Brandon stared at Evelyn’s face on the divorce certificate.
And suddenly, the memory of the first time he brought her home came rushing back.
His mother had been sitting on the living room couch, a scowl carved deep into her features as she gave Evelyn a cold once–over. The teacup clattered sharply as she set it down.
“This is the girl you’re dating?” she said, voice dripping with disdain.
Evelyn had sat up straight, posture tense, but her fingers quietly clenched the hem of her blouse.
“Mom,” Brandon had wrapped an arm around her shoulders, firm and unapologetic, “I’m marrying her. Whether you approve or not.”
He remembered the teacup shattering on the floor as his mother hurled it in rage.
But he didn’t look back. Just held Evelyn’s hand and walked out with her.
That night, it had rained.
They found shelter in a small roadside diner, her hair soaked and clinging to her cheeks.
“Do you think your mom’s ever going to like me?” she asked, voice soft and uncertain.
He had taken her freezing hands and tucked them into his coat pockets. “Who cares? I like you. That’s
enough.”
Back then, Evelyn would blush at a single compliment. She’d sneak into his office at night with homemade food. She’d scold him for drinking too much but still make him hangover soup.
Brandon’s hand unconsciously traced the photo on the certificate.
And then… everything changed.
That came the call at the worst possible moment. They had just made love. She was nestled in his arms,
warm and content,
When his phone rang, she’d pouted for once, whispering, “Don’t answer it tonight, okay?”
He hesitated–but eventually silenced it.
The next morning, a call from the hospital had doused him like ice water.
His mother had suffered a cerebral hemorrhage. Because no one answered her earlier call, they’d missed the best window for emergency treatment.
She was now paralyzed.
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In the hospital, his mother had clung to his hand, sobbing. “If it wasn’t for her–if she hadn’t stopped you from answering-”
He turned and saw Evelyn standing silently at the door, her face pale as death.
Nothing was the same after that.
He started working late more often–anything to avoid the war zone his home had become.
Every time he opened the door, it was either his mother screaming or Evelyn quietly cleaning vomit from the
carpet.
“Can’t you just cut her some slack?” he snapped one night. “She’s sick.”
Evelyn had been ironing his shirt. At those words, her hand trembled. The iron scorched the sleeve.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I’ll buy you a new one tomorrow.”
He looked at her then–and noticed just how thin she’d become.
Her once–fitted pajamas now hung loose on her frame, her wrist bone jutting out pale and fragile.
“Have you been eating properly?” he asked.
She nodded without turning, still ironing. “I have.”
Eventually, he got used to the way things were.
Got used to coming home to her tired face. To his mother’s relentless cruelty. To Evelyn’s growing silence.
Until that wedding day.
He’d been walking down the aisle with Vanessa on his arm. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Evelyn, in plain dress, standing in a far corner.
She didn’t cry out. She didn’t beg.
She just cried, Quietly. Without wiping her tears,
For a second, something had tugged at his heart.
But the officiant had begun speaking, and the moment passed.
Now, staring at the divorce certificate, Brandon suddenly realized it had been a long time since Evelyn last
smiled at him.
When was the last time?
Maybe… six months ago?
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He had come home early for once. Found her asleep on the dining table, head resting on her arm. The food she’d made was already cold.
When he picked her up, she blinked groggily and gave him a sleepy smile.
“You’re home.”
But then his mother had called for him from upstairs. He laid Evelyn back down and went to check on her.
By the time he returned, the table had been cleared. Evelyn was in the kitchen doing the dishes.
Brandon shot to his feet.
He rushed to the closet, yanked the doors open.
Her clothes were still hung there. Unmoved. Untouched.
As if a part of her still lingered.
But she… was already gone.
She hadn’t taken anything.
His breath caught in his throat.
He remembered what Vanessa had asked him last night, “Do you regret getting married?”
And he had said it, carelessly, cruelly, without thought: “I do.”
Now, finally, Brandon understood what regret really felt like.
It was unbearable.
