Avery knew when she signed her marriage certificate that she would also be signing her divorce papers. It was simple, almost inevitable. She fiddled with the lace trim sleeve on her crisp white dress. Under her floor length gown hid ivory cowboy boots, the only part of the outfit that felt normal. Dyed blonde hair curled at her collarbones. Dainty fingers took strands of her hair and moved it behind her ear as she wondered if she should've coloured it pink like she originally planned. A delicate silver heart-shaped locket hung from her neck. Avery had it made with his initials engraved on the back so that it would always be touching her skin.
The groom's custom suit was supposed to have her initials stitched inside the left breast pocket of the suit jacket. However, when she picked it up from the tailors, the man behind the counter explained that he had omitted the stitching as per the groom-to-be's request. Eventually, he did have Avery's initials added onto the cuff of his socks after countless, tearful arguments. She had only ever known begging to be loved - how was this any different?
In her bridal room, Avery stared at herself in the mirror of the dressing table - eyes unfocused - as a flurry of bridesmaids tore through the room pulling on dresses, shoes, and jewelry. She remembered the chipped wood of the dining room table in her childhood home. The chaos which surrounded her as she sat silently in the chair. Her mother had not been invited to the dress fittings. Her father had been asked to remain seated when the wedding march played. I was never set up to be gentle, thought Avery. Would he forgive me if I ruined our kids? Would I forgive myself?
The few years which followed that day were filled with a mix of tepid affections and nettled encounters. Adjusting to domestic life took a great deal of time and effort, but she became a decent housewife. Although, there were times where she felt more feral, like a stray. Avery missed being taken care of by someone, yet hated the feeling of wearing a collar. Attentive as he was - which was only when he wasn't working - she found herself clawing at the locked doors when he was gone. Sometimes even when he was home, she felt the outside calling. Her most selfish act would be eating the strawberries, which he had specially brought back from a business trip in Italy for them to share. In the morning, before he returned from yet another
late night at the office, she ate four huge strawberries. Fresh, crisp, and sweet. Avery scarfed them down by the handful, barely savoring the taste, and choked silently on the juice. She had left him the saddest, smallest couple of strawberries and went back to bed without preparing breakfast.
Not even a year later, Avery found herself fiddling with the lace at the skirt of her black dress. Her left ring finger had a tell-tale painful indent of a missing ring. A local newspaper lay open on the table on the page dedicated to the obituaries.