When my husband's cat sank its teeth into my ankle for the twelfth time, something inside me finally snapped.
"Joshua, today it's either me or the cat. If that animal stays, I go!"
Blood trickled down my skin, staining my sock, yet Joshua didn't even glance at the wound. Instead, he scooped up the hissing creature and cradled it against his chest, soothing it with a tenderness he rarely showed me.
"Paige, it's just a beast. Why take your anger out on him? You startled him."
For a long time, I convinced myself he was simply an animal lover.
That illusion shattered the day the college student Joshua sponsored came to our home for the first time.
The cat, usually a demon in fur, transformed into an angel.
Not only did it drag its favorite toy over to Brooklyn, but it curled up in her lap, nuzzling her hand and purring like a motor.
The scene was too domestic—as if she were the true mistress of this house.
I stood frozen, the realization hitting me like a physical blow: my five-year marriage was over.
——
"Paige? Why are you just standing there? Brooklyn is here—hurry up and cook."
Joshua frowned, nudging me toward the kitchen.
I looked at him, my face draining of color, praying my instincts were wrong. But when I turned back, Brooklyn was scratching the cat behind the ears with practiced ease.
She lifted the creature—the same one I couldn't get within three feet of—and planted a kiss on its nose.
In her arms, Coco was docile as a puppet.
She beamed, eyes crinkling into crescents of pure joy. "Joshua, Coco is just too cute! You've taken such good care of her—she's gotten so much chubbier."
My blood ran cold.
"This is your first time at our house," I said, my voice trembling. "How do you know the cat's name is Coco?"
Brooklyn's smile faltered. Panic flashed across her face, and her eyes darted toward Joshua.
He cut in immediately, voice rising. "I posted about the cat on my feed. Brooklyn probably saw it there."
"Right, yes! Paige, I saw it on Joshua's feed."
His feed?
A sharp, twisting pain bloomed in my chest.
Joshua was a private man, cold and reserved. He detested sharing his personal life online. The only post he'd ever made was the day before our wedding—and only because I'd forced him to invite guests. Even then, he deleted it three days later.
Since then, his profile had been a blank slate. Where would she have seen a cat?
The way their eyes met—a secret, panicked exchange—confirmed everything.
The scene drove deep like a thorn, popping the balloon of my ridiculous seven-year romance and five-year marriage.
Before I could voice the accusation on my tongue, Joshua shoved me toward the kitchen.
"Alright, enough. Brooklyn is a guest. Whatever this is, we'll talk later. Go cook."
He tied an apron around my waist, pressed a perfunctory kiss to my forehead, and turned his back to rejoin her in the living room.
I stood at the sink, turning on the faucet mechanically. The rushing water couldn't drown out their laughter drifting from the other room.
It was the first time I'd heard Joshua laugh with such abandon.
My fingernails dug into my palms until the skin broke.
Suddenly, a sharp scream pierced the air. Coco's claws had accidentally grazed the back of Brooklyn's hand.
Joshua panicked. The man who claimed he couldn't bear to discipline a "beast" slapped the cat hard.
"Coco! Have you lost your mind? If I don't teach you a lesson, you'll be completely out of control!"
Startled, Coco screeched and bolted through the room.
In its frenzy, the cat knocked over the custom Gundam model on the shelf—a gift Joshua had assembled using our wedding photos. It hit the floor with a sickening crunch, parts shattering across the tiles.
When I stepped out of the kitchen, the panicked cat lunged again, biting down hard on my ankle.
I cried out, cold sweat breaking across my back as fresh pain seared through the unhealed wound.
Joshua rushed over with the first-aid kit.
But he didn't stop.
He walked right past me, ignoring my bleeding leg, and dropped to his knees beside Brooklyn.
"Does it hurt? Let me see."
He gently disinfected her hand and applied a bandage. The scratch was superficial—it hadn't even broken the skin.
Meanwhile, my ankle throbbed with pain so intense I could barely stand, yet to him, I was invisible.
In that moment, the last ember of affection in my heart died.
I untied the apron, threw it onto the floor, and looked down at him.
"I want a divorce."
"Joshua, let's get a divorce."
Joshua Delgado's head snapped up, his brow creased in annoyance.
"Paige, what is wrong with you now? Are you seriously competing with a cat?"
His face flushed with irritation. A cold knot tightened in my chest. The gash on my ankle was still weeping blood, but the ache in my heart cut far deeper.
"I've told you before," I said, my voice trembling. "In this house, it's either the cat or me. You can't have both."
"It's an animal, Paige. How can you compare yourself to it?"
"Or is there something about this cat you're not telling me?"
I glanced between him and Brooklyn.
We'd brought Coco home the day Joshua and I started dating. The cat was vicious—biting and scratching everyone who came near. Everyone except Joshua.
Yet whenever we passed strays on the street, Joshua recoiled in disgust. He didn't like animals.
But Coco was different. Despite his cold nature and demanding schedule, he doted on that beast.
I was allergic to cat hair. For seven years, I swallowed allergy pills daily just to survive in my own home, grooming and feeding a creature that loathed me. My arms were a roadmap of scars from her claws.
Joshua never intervened. He let the cat run wild, claiming I was overreacting, that I was petty for disciplining an animal.
But today? Coco had barely grazed Brooklyn, and Joshua lost his mind. For the first time in seven years, he actually struck the cat.
I looked at Brooklyn. Caught the glint of triumph in her eyes before she masked it with fragile innocence. She twisted her fingers together, her voice trembling.
"I'm so sorry, Paige. Did I scare Coco? Is that why she attacked you?" She looked up at Joshua with watery eyes. "Joshua, please... Paige is upset. You should comfort her. I'll just go."
She moved to stand, but Joshua caught her wrist, forcing her back onto the sofa.
"Paige, stop this nonsense," he snapped, glaring at me. "The cat doesn't know any better. Brooklyn finally visits, and you choose now to throw a tantrum? What's the point of this scene? If you're that miserable, then leave."
Tears stung my eyes. After seven years of marriage, it still hurt to be discarded so easily.
"You're kicking me out?" I let out a dry laugh. "Tell me, Joshua. Is this about the cat, or is it about Brooklyn?"
His jaw clenched. He didn't admit it. He didn't deny it either.
Brooklyn blushed, turning to me with an apologetic expression that didn't reach her eyes. "Paige, please. Joshua didn't mean it. He was just worried about my injury..."
"Oh, spare me," I scoffed. "Your Joshua certainly cares, doesn't he? If you hadn't been a minor seven years ago, you'd be Mrs. Delgado right now, wouldn't you?"
Color drained from Joshua's face. His voice dropped to a dangerous growl.
"Paige Swanson! Watch your mouth. You've lost your mind. You're being completely unreasonable!"
I didn't wait for another insult. Grabbing my phone, I stormed out into the night.
I checked into a hotel. Joshua didn't follow. By midnight, my phone remained silent. Not a single call.
Whatever hope I had left turned to ice.
Then a notification popped up. Joshua had posted a Moment.
A photo of him and Brooklyn, heads close together, feeding the cat. They looked like a perfect, happy family.
The caption hit me like a blow:
The Coco we raised together seven years ago has gotten so big. It's been so long, yet she still recognizes her mommy. She really is too smart.
Right below Joshua's post, a new update appeared from Brooklyn Winfield. The exact same photo.
Her caption read: Mommy and Daddy are both here. Coco looks so happy all of a sudden~
I stared at the screen, then tapped the like button and typed a comment with mechanical precision.
What an innocent family of three.
I turned off my phone. The moment the screen went black, the numbness in my chest shattered—a massive void torn open inside me, hollow and unfillable.
Only silence remained. And helplessness.
Once the tremors in my hands subsided, I unlocked my phone again. I needed to contact a lawyer. I needed a divorce agreement drafted immediately.
I navigated back to my social feed, only to find Joshua's post had vanished. Deleted.
In its place, a message from him popped up—an apology unprecedented in our five years of marriage.
"Paige, I spoke too harshly earlier. I apologize. But you know the reality—we're ten years apart. There's absolutely no possibility of anything happening between us. Why drag our names through the mud? What do you want Brooklyn to think?"
Before I could reply, a photo from Brooklyn arrived. Deliberately provocative.
She was wearing my silk pajamas, nestled deep in Joshua's arms.
"Paige, Joshua has liked me for seven years. You were right about one thing tonight: if I hadn't been underage back then, you never would have stood a chance."
"If you want to save face, be sensible and leave now."
"After all, in any relationship, the one who isn't loved is the actual third wheel. You don't want to be the mistress in my relationship with Joshua, do you?"
My fingers hovered over the screen. My vision blurred, hot tears distorting those cruel words.
Two minutes later, I wiped my face. I wouldn't give her the satisfaction of my silence. I'd put a period on this farce myself.
I typed: "I'm withdrawing, but not because I admit defeat. I simply don't compete with animals for scraps."
The insult hit its mark. Brooklyn's composure cracked, and she flooded my phone with more intimate photos.
Joshua blow-drying her hair. Joshua cooking for her. Joshua kissing her...
A stinging soreness spread behind my eyes. I recognized these acts of service—the very things I'd done for Joshua over the last seven years.
I loved him, so I served him willingly.
Now the roles were reversed.
My mind drifted back seven years. Brooklyn Winfield was the bright-eyed girl I'd met while volunteer teaching in the mountains. She had grit and clarity in her gaze that I admired. Ignoring Joshua's objections, I'd taken half my salary to sponsor her education.
Joshua, cold by nature, disliked getting involved in other people's karma. His attitude toward Brooklyn had always been indifferent—neither warm nor cold.
Or so I thought.
Brooklyn was sixteen then. The moment she received the first smartphone I bought her, she posted a status saying she wanted to raise a cat.
That same year, Joshua—who supposedly hated pets—suddenly brought a cat home. Unprecedented. He'd offered only one short explanation.
"It's pitiful."
The realization hit me like a physical blow. He hadn't been talking about the cat.
I thought of Brooklyn's social media history. Every year, on the anniversary of Joshua adopting Coco, she posted an update. I'd never connected the dots until now.
Year 1: "One year old. You said the gap between us is too wide. Just wait—I'll catch up to you. Wait for me to grow up, okay?"
Year 2: "Two years old. He says it misses me. I don't know if he means the cat... or himself."
Year 3: "Three years old. He wants to give it a complete home, but I'm still too young. I can't give them a home yet."
Year 4: "Four years old. He came to find me. The night of my twentieth birthday... it hurt a little, but I was so happy."
Today marked seven years since he brought the cat home. Seven years since he and Brooklyn...
The memories crystallized. The subtle changes in Joshua over the years suddenly made sense—a dull, rusted knife sawing through my flesh, leaving me nowhere to hide.
My stomach lurched.
I scrambled to the bathroom, collapsing in front of the toilet. I hugged the porcelain and dry-heaved until my throat burned with bile. Tears and mucus streamed down my face.
Only when the spasms stopped did a terrifying thought strike me.
My period was a week late.
I didn't sleep that night. Early the next morning, wearing dark circles like bruises, I headed out the door.
