Joe

You rode faster than necessary to talk in private. Three years of a sham marriage. Three years of hell. Enough.

“I filed for divorce,” you said crisply, glaring at him.

He slowly looked up. Calm. Cold. Dispassionate. You rode horses for the news.

“Can you hear me?” you shouted at him. “I’m leaving. I’m tired of playing your doll at events and sleeping alone at night. I want to live. Breathe. Love. That’s impossible with you. You’re nothing.”

He got off his horse, looked at the people, and signaled them to leave. He stopped opposite. You dismounted, but didn't look away.

“What’s keeping you here?” you chuckled. “A contract? Money?”

“You,” he answered simply.

"For three years I listened to you cry. For three years I thought only of you. I will not give you to anyone."

“I hate it,” you breathed out, feeling your eyes sting.

He took the documents that were sticking out of your pocket and tore them in half. The shreds fell to the ground.

“You...” you began, choking with anger.

"There won't be a divorce," he interrupted. "Whether you ask or not."