Crestfallen [COMPLETED]

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ - 49

Joanna

I sit across the Scrabble board on our dining table.
A smirk plays on my lips as I bask in the glory of my impending victory.
Alex shoots me a sideways glance, his eyes twinkling with amuse
ment. I know he's plotting a comeback, and I'm ready for the challenge.

The doorbell interrupts our game, and I excuse myself to answer it.

There's a parcel.I sign the form and bring it inside. It's a document enclosed in an envelope. Maybe a file of one of my cases. I open the envelope casually.

My eyes widen, my body shakes. As my trembling fingers close around it's edges.
It's the divorce papers.

I remember now. I had sent petition, a few weeks ago but had completely forgotten about them.
It's from the office. Jason sent them to me.

"What is it Jo?"Alex asks across the room.

"Nothing" I shout sliding the papers back inside.

He walks over to the living room. His gaze falls on the file in my hand.

"Looks like something," he asks warily.

"Nothing," I begin to leave. But he grabs my wrist turning me to face him.
He takes a glance all over my face, as if trying to gauge my expressions, me.

"Show me," he demands extending his hand. And I unwillingly keep the file in his hand.

He removes the envelope and pulls out the document. His jaw tightens, the calmness on his face minutes ago, gone.

"Divorce papers?" he questions, his voice heavy with hurt.

I stammer, trying to explain that I had intended to cancel the petition, but my words fall flat.

His eyes darken, and I can feel his resentment there.

I desperately try to take the divorce papers from his grip, my heart racing with the urgency of the situation.

"Alex, give me the papers, I will send them back," I plead, my voice trembles with fear.

But he's unmoved, his eyes fixed on the document in his hands. There's an intensity in his gaze that I've never seen before, something I can't quite decipher.

His words cut through the air, and I'm struck by their bitter edge.

"Your boyfriend sent these. Looks like he can't wait enough to get rid of me," he says, his voice laced with a hint of bitterness, his jaw clenched in apparent anger.

My heart tightens painfully at his words, the hurtful accusations landing like blows.

Tears well in my eyes. But I try to hold back.

"He's not my boyfriend," I retort, my voice shaking with frustration.

"Then what is he? Why does he know where we live? Why did he send you this?" His tone is accusatory, and he shoves the divorce paper closer to me, his face etched with anger and hurt.

I can't help but feel defenseless under his scrutiny, as if all my vulnerabilities are laid bare.

"Have you brought him here, to our home?" he accuses me.

A tear slips down my cheek, and I'm overwhelmed by a sense of helplessness.

The anguish in his eyes, the anger in his voice—it's all too much to bear. It's breaking my heart.

"Did you meet him after you left me and our home behind?
Did you sleep with him again?"

His questions stabs at the wounds that are still fresh.