Ten years vanished like a fleeting dream, only to have my runaway bride reappear in a whirlwind of power suits and stilettos. Her demand was simple, delivered with the detached air of neighbors discussing an overdue lawnmower: sign the divorce papers.
I’ve always considered myself a solitary soul. And technically, I was still married. My wife had simply vanished from our wedding a decade prior.
Each year brought the same crisp envelope. A different prestigious law firm, new embossed initials, the same glossy, expensive folder – her unwavering commitment to aesthetics, even in the sterile realm of divorce proceedings.
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I’d slit the seal, skim the legal jargon halfway through, let out a weary sigh, and consign it to the growing collection in my desk drawer. A decade’s worth of these missives, a morbid anniversary calendar of our phantom marriage.
That particular morning unfolded with its usual rustic charm. I was wrestling with the recalcitrant tractor in the barn, the spring thaw having turned the ground into a muddy quagmire. My work glove had a gaping tear, and the ever-mischievous dog had, as usual, buried its mate in some unknown corner of the property. Advertisement
All was as it should be. Tranquil. Serene. The air, crisp and clean, carried the mingled scents of fresh earth and woodsmoke. A symphony of life, real and unpretentious.
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Reaching into the weathered metal mailbox, I retrieved a familiar sight: an envelope. But this one bore a new detail – elegant gold initials. A different firm. Progress, in its own strange way.
“Well, hello, Mel.”
My loyal dog, Buster, offered a soft bark, a silent acknowledgment of the familiar ritual. We understood each other in the quiet language of companionship these days.
“Think I should sign it, boy?” I mused aloud, settling onto the porch steps with my steaming mug of coffee.
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Buster responded with a hearty sneeze. A wise canine indeed. As I pondered the annual request, Billy, my childhood friend and fellow farmer, ambled up the driveway, his presence announcing itself with the familiar aroma of ripe apples and diesel fuel.
“So, she sent you another one of her ‘love letters’?” he quipped, a playful smirk dancing on his lips as he deposited a basket of freshly baked bread on the porch.
“Yep. Volume Ten. Thinking of auctioning the whole set off someday. A collector’s item, you know?”
“Still not giving in?”
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“Nope. I stand by my principle. If you want to end something significant, have the decency to say it in person. No need for shouting or legal theatrics. Just be honest, face-to-face.”
Billy sighed, a thoughtful expression clouding his features. He seemed on the verge of saying something profound, then abruptly changed his mind.
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“Better get going. Looks like rain’s brewing, and I left my tarp back at the orchard.”
“You’re wearing a leather jacket, Billy.”
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“That’s not a tarp, Jake – it’s a statement.”
And with that enigmatic pronouncement, he departed, leaving me to my coffee, my canine confidant, and yet another formal farewell.
I retreated inside the comforting embrace of the farmhouse. Everything was in its familiar place, a testament to the quiet routine of my solitary life. I tossed a few more logs into the crackling stove, scratched Buster behind his floppy ears, and switched on the old radio – the one constant that hadn’t abandoned me over the years.
And then, I heard it.
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First, a low, insistent engine hum. Then, the unmistakable squeak of suitcase wheels dragging across gravel. Finally, the sharp, decisive click of high heels on the uneven path. I stepped onto the porch, my senses on high alert. And there she was.
Melanie. Her once long, flowing hair was now styled in a sleek, sophisticated bob, but her eyes held the same sharp intelligence I remembered. She carried herself with a newfound confidence, yet her gaze held a flicker of something familiar, as if no time had passed at all.
“Hi, Jake.”
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A ghost of a smile touched my lips, but a knot of something unreadable tightened in my chest.
“Well, well, Melanie. Finally decided to come and ask for an autograph in person?”
Melanie crossed the threshold, her presence filling the small space with an energy I hadn’t felt in a decade. Her eyes, sharp and assessing, scanned the wedding photograph perched on the mantelpiece.
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“You still keep that?” she asked, a slight nod towards the framed image.
“Yep. Nice photo. And the frame wasn’t exactly cheap either.”
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Her gaze drifted from the mantel to the familiar plaid throw blanket draped over the armchair. The same one we used to playfully fight over on chilly, rainy nights. Her manicured fingers brushed against its soft texture, then paused, a hint of something wistful in her touch.
Melanie then turned her attention to the kitchen shelves, where rows of mismatched jam jars stood in neat order.
“Is that… blueberry?”
“Yeah. From that summer when the wild berries went crazy behind the barn.”
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Melanie offered the faintest of nods, but I caught the fleeting shimmer of moisture in her eyes before she quickly looked away. Straightening her tailored suit, she smoothed an invisible wrinkle from her sleeve and reached for her expensive leather briefcase.
She settled at the worn wooden table, the polished surface a stark contrast to her sharp attire, and extracted the familiar legal documents.
“Jake, I’m serious. My wedding is in two months. I need everything signed, finalized.”
I sat down opposite her, the years of silence a palpable presence between us.
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“The groom wants to ensure there are no lingering… attachments?”
“He believes I’m single. So, please, don’t make this any more complicated than it already is.”
“Have you ever been completely honest with me, Mel?” Advertisement
“Oh, don’t even start, Jake.”
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“Fine. Not starting. Just… observing.”
She unfolded the papers with a decisive snap and laid them out before me. I gave them a cursory glance.
“Old version. Outdated. Doesn’t even mention the farm.”
“Well, I just… assumed…”
“That nothing had changed? Big surprise, huh?”
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Her composure finally flickered, a spark of the old Melanie igniting in her eyes.
“Jake, I didn’t drive all this way for your passive-aggressive remarks. I came because I’m tired of this silent charade. I want to end this like a mature adult.”
“A mature adult doesn’t wait a decade to address unfinished business. A mature adult doesn’t run off the night before the honeymoon and communicate solely through sterile legal documents.”
She stood abruptly, her hands visibly trembling on the tabletop.
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“If it’s money you want, Jake – just say so. How much will it take?”
“Money?” I scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. “You think I’ve waited ten years for a financial settlement?”
“Then why, Jake?! Why haven’t you signed these damn papers?” Advertisement
“Because you still haven’t offered a single, honest explanation for why you ran. I have my principles, Melanie.”
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“Oh, Jake, that was years ago. Everything is different now. I’m different.”
I rose to my feet, the worn floorboards creaking beneath my boots.
“Yeah, things have changed. I built a life here. Something tangible. A business. And by the way, everything I have, I earned while we were still legally married. Officially. Even that lakeside lot you always admired. And those two prize-winning cow-show trophies? Still within the bounds of our ‘fake marriage.’”
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She stared at me, her composure momentarily shattered.
“By law, half of it is yours,” I stated, my voice firm. “But I’m not handing it over to someone who only dared to communicate through annual mailings.”
“You… you’re blackmailing me?”
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“No, Melanie. I’m offering you a choice. I’ll sign those outdated papers if you formally and legally waive any claim to my assets. At a notary. All above board. But we’ll need to update the paperwork. That takes time.”
She sank back into her chair, her initial defiance replaced by a calculating look. “Fine. How long?”
“A week. Maybe two. This isn’t Manhattan, Mel. Around here, the internet connection relies on a sturdy oak tree.”
“Then I’m staying. Technically, this is still my house too.” Advertisement
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“Technically – yes,” I sighed, a hint of resignation in my voice. “But you’re on dinner duty. I have a rather severe allergy to your elaborate flower petal salads.”
“And I, Jake, have a chronic intolerance to dust bunnies and inflated male egos.”
We locked eyes for a long, tense moment, the unspoken history hanging heavy in the air. Then, I turned and headed towards the pantry, breaking the charged connection. Melanie, her offense palpable, ascended the creaking stairs, her briefcase clutched under her arm like a weapon, as if she’d come here to conquer, not to converse.
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I knew that carefully constructed silence wouldn’t last.
Truthfully, the outdated divorce papers were just a flimsy excuse to keep her here a little longer. A desperate attempt to finally inject some much-needed honesty into the wreckage of our marriage.
Because despite everything, despite the years of silence and the impending wedding, I still harbored a stubborn affection for that infuriating woman. Whoever she had become.
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Days on the farm, usually filled with a comforting rhythm, now crawled by with agonizing slowness, mirroring the strained silence between us.
Melanie spent the majority of her days venturing into town, desperately seeking a reliable Wi-Fi signal, a lifeline to her meticulously planned New York life. Meanwhile, I busied myself with the familiar tasks of the farm – cleaning the house, tending the overgrown yard, and planting vibrant petunias in the weathered pots on the porch.
Billy stopped by one afternoon, his keen eyes taking in the unexpected tidiness of the property. Advertisement
“This place hasn’t looked this good since your wedding, pal.”
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“Oh, I just… finally had some time to myself,” I mumbled, avoiding his knowing gaze.
“Careful, Jake. Someone might actually fall for you.”
“Cut it out, Billy. Not Melanie. That ship sailed a long time ago.”
Billy tilted his head, studying me with an expression that suggested I’d just declared the sky was a vibrant shade of chartreuse.
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“Jake, don’t be a damn fool. She’s here. That has to mean something.”
“She’s here because she needs a signature on a piece of paper.”
“Then sign the damn paper! Or don’t. But for the love of all that is holy, talk to her. Ask her to dinner. Do something other than fixing fences and muttering to your dog.”
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That evening, I found Melanie in the pantry, her slender fingers tracing the spines of the dusty boxes I’d stored there.
“What are you doing?” I asked, my voice surprisingly calm.
“Looking for tea. But I stumbled upon this archaeological dig.”
“You always had a knack for unearthing things best left buried.” Advertisement
“And you always had a talent for hiding what truly matters instead of confronting it.”
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“I wasn’t hiding anything. I was… postponing. The time wasn’t right.”
“Not right?! Jake, I’m getting married! Married! To a real, present, grown man!”
“Oh, sweetheart, I’m sure he’ll be absolutely thrilled to learn his bride-to-be was rifling through her legal husband’s pantry.”
“You just can’t accept that I left! That I changed! You cling to the past like a worn-out jacket that hasn’t fit in years!”
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“And you cling to some idealized version of your ‘new self’ until you’re forced to actually look in the mirror. Have you ever truly considered the impact of what you did, Melanie? I can’t reconcile the woman I loved with someone who could vanish like that!”
“Oh, I slept just fine, Jake! I didn’t have to burrow under three blankets because someone never bothered to fix the drafty windows!”
“You never once mentioned those damn windows bothered you! Not a single word!”
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“Oh, maybe because it was glaringly obvious?! You never asked what I wanted! I wanted more than this, Jake! A career! The energy of the city!”
“You could have told me, Melanie. We could have sold this place, packed our bags, and moved to New York together. I would have followed you anywhere.”
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“Oh yeah? And what about the small fortune you poured into ‘building our future’ on this farm the day before the wedding? You think I didn’t see that contract? That was the final straw, Jake! You said nothing about it, just assumed I’d happily embrace your rural dream!”
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“And you did? You said nothing either, Melanie! Not about your ‘big city dreams,’ not about the damn windows!”
“I’ve had enough! No wonder I ran. I haven’t even been able to properly communicate with my fiancé for two days because there’s no decent cell signal out here!”
“Oh. You probably connected to the old, broken router. I actually have two – forgot to mention.”
“You! How dare you!”
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She slammed the pantry door with a resounding bang. The house plunged into absolute darkness.
“What in the…?” I frowned, my eyes struggling to adjust to the sudden void.
“I… might have accidentally knocked that old switch,” she stammered, her voice laced with a nervous tremor.
“That ‘old switch,’ Melanie, was the main breaker. And it’s now officially broken. Congratulations, Mel, we’re in the dark.”
“Wonderful! Absolutely magical!” she exclaimed, her voice rising in exasperation. “No light, no running water, no conceivable reason to continue living!”
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“Let’s try to avoid melodramatic pronouncements,” I muttered, fumbling for a flashlight in a nearby drawer.
I headed outside, the cool night air a stark contrast to the charged atmosphere inside, and started building a small fire pit. Melanie eventually joined me, huddled on the porch bench, wrapped in my old, worn flannel shirt. Without makeup, her hair pulled back in a messy bun, she looked… real. For the first time in what felt like an eternity.
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“You hungry?” I asked, skewering a piece of chicken I’d found in the fridge.
“Starving. But if you offer me a can of beans, I swear I’ll hitchhike to the nearest motel.”
“Barbecue. Real fire. Your dad’s old recipe, actually.”
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She offered a small, almost imperceptible nod.
“Mel…” I began, the years of unspoken words hanging heavy on my tongue, but I couldn’t quite find the right ones.
“Don’t, Jake. I don’t even know what to think anymore. But it’s… peaceful here. Cozy, even. You’ve turned this old place into something… magical. I miss that in New York.”
“It’s not too late to stay, Melanie. I always knew your spirit was too wild and untamed for a cramped city apartment, no matter how luxurious.” Advertisement
I chuckled softly. “Yeah… I only truly understood that after I’d finally achieved everything I thought I ever wanted.”
“Well, there are plenty of forests and fields out here to calm the rebel in you, Jake.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice barely audible above the crackling fire. “I ran because I was terrified of being trapped here forever. That my ambitions would wither under the weight of diapers, early mornings, and the endless demands of a farm you were determined to build.”
“Oh, sweetheart, I never intended to make you a prisoner. I only ever wanted to make you happy.”
We sat in comfortable silence for a while, the only sound the gentle crackling of the fire and the chirping of crickets.
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Then, a sudden, unexpected laugh escaped Melanie’s lips.
“Remember that hideous green sweater I accidentally shrunk in the wash? Your ‘favorite’?”
“It was an abomination.”
“But it was warm!” she giggled. “And it smelled like you.”
“Melanie… All these years, I couldn’t comprehend… why? We were so deeply in love. I still…”
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Suddenly, bright headlights illuminated the yard, cutting through the darkness.
“Were you expecting someone?” I asked, a knot of unease tightening in my stomach.
Melanie’s face paled visibly.
“No… No, it can’t be…” Advertisement
A tall, impeccably dressed man in a tailored coat emerged from the sleek car, a phone pressed to his ear. His slicked-back hair and judgmental stare screamed ‘New York.’
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“Melanie! Finally, I found you!” he barked into his phone, his voice carrying across the yard. “What on
