Leaving Love for Freedom

I woke before the sunrise on our fifth anniversary, my heart fluttering with anticipation. For months, I'd been secretly working on Vincenzo's gift—a portrait capturing our happiest memories together. The morning light filtered through our bedroom curtains as I slipped out of bed, careful not to wake him.

In the kitchen, I prepared his favorite breakfast: eggs benedict with freshly squeezed orange juice and the aromatic Italian coffee he loved so much. The table was set with our wedding china, a small vase of red roses at the center. Everything had to be perfect today.

I heard his footsteps on the stairs and smoothed down my silk robe, suddenly feeling nervous. Five years of marriage, and still my heart raced when he entered a room.

"Happy anniversary," I said, my voice soft with affection as he appeared in the doorway.

Vincenzo stood there in his tailored suit, already dressed for work. His dark hair was perfectly styled, not a strand out of place. But something in his expression made my smile falter—a coldness I'd been noticing more frequently these past months.

"I have something for you," he said, his voice devoid of the warmth I craved.

My fingers instinctively went to my wedding ring, twisting it as I often did when anxious. "I have something for you too. But let's eat first while it's hot."

"This can't wait." He placed a manila envelope on the table, pushing aside the roses I'd arranged so carefully.

"What's this?" I asked, though something in me already knew—a premonition settling like ice in my stomach.

"Your anniversary gift." His lips curled into what might have been a smile on anyone else. "Divorce papers."

The world seemed to tilt beneath me. "Is this some kind of joke?"

"I've never been more serious, Maria." He loosened his tie slightly. "I want a divorce so I can have a proper seven-day romance with Kaiya Bell."

Kaiya Bell. His new intern. Twenty-three years old with honey-blonde hair and eyes that widened with practiced innocence whenever he entered the room. I'd seen her at the company Christmas party, hanging on his every word.

"Seven days?" I repeated, my voice sounding distant to my own ears.

"Yes. Seven days to experience what real passion feels like again." He checked his watch. "I've invited her for dinner tonight. I expect you to be civil."

I stared at the breakfast I'd prepared with such care, now growing cold between us. "You want me to host dinner for your mistress? In our home?"

"Our home for now," he corrected. "And yes. It's the least you could do to make this transition smooth."

The least I could do. As if I owed him this final humiliation.

That evening, I found myself setting the dining table for three, my movements mechanical. The doorbell rang, and Vincenzo rushed to answer it with an eagerness I hadn't seen directed at me in years.

Kaiya floated in wearing a white dress that screamed false innocence, her perfume filling