Divorce Over Two-Fifty

Sheelagh Sexton

Modern | Completed

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"That will be two dollars and fifty cents," the ice cream vendor chirped, a cheerful end to a warm afternoon. My daughter, Lily, beamed up at me, eyes wide for a rainbow-sprinkled cone. But before my fingers found my wallet, a cold voice cut through the air. "What do you think you' re doing, Ava?" It was Leo, my husband, arms crossed, face a mask of disapproval. He shamed me, publicly, over two dollars and fifty cents. "It' s the principle," he snapped, throwing a five-dollar bill at the vendor. "Consider this an advance. Transfer me one dollar and twenty-five cents by tonight. I' ll be checking." My face burned, my heart twisting as Lily clung to me. That night, I overheard his voice, warm and indulgent, on the phone. "Of course, Sophia. You liked the red one? I' ll have it delivered to your new place tomorrow." He was buying his stepsister a penthouse, showering her with gifts, yet demanding I pay for half of our daughter' s ice cream. The contrast was a physical blow. His love, his generosity, was for someone else. Later, in my small art studio, I typed a search: "divorce papers." I downloaded the forms, each keystroke heavy, final. When I placed the stack on his nightstand, he finally looked up, disbelief twisting his face into an ugly laugh. "A divorce? Don' t be ridiculous. Is this about the car I bought Sophia? Are you that jealous?" "It' s about the ice cream," I said, my voice steady, empty of the tears I' d held back all day. He scoffed, tossing the papers aside. "The ice cream? You want to end our marriage over two dollars and fifty cents? Ava, you' re being hysterical." He didn't know yet. This wasn't hysteria. It was the quiet, steel-edged birth of a rebellion.

Betrayal Revenge Divorce Drama Personal growth

Chapter 12

01-06 20:59

Introduction

"That will be two dollars and fifty cents," the ice cream vendor chirped, a cheerful end to a warm afternoon.

My daughter, Lily, beamed up at me, eyes wide for a rainbow-sprinkled cone.

But before my fingers found my wallet, a cold voice cut through the air.

"What do you think you' re doing, Ava?"

It was Leo, my husband, arms crossed, face a mask of disapproval.

He shamed me, publicly, over two dollars and fifty cents.

"It' s the principle," he snapped, throwing a five-dollar bill at the vendor. "Consider this an advance. Transfer me one dollar and twenty-five cents by tonight. I' ll be checking."

My face burned, my heart twisting as Lily clung to me.

That night, I overheard his voice, warm and indulgent, on the phone.

"Of course, Sophia. You liked the red one? I' ll have it delivered to your new place tomorrow."

He was buying his stepsister a penthouse, showering her with gifts, yet demanding I pay for half of our daughter' s ice cream.

The contrast was a physical blow. His love, his generosity, was for someone else.

Later, in my small art studio, I typed a search: "divorce papers."

I downloaded the forms, each keystroke heavy, final.

When I placed the stack on his nightstand, he finally looked up, disbelief twisting his face into an ugly laugh.

"A divorce? Don' t be ridiculous. Is this about the car I bought Sophia? Are you that jealous?"

"It' s about the ice cream," I said, my voice steady, empty of the tears I' d held back all day.

He scoffed, tossing the papers aside.

"The ice cream? You want to end our marriage over two dollars and fifty cents? Ava, you' re being hysterical."