3. A Broken Heart

My heart shattered, the weight of betrayal pressing down on me, leaving me hollow and suffocated. My legs trembled as I struggled to stand, my body aching just as much as my soul. The room seemed to spin, the air thick with humiliation and grief. I could barely look at Peter, let alone form the words that clawed at my throat.

“You’ve already replaced me?” I whispered, my voice cracking under the weight of disbelief. The words felt fragile, as if they would break apart just like I had. “You’re parading her in my house while demanding I sign these papers?”

Peter scoffed, his lips curling into a disdainful sneer. His cold gaze pierced through me, void of any trace of the man I once loved. “This was never your house, Martha,” he said, each word a dagger to my chest. “You were just keeping it warm for someone better.”

The woman, Rachel, as I now knew, chuckled softly, her laugh dripping with malice. Her smirk deepened, her eyes raking over me with contempt. “Don’t take it personal,” she said, her voice a syrupy mockery. “But let’s be real, you’re too fat and ugly to ever be addressed as an Henderson.”

Her words sliced through me like a blade, sharper than anything Peter had said. I blinked rapidly, my vision blurring as tears spilled freely down my cheeks. My chest heaved with silent sobs, the pain tightening its grip on my throat. I turned to Peter, hoping, praying, for some sign that he would stop this cruelty, that he would stand up for me.

But Peter said nothing. Not a single word. His cold silence spoke volumes. The look in his eyes was clear, he wanted me gone. He wanted me erased.

“I trusted you,” I choked out, my voice trembling with pain. Each word was a struggle, a small crack in the dam holding back my devastation. “I gave you everything, Peter. Everything. How could you do this to me?”

Peter rolled his eyes, his expression a mix of irritation and boredom. “Don’t drag this out, Martha,” he said flatly, his tone devoid of any emotion. “Just sign the papers and move on.”

My hands trembled as I stared down at the divorce papers, the sharp black ink blurred by my tears. The reality of the situation crushed me, pressing down on my chest until I could barely breathe. I clutched the edges of the papers tightly, my fingers curling against the smooth surface, but no strength came to me.

“I don’t understand…” I mumbled, my voice cracking under the weight of my grief. “Why are you doing this to me? I know I’m fat, but you always told me beauty lies within, not on the outside.”

Peter’s face hardened, his jaw tightening as his patience wore thin. His eyes narrowed, his tone sharp and cutting. “Martha, stop. You’re embarrassing yourself.”

The words hit me like a slap, hot and stinging. I stared at the papers in my hands, the edges crumpling under my grip. I wanted to rip them apart, to scream and lash out, but my hands were too weak, my spirit too broken. Instead, I let the papers slip from my grasp, watching helplessly as they fluttered to the floor.

“I can’t…” I whispered, my voice barely audible, broken into pieces. “If you don’t want this marriage anymore, at least give me back what you took from me. My parents’ legacy. Everything.”

Peter groaned loudly, frustration boiling over as his fists clenched tightly at his sides. “Enough of this nonsense!” he snapped, his voice rising, but before he could continue, the sharp clicking of heels against the marble floor interrupted him.

The sound was cold and deliberate, each step echoing like a warning.

Mrs. Henderson entered the room with an air of superiority, her sharp gaze sweeping over me as if I were nothing more than an inconvenience. Her lips curled in mockery, and the dramatic roll of her eyes made my stomach churn.

“Why is she still here, Peter?” she said, her tone icy and impatient. “I thought you were going to deal with her.”

Peter glanced at the scattered papers on the floor, his irritation growing. “She’s refusing to sign the divorce papers,” he muttered, his jaw clenching as he shot me an exasperated look.

Mrs. Henderson let out a frustrated sigh as she strode further into the room, her heels clicking sharply against the floor. Her sharp, narrowed eyes flicked to the crumpled papers on the ground, her disdain evident. With a brisk motion, she bent down and snatched them up, her movements precise and deliberate.

She straightened, her towering presence filling the room with an air of malice. Stepping closer, she thrust the papers toward me, her gaze blazing with anger. Without warning, her hand shot out and slapped me hard across my face. The sharp crack echoed in the room, leaving my cheek stinging and my head reeling.

Before I could even recover, another slap followed, harder, sharper, sending a jolt of pain through me. My vision blurred as tears welled in my eyes, the bitter sting spreading across my skin.

“Listen here, you blubber,” Mrs. Henderson spat, her voice dripping with venom. Each word was a dagger, cruel and unforgiving. “My son no longer needs you. Either you sign these papers, or I’ll make you sign them myself.”

I stumbled back, clutching my throbbing cheek as tears spilled freely. My chest tightened, the humiliation crushing me as I turned toward Peter, silently pleading for him to intervene. My heart screamed for him to stop his mother, to speak up, to do something.

But Peter didn’t move. He stood there, his face cold and detached, his indifference like a dagger to my heart. I saw then what I had refused to see for so long, there was no love in his eyes. The man I once believed cared for me had abandoned me completely.

The realization hit me like a wave, knocking the air from my lungs. I was utterly alone. I forced myself to speak, though my voice cracked under the weight of my grief. “How can you do this to me?” I asked, the words trembling with heartbreak. “I loved you… I gave you everything. How could you let this happen?”