My 1000th Attempt Worked

Every anniversary, Mark had some twisted surprise for me.

Our tenth? He strutted into the ballroom holding hands with an escort wearing straight up lingerie.

"Jenna, she's cold. Hand over your dress."

Then, like that wasn't sick enough: "And the lingerie. She likes your vibe."

I clutched my collar, trying to keep it together. He didn't care—just yanked it open. "Cut the act. Your dad sold you to me, remember? That slutty look you used to give me—I still see it."

Everyone stared, waiting for me to break.

So I did the one thing I could.

"I want a divorce."

Again.

Mark just laughed and chucked a stack of photos on the table—me, covered in marks, curled in bed, a total mess.

"You say that every year. And every year, you're back in my bed. Think your mom keeps that hospital spot if these get out?"

The room exploded with laughter.

"Mark, let's bet—how long till she crawls back?"

"I'm calling it now—Jenna's in your bed tonight, crying to make up!"

"I'm in. Her mom sucks up three grand a day—without you, she couldn't even afford a cremation!"

The escort flashed a ring in my face, all sugary sweet. "I'm broke, but I'll toss in fifty—she's not getting that divorce."

I stared at the ring... then laughed.

Pathetic.

Ten years ago, he promised my dad he'd take care of me. Now he's sliding our wedding ring onto some escort just to make me a punchline.

I laughed again, soft and bitter.

God, I was pathetic too—for letting him wreck me this long.

"I already signed the divorce papers. You just need to sign them too."

I'd said "divorce" 999 times.

This was the first time I meant it—with actual papers.

I slipped off the ring, dropped it on top, and held them out.

His face froze. Like he couldn't believe it.

The shadow he used to drag around was walking away.

Then he smirked and tore the papers in two.

"Still playing that card? Not bored yet? You throw 'divorce' around like it's supposed to scare me. I've been over you—and this joke of a marriage—for years."

I didn't flinch. Just pulled out an identical copy from my bag. "Cool. Then sign."

He shoved the escort away, ripped off his tie, eyes wild.

"Jenna Jensen, every inch of you is mine. Divorce or not. Who'd even want you? Without me, who's paying for your leech of a dad or keeping your braindead mom alive?"

I didn't say a thing.

Just turned and walked.

Mark grabbed me, slammed me against the window.

Pain shot through me—I gasped.