Phoenix Of Ruin: My Second Life Comes With A Better Man

The clock on the wall struck nine, and Gloria's husband still wasn't home.

She forced a smile and turned toward her daughter. "It's getting late, sweetheart. Let's go to bed."

Seven-year-old Annabel sat curled up on the couch in her pink Barbie birthday dress, her eyes fixed on the front door as if sheer will could make it open. The balloons Gloria had tied around the living room drifted quietly above her head, their ribbons swaying with each hum of the air conditioner.

"No," Annabel said softly. "Daddy said he'd come before we cut the cake."

Gloria's chest tightened.

"He will," she replied gently, stroking her daughter's hair though her throat felt dry. "Maybe he got stuck in traffic."

Annabel didn't argue, but her little fingers twisted the fabric of her dress anxiously. They'd been waiting since five. At first, Annabel had raced to the window with every flash of headlights. By seven, she'd started asking when her father would arrive. By eight, she'd stopped asking altogether.

Now she just waited.

Gloria couldn't take it anymore. She walked over and knelt in front of her daughter, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Come on, baby. We can blow the candles tomorrow morning with Daddy, okay?"

Annabel's lower lip trembled. "Mommy, did Daddy forget?"

The question stabbed Gloria's heart like a knife.

"No," she said quickly. "Daddy would never forget you."

But even as the words left her mouth, Gloria knew she was lying. Victor had forgotten plenty before-school events, family dinners, anniversaries. Promises.

Still, Annabel nodded weakly and let her mother carry her to bed. She wrapped her little arms around Gloria's neck and clung tightly, as if afraid she might vanish too.

"I wanted to make a wish with him," Annabel whispered against her shoulder.

"I know, baby," Gloria murmured, kissing her hair.

After Annabel fell asleep, Gloria stayed beside her for a while, staring at the tear tracks on her cheeks. She wiped them gently with her thumb and removed the Barbie outfit, which Annabel had been eager to show her father earlier. Gloria's heart ached with guilt and helplessness.

When she returned to the dining room, the birthday cake sat untouched on the table, the seven candles still unlit. Victor's chair was empty.

Again.

Gloria picked up her phone and stared at his name on the screen for a long moment, deciding whether to call him or not, before pressing the call button.

He answered after the fifth ring.

"Hello?" Victor's voice came from the other end of the phone. He was breathing very hard, like he was running a marathon.

Gloria's stomach dropped. She knew what Victor was doing.

"Victor," she said, trying to keep her voice steady, "where are you? Annabel waited for you."

There was a short pause.

"I'm busy tonight," he replied.

Gloria tightened her grip on the phone. "She sat by the door for four hours. She wanted to cut the cake with you."

"I'll make it up to her," he said impatiently. "Just buy her something. Use the card."

Gloria's chest tightened. She could not believe what she was hearing.

"She didn't want something," she whispered. "She wanted her father."

A woman's laugh suddenly echoed through the line.

"Oh my God," the woman said loudly. "Is that your ugly wife again?"

Gloria's body went still.

Victor muttered something she couldn't hear, but the woman didn't bother lowering her voice.

"Seriously? You're still talking to her?" she continued. "We were in the middle of something, and I was about to cum before you stopped."

The words hit Gloria like ice water. Images flashed through her mind: lipstick on his collar, late-night "meetings," the afternoon she had received a text message from an anonymous number urging her to go to the Pacific Hotel, room 201, that Victor was in trouble. Only for her to go there and see Victor naked, buried deep inside his secretary.

He'd cried that day. Begged for forgiveness. Promised it would never happen again. Apparently, it had.

"Hey," the woman suddenly said, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. "If you're asking when he's coming home, don't bother. He's staying with me tonight, and I might allow him to come back tomorrow if you beg me."

Gloria's fingers shook so badly she had to grab the edge of the table to steady herself.

Victor didn't deny it. Didn't apologize. Instead, he sighed. "Don't start drama, Gloria. Just take Annabel out to have some fun."

"Drama? Our daughter cried herself to sleep," Gloria said, her voice trembling despite her effort to stay calm. "It's her birthday."

"I said I'll handle it. I was doing a very rigorous exercise before your call interrupted me," he replied coldly. Then the call ended.

Gloria stood there staring at the dark screen, her heart pounding so hard it hurt. For a moment, the house felt suffocatingly quiet.

A tear slipped down her cheek and fell into the glass of wine in her hand. She let out a bitter laugh.

What was she still hoping for? That he'd change? That he'd become the man she'd married eight years ago, before the long hours at work turned into excuses, before the charm faded into indifference?

Her eyes drifted to the papers on the table. The divorce documents her lawyer had brought over that morning.

She'd taken them out earlier that evening after putting Annabel to bed, telling herself she just wanted to look at them.

Now they felt heavier than anything she'd ever held. If she signed them, everything would change. Her mother would be disappointed-Victor was her mother's favorite son-in-law. Any time she complained about Victor, her mother was always quick to take his side: "All men cheat, so stop whining."

Gloria knew people would gossip and Annabel would grow up in a broken home. But then she heard her daughter's voice in her head again: "Mommy, did Daddy forget?" And Gloria realized the truth-the home was already broken.

She picked up the pen with a shaky hand and signed her name: Gloria Anderson. She stared at her signature and her name under it. Anderson was Victor's surname, and now that she's divorcing him, she doesn't need his surname anymore.

Her chest tightened as she slowly and deliberately crossed it out, replacing it with her maiden name: Zachary. Tears slipped from cheeks and landed on the papers.

"I'm doing the right thing for my daughter." Gloria muttered to herself.

Victor's head throbbed as he stepped out of his car, staggering. His white shirt was covered with red lipstick stains.

He'd had a wild night in the hotel room with Rosa, his secretary and one of his numerous side chicks. Compared to the other girls, Rosa was different. They'd been together for two years, and all his employees and some of his business partners knew about their affair.

But recently, Rosa had become too greedy and jealous. She wanted a wedding ring. She wanted to be his lawfully wedded wife. God knew he'd never elevate his mistress to that status; she wasn't worth it. She was only worth satisfying his cock.

He smiled to himself as he remembered how wild Rosa had been in bed last night-they'd had sex all night. And this morning, Rosa had started with her nagging for marriage. Victor shook his head, and the ache worsened. Maybe he shouldn't have drunk so much, but Rosa had been throwing a fit. He replayed the morning's events in his mind.

"Just divorce that ugly bitch already," Rosa shouted. "You don't love her anymore, right? You don't even like her! You can't even stand to look at her for more than ten seconds! You're still with her because of your daughter, right? I can take care of your daughter if that's what's still holding you back from divorcing your wife."

Victor scowled. He knew he would never divorce his wife, so whenever Rosa brought it up, he brushed it off or shut her down.

"She's still a good wife, and she hasn't wronged me in any way," Victor replied. "She just changed and became fat after giving birth to our daughter, and the public sees me as a devoted husband. A divorce would be terrible for my image right now."

It was ironic, but he always defended Gloria whenever Rosa brought up the topic of divorcing his wife, and Rosa could not understand why.

Rosa scowled. "It would also be bad press if I leaked our affair to the tabloids, or what do you think?"

Victor shot her a menacing glare, and Rosa quickly added, "Oh, come on. You'd have me as your new wife-that's a huge upgrade! And for the chores, you can just hire help! I'm too pretty to stay at home and do house chores."

She rolled her eyes and poked his chest. "I've been with you for two years. Don't be so indecisive! Don't tell me you still have feelings for that ugly wife of yours?"

Victor stayed silent, as if her words didn't deserve a response. Rosa stamped her foot on the floor, but he ignored her.

"I'm warning you," she hissed. "I won't put up with this forever. I want us to get married! I want a big diamond wedding ring, and make sure it's impressive!"

Victor didn't even glance back at her as he lit a cigarette.

Rosa tied her hair into a ponytail, snatched her bags, and stormed out of the hotel room, angrily slamming the door. Victor winced. His head pounded, but he poured another shot of gin as he gazed at the city below. "What do women truly want?" he asked himself.

He didn't want to go home and face Gloria-heck, he couldn't even stand her presence-but he owed it to his daughter to check in. It was his duty as a father, and he had to fulfill it.

Victor pulled into the garage. He was drunk to stupor, but right now, he just wanted to see his precious daughter, Annabel.

A pang of guilt hit him for missing her birthday. He'd been too wrapped up with Rosa to think of anything else last night.

He entered the living room and scanned for Annabel.

But only his wife, Gloria, sat on the couch, her face a blend of fury and disappointment, with a wine glass in her hand, which surprised him-since when did Gloria start taking alcohol?

"Finally, you decided to come back home," Gloria greeted, her voice icy. "Do you know what time it is? I'm surprised you made it back. I thought you'd forgotten us entirely."

Victor clutched his head as her voice aggravated his hangover. He was not in the mood to make small talk with her.

He approached her. "Where's Annabel? Call her here. I want to take her out and spend time with my baby girl."

"Oh, you remember you have a daughter? Well, she's at my mom's right now," Gloria replied. "She didn't get the birthday she deserved, so I let her celebrate with my sister and cousins."

Victor frowned. "Why did you take her there? We always celebrate Annabel's birthday together. I just missed one day, and you already sent her to your sister's house! Are you trying to make me look like a bad father in front of my daughter?"

"One day?!" Gloria said angrily, glaring at him. "Victor Anderson, do you realize you've been gone for six months? You only came back home once in the last six months, and you came back to pick up a few of your clothes, not to see Annabel! If you want to spend your time with that secretary, just leave!"

"Oh, shut up, Gloria. I don't have time for this crap! So what if I fuck my secretary? That doesn't mean I'm not worn out from work. You should be grateful that bitch is taking care of your husband. Arguing with you just drains me more!" Victor snapped. He was already irritated. He had come home to see his daughter, not to hear Gloria's endless complaints.

"Worn out from work?" Gloria bit her lip. Her fists were clenched; she was tempted to strike him. But she had a bigger plan. After a sleepless night and tears, she was done holding things together.

The family she had fought so hard to preserve had shattered when she'd signed those papers.

In the past six months, she would lie awake every night, hoping that Victor would come back home. She would rush to the window at every car sound, hoping it was him.

But it never was. He had been with his secretary all the while, neglecting his real family.

Gloria snatched the divorce papers from the table and thrust them at Victor's chest.

He staggered back, bewildered. Squinting through his haze, he struggled to read the fine print.

"What the hell is this?" he demanded.

"Let this fix it," Gloria said. "It's our divorce paperwork. I've signed my part. You just need to do yours. You can call your lawyer to over the agreement since you're clearly hungover? And I want to have full custody of Annabel.

Victor's mind snapped into focus, his vision and hearing sharpening instantly. He frowned, staring at Gloria in disbelief.

"Yes," she said venomously, forcing herself to appear confident and unyielding, not the desperate wife he always dismissed. "I won't repeat myself again. I want a divorce."

Victor had cheated on her and stopped having sex with her since she was six months pregnant. He complained that she had gotten fat and had stretch marks all over her stomach. Gloria clung to that betrayal to steel her resolve. She wasn't the one at fault.

But God knew how her heart ached as she thrust the papers at him. One signature from him, and their marriage would end.

"You want to divorce me?" Victor asked. He was obviously shocked; he never expected his obedient wife to ask him for a divorce.

The word ignited something in Victor. He blinked rapidly, scanning the document. And it was real, a legitimate divorce filing.

Gloria meant it, but divorce was the last thing on his mind. He would never let her go, no matter what.

Victor craved the stability she'd provided. Despite his affairs, he had given her a life of comfort, the kind most women envied. How dare she demand a divorce? His mother never asked his father for divorce, despite his father cheating on his mother countless times. In fact, his father used to bring his mistresses to his matrimonial bed, and his mother would serve them diligently without complaining. So how dare Gloria ask for a divorce?

With wealth, she could have whatever she pleased-a yacht, designer wardrobes, anything. Yet Gloria was frugal, never extravagant enough for him to criticize. Money was his only leverage as a man.

"Is this about money?" Victor asked, waving the papers dismissively. "If you're upset because I slept with someone else, treat yourself. Buy a new bag, a dress, a car-you have an unlimited gold card. Buy whatever you want. Just drop this nonsense." That was how his father used to shut his mom up.

"If this is a joke, Mrs. Gloria Anderson, it's not funny. Go to the kitchen and make me a hangover soup. My head is pounding; that secretary of mine wore me out."

"I'm not Gloria Anderson anymore, you idiot," she snapped, snatching the papers back and pointing to her signature. "I'm using my maiden name now. See for yourself. I want nothing to do with you." Mr. Victor Anderson.

Victor squinted at the name: Gloria Zachary. She was dead serious, and it baffled him. Divorce him? In her dreams.

"Fuck this," he muttered, his headache pounding harder with every word she spoke. "I'm not in the mood for your crap, Gloria. Stop being stubborn; it will only make me angry with you. I gave you everything you need: money, stability, a fucking roof over your dumb head. What more do you need?"

Gloria clapped a hand over her mouth, stunned. He still couldn't see her side, couldn't fathom the pain he had been inflicting on her and their daughter.

Ten years of marriage, eight of them pure agony.

He'd confined her to the role of dutiful housewife, raising their daughter while he chased other women outside, never questioning his movements, and he acted as if it were nothing.

"I gave you a secure life, a beautiful home, and our daughter!" Victor shouted proudly. "So stop all this nonsense right now and tell me what you really want. This divorce blackmail ends now! Enough of your silly joke."

"I WANT A FUCKING DIVORCE, YOU BASTARD!" Gloria screamed, slamming her fist on his chest.

But she was petite, her blows harmless against his solid frame. Victor's irritation flared. He seized her wrists, squeezing hard enough to make her gasp in pain.

Leaning in close, his face mere inches from hers, he repeated his question, as if she hadn't heard him.

"You want a divorce? Don't be foolish. Let me remind you of your roots, you ungrateful bitch. I pulled you out of poverty. You were broke when I met you in high school; you couldn't even afford your college loans. You and your poverty-stricken family have lived off my money since we married, so if you think you can survive without me, then you need to have a rethink.

"Gloria, you're just a housewife. You are only good at taking care of the house chores and our daughter, so leave the decision-making to me. I'm doing you a favor," he pressed, convinced his words would break her. "Sure, I have my flings, but I have never brought any of my mistresses to our matrimonial home, where Annabel and you could see them. And it didn't stop the money flowing to you both."

"So, what will it take to end this divorce charade? You'll be left with nothing if you push it. Besides, you are already 30 years old; where do you want to start from?"

Gloria gazed at the man she had loved since high school, the one she'd given her body and heart to, the father of her child, the one who'd vowed eternal fidelity.

Tears welled in her eyes, one slipping down her cheek despite her efforts to control it.

"Love and respect."

"What?"

"I need love and respect from you, Victor Anderson," she said firmly.

For once, Victor was at a loss for words. The words felt alien, unheard from her lips in years. He thought she would ask for something else.

"Victor Anderson, look me in the eyes and tell me the truth: Do you still love me? Do you see me as your rightful wife? Why do you keep hurting me over and over again? Tell me why you hate me so much."