Chapter Twenty-Three
Alicia's POV
The shower did nothing to wash away the feelings.
I stood under the hot water until my skin turned red, scrubbing at myself like I could somehow cleanse the memories. The pain. The years of humiliation.
But it didn't work. It never worked.
When I finally stepped out, I wrapped myself in a towel and stared at my reflection in the steamed mirror. My eyes were red. My face was blotchy. I looked exactly how I felt.
Broken.
I changed into my nightgown and crawled into bed, staring up at the ceiling. The same ceiling I'd stared at for two years. The same room that had witnessed my tears, my screams into pillows, my silent prayers for escape.
Travis.
His name alone made my chest tighten with rage.
I hated him. Hated everything about him. His face. His voice. The way he'd made me feel worthless every single day of our marriage.
Tears leaked from the corners of my eyes, sliding down into my hair. I didn't bother wiping them away. What was the point?
After lying there for what felt like hours, I couldn't take it anymore. I got up and left my room, my bare feet padding silently down the hallway.
There was a room on the third floor. One that no one used. One that I'd avoided for months.
The door creaked when I opened it. Dust particles dancing in the air. Everything inside was covered in a thin layer of neglect.
And there it was. Our wedding portrait.
It hung on the far wall, massive and mocking. Travis in his expensive suit, looking bored. Me in my white dress, smiling like I believed in fairy tales.
What a joke.
I walked closer, my hands curling into fists. Around the room were boxes. Wedding gifts we'd never opened. The dress I'd worn, now yellowed and forgotten. Decorations from a celebration that had meant nothing.
All of it covered in dust. Like our marriage. Something that should have been beautiful, left to rot.
I stood in front of the portrait and stared at Travis's face. His smirk. His empty eyes.
Then I punched it.
My fist went through the canvas, tearing a hole right where his face had been. Pain shot through my knuckles, but I didn't care. I hit it again. And again.
"I hate you!" I screamed at the destroyed portrait. "I hate you so much!"
My wedding day flashed through my mind. The memories I'd tried so hard to bury.
Travis had shown up half-drunk. I could smell the whiskey on his breath when he stood beside me at the altar. During the vows, he'd mumbled some woman's name. Not mine. Someone else's.
The guests had pretended not to notice. Or maybe they had noticed and simply didn't care.
My family wasn't there. Not my father. Not my sister. They'd already taken the money and left town, washing their hands of me like I was a problem they'd finally solved.
The reception was a blur. Fake smiles. Fake congratulations. Everyone pretending this was a love match when it was really a transaction.
And that night. Our wedding night.
I'd waited in the bedroom, terrified and alone. Wearing the white lingerie the maids had laid out. Sitting on the edge of the bed like a sacrifice.
Travis never came.
I'd found him passed out in his study the next morning, an empty bottle beside him and another woman's name on his lips.
I'd cried that first night. Cried myself to sleep in that big, empty bed.
But I never cried on our wedding night again. By the second year, I didn't cry at all.
I looked down at my bleeding knuckles. At the destroyed portrait. At the dust-covered remnants of a marriage that should never have existed.
I was done.
Done crying. Done waiting. Done hoping things would get better.
I was going to divorce Travis. The moment he woke up, I'd have the papers ready. I'd walk away from this family and never look back.
The decision settled in my chest like a weight lifting. Like I could finally breathe again.
I left the room and closed the door behind me. Went back to my bedroom. Crawled under the covers.
And for the first time in two years, I fell asleep without crying.
The next morning, I woke with purpose.
I dressed carefully. A burgundy blouse and black pants. I pulled my hair back into a sleek ponytail and applied makeup to cover the evidence of last night's tears.
When I walked down to breakfast, Layla was already seated. She looked up when I entered, her eyes narrowing.
"Well, well. Look who decided to grace us with her presence." Her voice dripped with venom. "Shouldn't you be at the hospital, crying over my son?"
I poured myself coffee, not bothering to look at her. "Your son is stable. The doctors are monitoring him. There's nothing I can do there."
"Nothing you can do? You're his wife!"
"In name only," I said calmly. "We both know that."
Her face turned red. "How dare you—"
"How dare I what, Layla?" I turned to face her fully. "Speak the truth? Your son made it very clear from day one that he never wanted this marriage. That he never wanted me. So don't pretend you care about my wifely duties now."
She stood, her chair scraping loudly against the floor. "You ungrateful little—"
"Careful," I interrupted, my voice cold. "Grandfather is very fond of me. I wonder what he'd think if he knew how you've been treating me in his absence."
Layla's mouth opened and closed like a fish. For once, she had nothing to say.
I grabbed my coffee and a piece of toast. "Excuse me. I have things to do."
I left her standing there, speechless. It felt good. Better than good. It felt like power.
Before leaving the house, I went to Pa Blackwood's room. He was already awake, reading the newspaper in his chair by the window.
"Good morning, Grandfather," I said, carrying in his tea tray.
His face lit up when he saw me. "Ah, Alicia. My dear girl. You're up early."
"I wanted to make sure you had your morning tea." I set the tray down beside him. "Chamomile with honey, just how you like it."
He took my hand and squeezed it gently. "You're too good to this old man."
"You're the only one in this family who's ever been kind to me," I said honestly. "It's the least I can do."
His expression grew sad. "I know my family hasn't been easy on you. Travis especially." He sighed. "I had hoped... but I suppose some men are just like their mothers."
I smiled, though it didn't reach my eyes. "Don't worry about me, Grandfather. I'm stronger than I look."
"I know you are, child. That's what worries me." He studied my face. "Where are you off to so early?"
"Just some errands in the city. Nothing important."
He nodded, accepting the lie. "Be safe."
"Always."
I kissed his forehead and left.
Maurice was waiting by the car. If he was surprised to see me, he didn't show it.
"Where to, Mrs. Blackwood?"
I gave him the address. A law office downtown. One I'd researched carefully. One that specialized in difficult divorces.
The drive took thirty minutes. I spent the entire time staring out the window, my heart pounding.
This was it. The first real step toward freedom.
When we arrived, I told Maurice to wait in the car. He looked like he wanted to ask questions but wisely kept quiet.
The law office was on the fifteenth floor.
A receptionist greeted me with a smile. "Do you have an appointment?"
"No, but I need to speak with someone about filing for divorce. It's urgent."
Her smile became more understanding. She'd probably seen countless women like me walk through those doors. Desperate. Determined. Done.
"Let me see if Mr. Harrison is available. Please, have a seat."
I sat in the waiting area, my hands clasped tightly in my lap.
This was really happening.
I was going to divorce Travis Blackwood.
And nothing—not Layla, not the family, not even my own fear—was going to stop me.