c a r t i e r
Divorce.
What a peculiar word.
It's a word I never in a million years would see associated with my name.
Mrs. Cartier Chelsea Davenport. Wife. University graduate. Miss New York of 2010. Artist. Mother even-- someday. But Divorcee? Nothing spells failure quite like divorce.
Well, I guess there is one other thing that categorizes me as a failure. I've failed not only as a wife but also as a human being. As a woman. Perhaps that single thing is the catalyst as to why I'm staring these divorce papers down in my husband's high rise office like a doe watching an oncoming semi truck ready to be made into road kill.
"We both know, Darling, this has been a long time coming." Anthony tells me whilst knoting his cobalt blue tie in the crystal mirror above a metal cart full of his prized whiskeys and scotch.
I've known what he says is true. It's been an unspoken truth for over a year if I wasn't able to conceive via IVF divorce would be a looming dark cloud not far off, "I suppose," I exhale a trembling breath as I skim through the legal document noting all the highlighted tabs where our lawyer has delegated for me to sign.
"I've taken good care of you, Car. You'll get everything fifty/fifty, just as you should."
I can't remove my eyes from the headline of the document with the bold lettering titleing my failure.
My parents would be horrified. Thank God they aren't around to see this.
Oh God, my parents.
It's the thought of them that threatens the tears to spill and my throat to tighten into an aching knot.
"Anthony...I-I can do it. If we just tried for one more month. I know this time will be it for us." My watery gaze lifts from the thick document to watch my husband--soon to he ex, turn to face me.
Dr. Anthony Davenport always so put together. Always so in control. His light brown hair gelled into a wavy style, his light amber eyes peircing with defiance at my pathetic excuse for a plea.
Sensing my inevitable breakdown, Anthony circles back and kneels next to me taking my trembling hands from the table top into his own and sighs.
"Car-Bear, Darling, no matter how hard we tried we will never be parents. It's time the two of us stop wasting each others time and look elsewhere. I'm thirty-nine and want to start my own family, my father passed his practice down to me and the same with his father." His voice and words hold no malice but they still act like a knife cutting up my heart into a million little pieces. "All I want is a son-- or daughter, but I want a Davenport to continue the legacy my family started generations ago. It's nothing against you, Car. You know you own a peice of my heart and you always will."
"B-but-."
"You're thirty-three, beautiful," I wait for more but he continues with only a definitive sigh. "Now," He stands and claps a strong hand on my shoulder and points a long finger to the Divorce papers, "The show must go on, as they say."
A scream builds at the back of my throat while my hands ball into tight fists in my lap.
I've never been on my own, how in the fuck am I supposed to do this? I've never even once slept in a house by myself. And starting now I'm going to be inaclivity and utterly alone?
I've done everything a good wife should do. I've kept his huge house spotless, avoiding the need for a maid. Every meal he's ever eaten was made from scratch and served to him on white china. I even altered my breasts because I knew he preferred a larger cup size. I cared for Anthony day in and day out. I made sure he had a wife that he felt he could gloat about because that is how I felt about him.
And now, after everything I've done and loving him with all I have I'm being tossed to the curb like yesterdays garbage.
All because I'm a failure.
Because I can't give him a child.
"Just here, Babe," Anthony urges by taking my left hand and pen holding both to one of the many signature lines.
"But-- what am I supposed to do? I don't know how to do anything else but be your wife?" Finally the flood gates open and the tears spill.
Anthony inhales a strong steady breath and leans against the oakwood desk I'm sitting at crossing his suit clad arms firmly over his chest, "You can do whatever your little heart desires. Go off and paint or whatever it is you like to do. Travel. See the world, the options are limitless. Fucking Hell, I'm literally paying you to not be my wife, you've got it made, Car-Bear."
I fucking hate when he calls me Car-Bear.
"Tell you what, I'll stay at the Manhattan apartment and you can have the big house for the week while you find a new place of your own. How does that sound?"
"O-okay." I sniffle and wipe the tears away with the sleeve of my black cashmere sweater.
"Now, I've made sure everything you need has been handled. You've got the Mercedes in your name. The house in Boston is yours to do with as you wish and I've created a new cell phone plan in your name. The Mastercard and the account at Key bank is entirly in your name and you'll be receiving the alimony on the first of each month from now until..."
When Anthony stops a spark of hope ignites inside prompting me to glance up with near relief hoping to see the loving sparkle return to his sandy colored eyes but he only smirks a crooked grin cocking a proud brow, "Well, until someone else has decided to marry you."
"Mmhmm." I squeak and press the pen to the paper, then scribble out my signature.
Before the point of the pen lifts from my completed signature Anthony swipes the document and flips to the following page, planting it back down for me to sign again...And again...And again.
By the time I reach the end I'm Ms. Cartier Davenport.
Thirty-three-year-old divorcee.
And I'm officially alone and clueless having not the slightest inkling as what to do with myself or my life moving forward.
🌻
I hiccup a sniffle as I shuffle in through our double front door. Dragging my black dior bag by the thin strap and kicking my heels off within the black marble-veined foyer I shut the large doors, hearing the sound of them closing mixing with the echoes of my blubbering sounding throughout the large empty house.
My feet ache but I don't bother with collecting my heels and leave them lying behind as I continue my slow pathetic shuffle through the foyer avoiding my melting appearance in the gold six foot mirror.
I drop the strap of the handbag as I reach the large stainless steel kitchen and cry more when there's a bouquet of a dozen red roses in a vase with a card and a small gift bag and bottle of antique scotch beside them waiting for me on the counter.
My fingers graze the soft pedals of the roses while I try to steady my breathing and lick the tears from my lips.
Plucking the note from the card stick I read it between my sniffles, "My man, I'm beyond ecstatic to finally call you mine. I've left a little celebratory scotch and something else for us in the bag."
I reread the note, completely befuddled. "W-what does that mean?"
Then the universe that has already been flipped on its axis today abruptly stops moving entirely.
This was meant for Anthony. This was sent to Anthony from another woman.
My hands begin to shake and my lips twitch as the note written in feminine handwriting completed with a lipstick smudged kiss stares right back at me.
I throw the card down onto the quartz counters and grab the gift bag throwing the decorative black tissue paper in all directions. I dive in and lift a thin soft fabric from the bag.
Hanging delicately from my fingers is a black lace g-string.
"Motherffff-"
My arm flashes out and knocks the bouquet to the marble floor sending shards of glass and red pedals everywhere.
While I was loving him he's doing this. While I was racking my brain on how I wanted so badly to be pregnant for him, he was fucking someone else. While I was injecting myself with hormones and medications to aid with giving him a fucking baby he was sticking his cock into someone else.
Something switches inside me, it's like my broken shattered heart lying in broken pieces hardens to stone rocks.
He offered me to stay here at the big house while he would be staying at the Manhattan apartment.
"Well, as they say..." I straighten my shoulders and steel my spine grabbing the scotch and removing the cork, sniffing the contents from the opening, "the show must go on."
I shoot back the liquid and gulp until the burning numbs, then take a breath and gag. Before I vomit I place the large glass bottle to my lips and gulp it down again until I feel my stomach burn with the expensive scotch.
With a grin, I wipe the dripping scotch from my chin and start undressing until I'm entirly naked, leaving my clothes where they fall on the floor.
I start giggling as I pull the lace g-string up my legs and high up on my hips then grab the matching bra from the bag, putting it on quickly.
"I'm a fucking fool." I say between my echoing laughs bouncing around the large open kitchen.
Snapping a selfie of myself in his womans lingerie and his half empty scotch bottle I save it to my gallery and then dial the loudest mouth on the east end of New York.
"Hey girl!" She greets happily.
I grin wide like the Cheshire Cat, "Kim, you won't believe it!"
She gasps and I scream, "I'm PREGNANT!"
We scream and screech on the phone line while I go to my ex husband's whiskey and scotch cupboard and begin pouring all of them down the large stainless steel sink.
"Kim, I need a favor!" I say over her screaming. "Anthony doesn't know it yet. And I want to throw him I surprise last minute party, can you gather everyone at the Manhattan apartment at...say ten o'clock tonight?"
"Oh my God! You know I will!" Kim yells and I take another giant gulp of the celebratory scotch bottle.
"Ahh! Thank you so much, I'm just so happy. You know, we've been trying for so long to have a baby."
"Oh honey, I know. I knew it would happen." She lets a happy sigh and I take another long gulp of straight alcohol.
"Thank you for helping me. So be at the apartment at ten, and bring as many people as you'd like. Can you invite his parents as well? I'm busy currently grabbing the decorations."
"Yes, yes, yes. Okay, oh honey I'm so happy for you."
I finish the call quickly and scamper through the large house until I reach Anthony's office room.
Taking a seat at his mahogany desk I log onto his computer and get online searching the internet for: Male Strippers For Hire
I find a company and request two uniformed police officers to arrive at the Manhattan apartment at 10:05 just in time for fuck face, his mistress, his parents, and all of our friends to see what kind of peice of dog poo my Ex husband really is.
Then, when the chaos has calmed down I'll send him the little selfie I snapped and thank him because he is going to be paying me alimony for the rest of his damn life.
Tell me how you feel?
Anthony is a condescending prick lol
But what are your thoughts on Cartier? Of course, I wanted her to shove that pen up Anthony's ass, BUT now isn't the time LOL
Thanks so much for reading!
CC