The Disposable Lives of Molly Moon

Chapter 1

- Emma -

I stood outside Marcus's study door, holding the tray of his favorite coffee and the cake I'd spent three hours making. Today was our third wedding anniversary. He'd forgotten, of course, but I wanted to surprise him anyway.

"She's pathetic, really." Marcus's voice drifted through the slightly open door. "Following me around like a lost puppy. I can barely stand to look at her sometimes."

My hands froze on the tray. He was on the phone. Talking about me.

"No, I don't think Mother knows how I really feel. She thinks I care about Emma." He laughed, but it was cold and cruel. "The truth? I never wanted her. Not for a single day. Can you imagine being tied to someone so... ordinary? So desperate for affection?"

The tray shook in my hands. Three years. Three years I'd loved this man with everything I had.

"Of course I'm still seeing Jessica. She's the only reason I can get through each day. Emma? She's just... there. Like furniture. Necessary but completely forgettable."

I heard him sigh deeply.

"Look, I married her because Mother was dying and begged me to. She said Emma needed someone to take care of her, and Mother needed peace before her surgery. What was I supposed to do? Let my mother die thinking I'd disappointed her?"

My knees felt weak. Margaret, his mother, had recovered from her surgery two years ago. But Marcus had stayed married to me. Why?

"The divorce?" Marcus continued. "I can't yet. Mother's will has some stupid clause about staying married for five years or I lose everything. Two more years and I'm free. Then Emma can go back to being nobody, and I can finally be with the woman I actually love."

The tray slipped from my numb fingers. The coffee splashed across the hardwood floor, the cake smashing into pieces. Marcus yanked the door open, his phone still pressed to his ear. His eyes widened when he saw me.

"Emma..." He ended the call immediately.

I stared at him. This man I'd shared a bed with. This man I'd cooked for, cleaned for, waited for every night when he came home late. This man I'd given my whole heart to.

"How long have you been standing there?" he asked, his voice sharp.

"Long enough." My voice came out as a whisper.

He ran a hand through his perfect black hair. "Look, you weren't supposed to hear that."

"So it's okay as long as I don't know?" I laughed, but it sounded broken. "As long as I keep being the pathetic wife who doesn't know her husband despises her?"

"Don't be dramatic, Emma. I don't despise you."

"No, you just can't stand to look at me. I'm just furniture to you."

He actually rolled his eyes. "What do you want me to say? That I love you? We both know this marriage was arranged by my mother."

"I loved you," I said quietly. "I've loved you since the day we met."

"That's your problem, not mine." The words were so casual, so cruel. "I never asked for your love. I never wanted it."

I bent down and started cleaning up the spilled coffee with shaking hands. The cake was ruined, chocolate and cream mixed with coffee on the floor. Just like our marriage. Just like my heart.

"Leave it," Marcus said impatiently. "The maid will clean it."

"We don't have a maid. I clean everything." I kept wiping, needing something to do with my hands.

"Whatever. I'm going out."

"To Jessica?"

He stopped walking but didn't turn around. "That's none of your business."

"I'm your wife."

"On paper only. Remember that, Emma. You're my wife on paper, nothing more."

He left, and I sat there on the floor surrounded by coffee and ruined cake. The front door slammed, followed by the sound of his car driving away. To her. To the woman he actually loved.

I don't know how long I sat there. Eventually, I got up and walked to our bedroom. No, his bedroom. I was just allowed to sleep there. I pulled out my old suitcase from under the bed. It was the same one I'd brought when I moved in after our wedding. I'd never really unpacked it fully, as if some part of me always knew this day would come.

I didn't have much that was truly mine. Some clothes, mostly cheap things I'd bought before marriage. Marcus had bought me expensive dresses, but they weren't really mine. They were costumes for playing the role of his wife. I left them all hanging in the closet.

I packed my mother's old jewelry box, the only thing I had from my birth parents who died when I was five. Inside was a simple silver ring and some faded photographs. I packed the few books I'd bought with my own money. My phone charger. My toothbrush.

It all fit in one suitcase. Three years of marriage, and my whole life fit in one suitcase.

I wrote a note and left it on the kitchen counter:

"Marcus, you're free now. I won't make you wait two more years. I know the will says five years, but I won't take anything from you. I never wanted your money. I only wanted you to love me. Since that's impossible, I'm leaving. Tell your mother I'm sorry. Tell Jessica she wins. Don't look for me. Emma"

I called a taxi and stood outside with my suitcase. The house looked so beautiful in the afternoon sun. I'd planted roses in the garden last spring. They were blooming now, red and pink and white. I wondered if anyone would water them.

"Where to, miss?" the taxi driver asked.

I didn't know. I had no family. No real friends. Marcus had been my whole world. The orphanage where I grew up had closed down years ago. I had about three hundred dollars in my personal bank account. Marcus handled all our finances, and I never questioned it.

"Just... downtown, please. Any cheap hotel."

The driver looked at me in the mirror. "You okay, miss?"

"I will be," I lied.

The hotel was old and smelled like smoke. Forty dollars a night was all I could afford for a few days while I figured out what to do. The room was small, with stained walls and a bed that creaked. But it was mine, paid for with my own money.

I sat on the bed and finally let myself cry. Deep, ugly sobs that shook my whole body. I cried for the girl who had believed in love. I cried for three wasted years. I cried for the future I'd imagined with Marcus, children, growing old together, a real family.

My phone rang. Marcus's name appeared on the screen. I declined the call. It rang again immediately. And again. Then texts started coming.

"Where are you?"

"Emma, come home right now."

"This is ridiculous. Stop being childish."

"You can't just leave."

"Answer your phone!"

I turned it off and curled up on the uncomfortable bed. Tomorrow I would look for a job. Any job. Tomorrow I would start over.

But tonight, I would mourn the death of my marriage and the loss of the only man I'd ever loved.

I fell asleep in my clothes, my face still wet with tears. I dreamed of Marcus calling me pathetic, of Jessica laughing, of being invisible in my own home. I woke up at three in the morning, confused about where I was. Then I remembered. I wasn't Mrs. Chen anymore. I was just Emma. Nobody.

The phone stayed off. I didn't want to hear his voice or read his messages. He was probably angry that I'd left before the five years were up. Angry about the money he might lose. But he'd never be sad about losing me. I was just furniture, after all. And furniture was replaceable.

The next morning came too soon. I had to check out by noon and find somewhere cheaper. Maybe a shelter, if they had space. I turned on my phone to look for job listings, and it immediately exploded with notifications. Forty-three missed calls from Marcus. Fifteen from Margaret. Twenty texts.

The latest one made my blood run cold:

"Emma, I know about your inheritance. I know who you really are. Come home NOW or you'll regret it."

What inheritance? What was he talking about? I was an orphan. I had nothing.

My phone rang. Margaret's name this time. Against my better judgment, I answered.

"Emma! Thank God! Where are you?" She sounded panicked.

"I left, Margaret. I'm sorry, but I can't do this anymore."

"Emma, you don't understand. You need to come back. It's about your parents. Your real parents."

"They died when I was five."

"No, dear. That's what everyone was told. Emma, your twenty-fifth birthday is next week."

"So?"

"So that's when you inherit everything. The Blackwood fortune. Ten billion dollars. But only if you're still married."

The phone slipped from my hand and landed on the floor.