Chapter 7: The Choice

Once the thought of divorce appeared, it grew wild, like a weed breaking through the sidewalk.

I couldn’t stop thinking about it, replaying the last decade over and over. The idea took root, blooming into certainty.

A week later, I met with Grandpa Carter.

We sat in the old parlor, rain tapping against the window. I sipped lukewarm coffee, hands trembling.

I told him I wanted a divorce.

My voice was calm, more certain than I felt. He listened, expression unreadable.

Grandpa Carter sat on the old house’s couch, tapping the coffee table with his finger.

He stared out the window, lost in thought. The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife.

"Why?"

His voice was soft but edged with steel.

I told him Jason liked someone else.

I laid it out plain—no more hiding, no more excuses. I told him everything.

He would hold back his temper in front of her, awkwardly try to make her happy.

I described their easy laughter, the way Jason softened for her in ways he never did for me.

He’d write songs for her, give her gifts, stubbornly try to win her over.

The gifts, the songs, the way he came alive in her presence—it was all for Sarah.

With Sarah Miller around, Jason was in a much better mood.

Even his bad days seemed lighter. She was good for him, whether I liked it or not.

Honestly, she was a better fit for Jason than me.

I said it out loud, the truth bitter but real.

After hearing this, Grandpa Carter didn’t say anything.

He drummed his fingers, gaze distant. The silence stretched on.

After a long time, he cleared his throat and asked me seriously,

He leaned forward, his eyes searching my face for something—regret, maybe, or relief.

"Annie, do you know why I chose you as my granddaughter-in-law back then?"

His question caught me off guard. I searched for the right answer.

"Because I gave Jason a band-aid?" I asked.

It sounded almost childish, but it was the only memory I had.

He shook his head. "No."

His lips twitched—almost a smile, but not quite.

"I looked into your background. I knew you were kind-hearted, and also knew you weren’t really welcomed in the Smith family."

He laid out my life like a case file—my kindness, my loneliness, my need for a place to belong.

"You needed this engagement. With it, for the Carter family’s sake, your life would be a lot easier."

He wasn’t wrong. The engagement shielded me from the worst of the Smiths’ cruelty.

"And because of this, you’d treat Jason as your savior, be grateful to him, tolerate him, even spoil him."

He saw right through me, naming feelings I’d never dared to admit.

"When I heard you chose psychology in college, I knew I wasn’t wrong about you—you really were that way."

I blushed, remembering the hours I’d spent studying mental health, hoping I could help someone—anyone.

He sighed. "A kid from a family like Jason’s, if he weren’t sick, would have people lining up to marry him. But he happened to be ill."

His voice cracked a little, pride and pain mingled together.

"I only have this one grandson, so of course I had to plan for him, find him a wife who’d be absolutely loyal, to take care of him for life."

He looked at me, eyes weary, as if apologizing for the burden he’d placed on my shoulders.

"That Sarah Miller you mentioned—I don’t know what kind of girl she is. I can’t trust Jason to her."

He spoke the words like a judge delivering a sentence—final, unwavering.

At this point, he looked at me, speaking frankly.

"Annie, you grew up in the Smith family, you know what rich men are like. Men like your father, they always had someone on the side. That’s just how it is in families like ours. By comparison, Jason is simple by nature, not like other men who fool around. That’s already pretty good."

He shrugged, as if infidelity was the price of wealth. I wanted to protest, but the words stuck in my throat.

"Besides, as long as I’m here, no woman can shake your place as his wife. What more do you want?"

His gaze was sharp, expecting gratitude, not defiance.

I understood what he meant, but I didn’t want to stay home with a husband who wanted nothing to do with me, living a life where I could see the ending from the start.

I met his eyes, willing him to understand—love and loyalty are not the same thing.

"Jason kicked me out," I told Grandpa Carter seriously. "Now my existence just annoys him."

I let the truth hang in the air, refusing to downplay the pain.

"Lately, his episodes have been getting worse."

I described the rages, the broken glass, the way the house seemed smaller every day.

After hearing this, Grandpa Carter’s face finally turned serious, reconsidering my relationship with Jason.

For the first time, I saw doubt flicker in his eyes—a crack in the armor.

After a long time, he finally relented.

He exhaled slowly, his shoulders slumping. The fight drained out of him.

"Annie, I’ll think about the divorce. You go home first."

He squeezed my hand—gentler now. “Let me talk to Jason. We’ll do this right.”

"And after all, Jason is your husband, so we have to ask what he thinks too."

His old-fashioned sense of fairness surfaced, even now.

I nodded, got up, and left.

My legs felt heavy as I stood, but I made myself walk away, dignity intact.

How could Jason disagree?

I pictured him signing the papers without a second glance.

He’d be glad to sign the divorce papers.

I was sure he’d be relieved. I was just another chore on his endless list.

That day, a chilly spring rain was falling, and the wind was strong outside.

Umbrellas turned inside out on the sidewalk, and the street shimmered with puddles. My breath fogged in the air.

When I left the old house, I saw Jason.

He was standing by the porch, his white shirt soaked through, hair plastered to his forehead. He looked lost—almost boyish.

He stood at the half-open door, wearing a white shirt and holding an umbrella.

The umbrella drooped, heavy with water, like he’d forgotten how to hold it upright.

A big puddle of rain had collected at the tip of the umbrella.

It dripped steadily, splashing onto his sneakers. He didn’t seem to notice.

I didn’t know how long he’d been standing there, or how much he’d overheard.

His cheeks were flushed, eyes glassy. My heart twisted, remembering the boy with the rose thorn years ago.

The moment he saw me, he pressed his lips together, his face pale.

He opened his mouth, searching for words, then settled on the only one that mattered.

"You said you want to divorce me?"