. "You're not recovering well. You need rest, and better nutrition." He looked up, his eyes gentle. "You look very pale." I twitched the corner of my mouth and said nothing. When I came out of the hospital, it had started pouring outside. I hadn't brought an umbrella, so I stood under the eaves by the entrance, waiting for the rain to stop. A black car pulled up in front of me. The window came down. It was Bill. "Where are you headed? I'll take you." I hesitated. "It's all right, that's too much trouble." "Get in. This rain won't let up anytime soon." His tone left no room for argument. I had no choice but to open the door and slide in. The heat was running inside the car. It felt good. He handed me a cup of hot cocoa. "Warm yourself up." I cupped the drink and sipped it in small sips. "Thank you." He started the car and asked, offhand, "Where do you live?" I gave him the name of a complex. The car moved smoothly through the curtain of rain. Then he said, "That day, the procedure. Why didn't your husband come?" I froze. "We... we're divorced." He seemed to realize he'd asked something he shouldn't have, and fell quiet for a moment. "Sorry." "It's okay." The car soon reached the building where I was renting. I got out and thanked him. He rolled down the window and held out an umbrella. "Take it. Don't get soaked again." I looked at him, and something warm rose up inside me. It was the first bit of kindness I'd felt since the divorce. Life was hard. But maybe it wasn't quite so bad after all.

I finally found a job. Clerk at a tiny flower shop. The pay wasn't much, but it was enough to live on. Spending every day around flowers and plants, my heart slowly settled. I changed my number and cut off everyone from before. Victor, Georgia. Those names felt like something from another life. The shop owner was a kind woman named Joan Dickerson. Seeing me on my own, she often went out of her way to look after me. That day, a customer came into the shop. He was carrying a huge bunch of sunflowers. "Bella?" I looked up. It was Bill. He had a white coat on under a trench coat, like he'd just come from the hospital. "Dr. Harding?" I was caught off guard. He smiled. "I was passing by, saw how pretty this shop was, and thought I'd stop in." He held out the sunflowers. "These are for you. I hope you'll turn toward the sun every day, just like they do." I didn't know what to do. "This… is too much." "It's just flowers." He pressed them into my arms. "You're almost off, right? Want to grab dinner?" Before I could turn him down, Joan poked her head out from the back. "Bella, is this a friend of yours? Go on, go. I've got the shop." So I ended up carrying the flowers and following Bill out. We went to a small diner that served home-style cooking. He ordered the dishes I liked without missing a beat. I was a little surprised. He explained, "My sister likes this kind of food too." Over the meal, we talked about a lot of things. His work. My flower shop. He was a good listener, always smiling while I rambled on about the small, trivial things. After we ate, he drove me home. When we reached my building, he suddenly spoke. "Bella, I know the timing for this might be wrong." "But the first time I saw you at the hospital, I…" He paused, seeming to search for the words. "Can I court you?" I froze completely. The streetlight fell across his face, his eyes sincere and warm. My thoughts were a tangled mess. I'd only just crawled out of a failed marriage, still covered in wounds. I didn't dare, and I had no right, to take on another relationship. "Dr. Harding, I'm sorry." I lowered my head. "Right now I… don't want to think about any of this." It was as though he'd expected my answer all along. There wasn't a trace of disappointment in him. "It's all right." He smiled gently. "I can wait." "For as long as it takes, until you're ready." He didn't push me any further, just turned and left. I watched him go, and something bittersweet stirred in me. That night, I had a dream. In it, I was back on that cold operating table. Victor stood right beside me, checking his watch, impatience all over his face. "Hurry up, I've still got an important meeting." I begged him through my tears, "Save our baby." He turned away, cold. "It's just one baby. There'll be others." I jolted awake, drenched in a cold sweat. Outside the window, the sky had already gone light. I touched my flat stomach, where a tiny life had once grown. Victor, I will never, ever forgive you.

The days slid past, quiet as still water. Then, one afternoon, the flower shop door swung open. The one person I never wanted to see again stood in the doorway. Georgia. She wore Chanel's newest suit, her makeup flawless, and standing there in my apron I looked like something from another world. She looked around the shop, and her gaze finally settled on me. There was a hint of curiosity in it, and that familiar air of looking down from a great height. "Bella? What are you doing here?" She looked like she'd stumbled on some strange new toy. "Well, well. The great Mrs. Henson, reduced to clerking at a flower shop?" I didn't answer, just kept my head down and sorted the stems. She clicked over on her heels and rapped on the counter. "Hey. I'm talking to you." "Victor dumped you? Figures. What man would want a dull woman like you." I stopped what I was doing, lifted my head, and looked at her coldly. "Are you finished?" "When you're finished, get out." She clearly hadn't expected that. She froze for a second, then flushed with fury. "Who do you think you are, talking to me like that!" She raised her hand to slap me. I caught her wrist and flung it back hard. "Miss Pruitt, this is a flower shop, not somewhere you throw a tantrum." "Leave now, or I'm calling the police." She stumbled from the force of it, nearly turning an ankle on her heels. "You—" Her face went white with rage. "Bella, don't get smug." "You think leaving Vic means you'll land somewhere better?" "Let me tell you, you're finished. For good." Her words were a poisoned barb. I forced down the churning inside me. "How my life turns out is none of your concern." "You should worry a little more about yourself." "After all, a contract traded for a child. Who knows how long it'll keep you shining." I brought it up on purpose. Georgia's face went bone-white in an instant. "You— what nonsense are you spouting!" "That night I was just there with my father for a business meeting. I didn't know anything!" Her reaction only confirmed what I'd guessed. I let out a cold laugh. "Whether you knew or not doesn't matter." "What matters is that Victor chose you and gave up his own child." "The two of you really are made for each other." Georgia had no comeback. She jabbed a finger at me, beside herself. "You wait. I won't let this go!" She threw out the threat and turned and fled, all her poise gone. Only after she left did I notice my hands were shaking. Joan came up from the back and patted my shoulder. "Bella, are you all right?" I shook my head. "I'm fine." It was only that the wound inside me, barely scabbed over, had been torn wide open again. Raw and bleeding. So I wasn't as strong as I'd imagined after all. I thought Georgia showing up was just a passing episode. I never imagined the trouble was only beginning. The next day, someone splashed red paint across the shop door. The glass was smashed too. Joan looked at the wreck of the storefront and sighed and sighed. "Who would do this? What kind of person has no conscience!" I knew perfectly well it was Georgia. I took out my phone to call the police. Joan stopped me. "Let it go, Bella. We're a small operation. We can't afford to cross people like them." "Calling the police won't help. There's no proof." "Let's just clean it up ourselves." I looked at the helplessness on Joan's face, and guilt twisted in me. I was the one who'd dragged her into this. "Joan, I'm sorry." "This started because of me. I'll pay for the damage to the shop." Joan waved a hand. "Silly girl, what are you talking about." "It's not your fault." It took the two of us a whole day to get the shop clean. But the next day, the trouble came again. People from the health department showed up for an inspection and said our hygiene didn't meet standards, that we'd have to close for corrections. Right on their heels came the fire department, saying our fire safety equipment had problems. One wave after another. I knew this was all Georgia pulling strings behind the scenes. She wanted to back me into a corner. Joan was so worried her hair seemed to turn grayer. "Bella, this shop... I'm afraid we can't keep it running." "Maybe you should go lie low somewhere else for a while." I looked at her, and something in my chest ached and stung. "Joan, I can't leave." "If I go, that's exactly what she wants." I couldn't keep dragging Joan down with me. I had to find a way to fix it. I took out my phone and scrolled to a number I'd long since blocked. I hesitated for a long time, then dialed it anyway. It rang and rang before the line connected. "Hello?" It was Victor's voice, edged with weariness and impatience. "It's me. Bella." The other end went silent. After a long moment, he spoke, his voice a little hoarse. "You... you're finally willing to contact me." "What do you need?" I got straight to the point. "Make Georgia back off." "She's turned the flower shop where I work into a wreck." There was another silence on his end. Then I heard him let out a soft laugh. "Bella, aren't you confused about something?" "We're already divorced." "Your job's not going well, so what gives you the right to come to me?" "Whatever Georgia does has nothing to do with me." I gripped the phone tighter. "Victor, don't play dumb." "If it weren't for you, would she be coming after me?" "Are you telling me you don't know a thing about it?" He scoffed. "And what if I do know?" "Bella, weren't you so full of pride back then?" "What, now that you've hit a little trouble, you come crawling back to beg me?" "Then beg me." "Beg me, and I'll help you." There was open humiliation in his voice, no attempt to hide it. I was shaking all over with rage. "Victor, you bastard!" I slammed the phone down. The tears fell before I could stop them. How could I have been so naive? To actually go and beg him. To beg the man who killed our child with his own hands. I really was pathetic.