I No Longer Have Love to Offer You - Chapter 1

“I want a divorce.”

Hearing those words, Mirabelle stared at her husband seated across from her.

The man she’d seen just this morning now seemed like a different person after barely half a day.

Warm sunlight streamed through the wide-open window, casting shadows across his face.

Only Mirabelle and her husband, Ricardo, were in the sunroom. The butler and servants had been dismissed. This was meant to be a rare tea time for just the two of them.

On the table before them sat a cup of tea, barely touched.

The financiers prepared as sweets were Ricardo’s favorite, something Mirabelle had specifically ordered to make their time together special.

Since childhood, she had adored his face—the face she now studied.

“May I ask why?”

Her voice, though she intended it to be calm, came out slightly strained. She was shocked at how deeply the words had shaken her.

She had always known this day might come. She had prepared herself for it.

“Marietta has left my brother.”

With that single, blunt statement, Mirabelle understood everything.

Ricardo never referred to his sister-in-law as “sister-in-law.” No matter how many times anyone corrected him, he stubbornly called her by her name—a habit from their childhood.

He had probably never once considered how Mirabelle felt about it.

“I want to support her from now on.”

A divorced woman had few options. She could return to her family home (though it would invite gossip), enter a convent, or quickly arrange a new engagement and move into her new husband’s household.

“Does my sister-in-law agree to this?”

“She won’t be coming to this house. If she returns to her family, people will talk.”

“If you’re divorcing me, does that mean you’ll be engaged to her?”

“Nothing’s been promised yet. But she’s agreed to live with me, so she must understand.”

Did she, though? Marietta was, at best, innocent and pure at worst, thoughtless. She might see Ricardo’s offer as nothing more than a childhood friend’s kindness.

(Even if she does feel differently, if Marietta says it’s fine, there’s nothing I can do. In Ricardo’s heart, she comes first.)

“…Even if she’s left my brother, you won’t be able to marry her for at least half a year.”

“Of course, I know that. That’s why we must divorce now otherwise, it won’t work.”

Nobles were forbidden from remarrying within six months of a divorce. The rule existed to ensure that, should a child be born, there would be no question of paternity.

Engagements, however, were different. One could announce a new engagement immediately, and the bride could even move into her new household under the pretense of “bridal training.” But if a child was born within those six months, it would legally belong to the previous husband.

“I see. Understood.”

What else could she say?

For Ricardo, divorcing Mirabelle was already a foregone conclusion. Of course, he couldn’t simply leave without explanation, so he had made time to inform her.

But this wasn’t an apology. It wasn’t a discussion. It was merely a statement of fact.

“When will my sister-in-law arrive?”

“Her divorce was finalized last week, so she’ll likely come here within the week.”

Only three days remained.

Ricardo must have acted the moment he learned of his brother’s divorce. He had confirmed Marietta’s feelings, made all the arrangements, and only then told Mirabelle.

(My feelings never mattered to begin with.)

The thought made her chest ache sharply.

A love nurtured for so long, treated carelessly, was wearing thin. Worn down, frayed until all that remained was a tattered rag.

“Very well. Then I shall leave before she arrives. That doesn’t leave much time. How will we handle the divorce paperwork?”

She spoke mechanically, afraid of what might spill out if she didn’t. The emotions she had suppressed threatened to break free, so she clenched her hands tightly in her lap.

“No, stay until Marietta arrives.”

“Why?”

Mirabelle had no desire to see Marietta under these circumstances.

She would act as if nothing had changed, but Mirabelle wasn’t sure she could maintain her composure.

“If you leave without seeing her, she’ll blame herself. She’ll think you left because of her.”

“…So you want me to greet her, to ensure she feels welcome in this house?”

The words came out sharper than intended. Ricardo’s brow furrowed, and Mirabelle sighed inwardly.

“That’s uncalled for. Do you want her to feel uncomfortable?”

“You’re right. I spoke out of turn.”

She didn’t truly believe that. If anything, she wanted to say more. But she had long since accepted that no words would ever make Ricardo understand her.

And she knew why he wanted her to greet Marietta.

He didn’t want it known that his divorce was prompted by Marietta’s separation from his brother. If she knew, she might hesitate to rely on him.

Of course, if Marietta returned his feelings, she might not care but judging by Ricardo’s uncertainty, he wasn’t confident of that.

Either way, this divorce was entirely for his own sake.

“I always thought you were considerate. Was I mistaken?”

The barbed remark made her bite her lip. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to stay calm.

“That wasn’t my intention. I apologize.”

Her repeated apology eased his displeasure.

“As long as you understand.”

With that, Ricardo took a sip of tea, as if relieved.

Silence fell. At a loss, Mirabelle picked up her own cup but the tea had gone cold and bitter.

(Just like my feelings.)

Warmth had once brought happiness. Now, chilled, it only weighed her down.

“Ah, about the divorce papers…”

Ricardo reached into his jacket and produced a folded document. Mirabelle recognized it immediately.

“I thought it best to prepare them in advance.”

(How thorough. How long has he had these ready?)

As she watched, he set the papers on the ornate occasional table beside a quill. The stark document looked out of place.

His signature was already in place.

“You want me to sign them now?”

“The terms won’t change. It’s more efficient this way.”

He wanted it done as soon as possible.

Before Marietta arrived, he wanted the divorce finalized so he could welcome her as a free man.

(Then there’s no need for me to meet her.)

Introducing his ex-wife to his future fiancée was in poor taste.

But she understood why. Mirabel, too, had been Marietta’s childhood friend. Ricardo didn’t want lingering resentment between them.

Not for Mirabelle’s sake, of course but for Marietta’s.

If Mirabelle left without a word, Marietta would fret, insisting she never meant to cause trouble.

That would inconvenience Ricardo and worse, risk displeasing the “pure,” “well-meaning” Marietta.

This was damage control.

(How absurd.)

Her own position, that is.

The discarded wife. The woman whose husband’s affections had been stolen by his sister-in-law. The servants would whisper, no matter how well-trained they were.

(Not that it matters anymore.)

The quill felt strangely cold in her hand.

Her fingers were freezing.

The only sound in the quiet room was the scratch of the pen. She took longer than usual, her trembling hand producing a shaky signature.

Mirabelle Hylas

(This is the last time I’ll write this name.)

Once she finished, Ricardo carefully took the document.

“I’ll let you know when Marietta arrives.”

With that, he left the sunroom.

Watching his retreating back, Mirabelle accepted the truth: she had always been left behind, watching him walk away.

That was the day she was told of her divorce.

The day Mirabelle decided to shed her past and become someone new.