Did she really say divorce? She couldn’t have . . . right?

When her gaze lifts to mine, her mouth thins, and with no expression in her eyes, she repeats, “I want a divorce.” She opens one of her vanity drawers and pulls out a yellow envelope and sets it on the countertop.

“What the fuck is that?”

Still dead in her eyes, she says, “Divorce papers. I had them drawn up last week. I’m asking for absolutely nothing. I don’t want your money—”

“Our fucking money,” I say.

“It’s your money, Ryot. You’re the one who played in the Major Leagues, and you’re the one who cashed in on the endorsements, so that’s your money, not mine. And I’m not about to sit here and argue with you about it. I don’t fucking want it. All I ask is to keep my car and half of the sale from the house in Chicago since I’m the one who did the renovations.”

“Hold the fuck on for a second,” I say, trying to wrap my head around all of this. “You want a divorce?”

“Yes. Everything is done. You just need your lawyer to look it over and then sign it.” Everything is done? When did she start?

“The fuck I will,” I say, moving closer to her. “I’m not about to sign divorce papers without knowing where all this is coming from. I love you, Myla—”

“Don’t, Ryot. Don’t say that shit when you don’t mean it.”

“Of course I mean it!” I shout. “Don’t fucking tell me how I feel.”

“If you loved me, then we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

“Maybe if you talked to me—”

“I did,” she yells. “Several times, Ryot. You haven’t been paying attention. You’ve been so focused on life after baseball and how you can satisfy your drive to be successful. Meanwhile, you’ve forgotten about me. You’ve forgotten about our life. You’ve forgotten your promises, and no amount of communication will take away the bitterness I have toward you for that.” She pushes off the sink and blows past me.

“Myla, wait—”

“Sign the papers, Ryot. End this for us, so we can both move on.”

And then she’s out of the bedroom and halfway out of my life.

* * *

“Wow, you look like absolute shit,” Banner says as he sits across from me at Café Lola with coffees in hand for both of us.

After Myla retreated from the bathroom, I tried to coax her to talk to me, but she shut down once again. Last night was the first time we chose to sleep apart since we were married. When I woke up this morning, the divorce papers were on her pillow with a note that said, “Sign them today.”

I tossed them to the floor and told Banner to meet me in half an hour.

With my thumb and index finger, I rub my tension-filled brow. “Myla asked for a divorce last night.”

Cup midway to his mouth, Banner pauses. “What the actual fuck? Is this some sort of prank?”