Sienna's POV

A courier hands me a manila envelope on Tuesday morning, and I manage to scrawl my name shakily on the delivery slip. My chest tightens because I know what it contains.

The divorce papers.

For several immobile seconds, I just hold the envelope, staring at it as though it might combust in my hands. Then, with nervous energy, I rip it open.

“Unbelievable,” Celeste exclaims, leaning over my shoulder to get a closer look. “He didn’t even bother to call first? Just signed it and sent it back like it’s a contract negotiation?”

The sheets of official-looking documents feel heavy as I flip through them. In neat legal jargon, it spells out the terms—division of assets, custody agreements—reducing three years of my life to cold, impersonal clauses and inked signatures.

It’s official. My marriage is over. I am officially divorced.

“Well, this works out perfectly,” I declare, the steady tone of my voice somehow shocking me.

Celeste shoots me an incredulous look. “You’re kidding, right? Perfect? As if him ditching you on the highway while pregnant wasn’t enough? Now divorcing you too, without even a conversation? That’s supposed to be perfect?”

“Yes, absolutely.” I neatly stack the papers and set them aside, more resolved with each passing second. “He’s showing me exactly who he is—no ambiguity, no false hope. This makes everything crystal clear. There’s no going back.”

Deep inside, something heavy shifts within me. It's difficult to tell if it’s relief or grief—or both—but the realization hardens my resolve.

“You know what?” I grab my laptop off the coffee table suddenly, a determined spark igniting. “I’m done letting other people dictate my life. It's time I did something for myself.”

“What are you up to now?” Celeste asks, perplexed but intrigued.

“You remember that baking school I mentioned? The one my old baking tutor attended? It's been on my mind lately.” As the screen powers up, I navigate to the school’s website, my pulse quickening. “This is it. Six months of comprehensive training—French pastries, artisan bread, even the business side of things. Everything I’d need to start my own bakery.”

Celeste’s disbelief morphs into excitement. “Wait, you’re serious? Like, actually serious?”

“As serious as I’ve ever been.” I beam, skimming through the program details. “Look at this! They even cover small business management. It’s everything I’ve wanted.”

“That’s what I want to hear!” Celeste slides closer, her enthusiasm contagious. “You’re going to crush this. Parisian chefs won’t know what hit them once you’re done with this program.”

I can’t help but laugh—an authentic, joyous sound I haven’t heard from myself in what feels like months. “You’re laying it on a little thick.”

“Nope. Just facts. You’re damn talented, Sienna. This is your moment to claim that.”

With renewed confidence, I scroll to the application section. My heart pounds as I see the start date hidden among the text. Three weeks. That’s all the time I have to change my life.

“I’m doing it.” I hit the partly completed application I had saved earlier. “I filled most of this out last night. All I need to do now is officially submit everything and pay.”

My fingers move swiftly, adding the final information and double-checking the program rules. Finally, I pull out my credit card, my hands trembling as I type in the numbers. This step is monumental.

I press submit, and the screen flashes red.

PAYMENT DECLINED.

A frown twists my face as I try again. Still nothing. Eyes narrowing, I grab another card from my wallet.

“This has to be a website issue,” I mutter. But my stomach drops when, once again, the transaction is rejected.

My phone buzzes with a new text. Dad.

Your credit cards are frozen until you come home and stop all this foolishness. We need to have a conversation, Sienna.

Hot tears spring to my eyes, blurring the laptop screen. The weight of disappointment wraps around me like an anchor.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I whisper hoarsely.

“What’s wrong?” Celeste places a hand on my shoulder, her concern palpable.

I hold up my phone so she can see Dad’s text. “They froze my accounts.”

“They wouldn’t,” she says, though her expression reveals she already believes they have.

“They did.” The bitter anger spills into my laugh. “The accounts are in Dad’s name. I knew that, but I didn’t think…” My voice falters. “I didn’t think they’d actually do it.”

My phone’s ringtone cuts through the air. Dad’s name flashes on the screen.

“Don’t answer,” Celeste whispers harshly.

But I do. “Hello?” My voice is cold.

“Sienna.” Dad’s voice is both stern and concerned. “Thank goodness. Where are you?”

“I’m at a friend’s.”

“You need to come home. Right now. This divorce nonsense has gone too far. Running away won’t fix anything.”

His words ignite a spark of fury. “Running away?” I repeat, pacing toward the window. “Is that what you think I’m doing? No, Dad. I’m finally moving on.”

“By abandoning your family?”

“Family?” My voice rises. “Which family? The one who disowned me? The one who handed over my inheritance, my husband, and my entire life to someone else?”

“Vivienne is our daughter,” he begins.

“And I’m not.” The words slice through the conversation. “I was temporary. Just a stand-in until the real daughter returned.”

Silence envelops the line. I can almost hear the strain on his end.

“That’s not try—” he starts to say, but his voice wavers.

“I can’t do this anymore.” I cut him off firmly. “I’m done letting you, or Mom, or Jonah dictate my life for me.”

“Sienna—”

I end the call and promptly switch off my phone.

“That was the most badass thing I’ve ever seen,” Celeste declares, admiration sparkling in her eyes. “But… now what? How are you going to pay for school?”

Sliding back onto the couch, I feel the momentary victory fizzle under the enormous weight of reality. “I don’t know,” I admit quietly. “Maybe a loan? Or I guess I could work and save up, but that would take years. By then, I’ll have the baby…” The hopelessness starts creeping back in. “What if I never get another shot at this?”

“Hey.” Celeste crouches down in front of me, her voice gentle but firm. “Listen to me.”

I lift my head, my vision blurred by unshed tears.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” she says resolutely. “I’ll pay for it.”

“What?” I shake my head immediately. “No. Celeste, that’s—”

“Yes.” She pulls out her phone and starts typing. “I’ve got the money, and it’s not up for debate.”

“You can’t! The tuition is fifteen thousand dollars.”

“You think I don’t know that?” She looks up briefly. “And remember when I quit my job to start my marketing firm? You loaned me twenty thousand without batting an eye.”

“That was different—”

“How?” She fixes me with a steely gaze. “You believed in me when no one else did. Let me do the same for you.”

Tears spill freely down my cheeks now, but these aren’t tears of despair—they’re gratitude. Relief.

“I’ll pay you back,” I whisper. “Every last penny.”

“I know you will,” she says softly. “Not because you have to, but because you’re going to succeed.” She holds out her phone, showing me the transfer confirmation. “There. Fifteen thousand. In your account—the one your parents can’t touch.”

My banking app confirms it. Fifteen thousand dollars. My throat tightens as I look up at her. “Thank you,” I say, voice thick with emotion. “Thank you for believing in me.”

“Save it,” she jokes, brushing off the sentiment. “Now get back on that laptop before I change my mind.”

This time, as I enter my payment information, my hands don’t shake. When the screen flashes green and the confirmation email comes through, my lungs finally release the breath I’ve been holding.

“Welcome to Premier Culinary Institute,” the email reads. “Program Start Date: March 15th.”

I let the words settle, the reality sinking in. In three weeks, I’ll be in a new city, charting the course of a brand-new life.

“I can’t believe I’m actually doing this,” I murmur.

“I can.” Celeste grins. “You’ve always been strong, Sienna. You just needed someone to remind you.”

I print out the enrollment email and pin it next to the ultrasound photo on my fridge. One day, my little girl will know her mom fought for her dreams.

“What now?” Celeste asks, still giddy.

“Now,” I say with a soft smile, “I take action.”