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Atlas

I was on the way home from grabbing a delivery from Kairi’s post office when my phone rang.

I exhaled sharply before answering. “What?”

My mother sighed, the condescension immediately dripped from her voice when she spoke, as if I was the one in the wrong.. “Ashlen wants to speak to you.”

I kept driving. “Why?” I knew why, it had been two weeks since I told her to help fix the mess she created. She was lucky she called me today. First thing Monday I was going to close credit cards, next would have been her checking account.

“She’s signed the divorce papers. I convinced her,” she said.

I knew it wouldn’t, she wouldn’t jeopardize her lifestyle for anyone.

I hung up before my mother could say anything else. I wasn’t talking to her right now—maybe never again.

I went straight to the condo Ashlen was now living in. I knew she wouldn’t be able to put up with living with my mother for long.

When Ashlen opened the door, she looked wrecked. Her hair was up in a messy bun, her robe half-tied like she’d barely rolled out of bed. Wine bottles littered the coffee table, clothes tossed carelessly on the couch. That was another thing I wouldn’t miss—cleaning up after her.

She didn’t say anything right away.

She just threw a stack of papers at my chest.

I caught them easily, letting them slap against my palm as she folded her arms, watching me with nothing but contempt.

“There,” she spat. “That’s what you wanted, right? Congratulations, Atlas. You’re free.”

I barely glanced at the papers. “Are you retracting the lies, too?”

She let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “Oh, fuck you.”

I stepped inside, closing the door behind me. “No, Ashlen. Fuck you.”

Her arms tightened over her chest.

“You never loved me,” she whispered. “Did you?”

I didn’t answer.

She laughed, shaking her head. “Jesus Christ. Say it.”

Her nails dug into her palms, leaving crescent-shaped marks as she struggled to keep her hands to herself.

“I didn’t fucking need to. You wanted money and prestige.”

She lost it.

Her hands flew at me, swinging wildly. I caught her wrists, tight, pushing her back against the wall before she could land anything.

“Don’t,” I warned.

She struggled, breath ragged, her chest rising and falling fast.

“You made me feel like I was the problem,” she spat, her body vibrating with anger. “Like I was never good enough.”

I let go of her, stepping back. “You weren’t. I married you for all the wrong reasons, and you knew it. You stuck around—that definitely makes you not good enough. You’ll never be good enough for anybody if all you want to do is use them. And don’t get me wrong, I am in no way innocent in this clusterfuck we created, but you’re also not a victim.”

“I am a victim. I went through hell for you,” she hissed, her voice breaking. “I carried babies you wanted, bled for you, suffered for you—”

I wanted to laugh. I was not the one scheduling sex appointments during ovulation or begging her best friend to be a surrogate. She was playing the downtrodden, jilted wife.

She stepped forward, her nails biting into her own skin. “Every time I lost a baby, I knew,” she whispered. “I knew it was because of you. Because you didn’t want it.”

“Make up your mind, Ashlen. Did I want the babies or not?” I swallowed down the mean things I really wanted to say.

“You never loved me,” she changed the subject. “Not once. Not for a second. And every time I miscarried, I felt it. I knew my body was rejecting you, rejecting this, rejecting a fucking lie.”

I didn’t blink. “We weren’t supposed to be together, Ashlen.”

“Why her?!” she screamed. “Why does she get the fucking fairy tale? Why does she get to have your love, your baby, your fucking everything?!”

I stared at her. Unmoved. Done.

“She doesn’t get my love, Ashlen,” I said, my voice low, steady, lethal. “She already had it. And you knew it. You’re just mad,” I continued, “because you can’t stop me from loving someone else.”

Her breathing hitched. Her anger rippled through the air, but I wouldn’t give her the space to speak.

I took one last step toward her, towering over her.

“Ashlen,”

A man’s voice called from somewhere inside.

Ashlen froze.

I shook my head, letting out a laugh.

“You’re fighting me,” I said, grinning, “when you could be getting fucked.”

Her nose flared, her mouth opened—but nothing came out.

“What? No smart-ass remark? No righteous indignation? You got another poor bastard tangled up in your bullshit, and you still want to fight over our long-dead-ass relationship.” I shook my head. “This is over. It all ends here. The harassment, the TikTok posts. Don’t make me do something we’ll both regret,” I said, voice flat.

Then I turned and walked away.

For good.