Chapter 5

The Southside Courthouse was quiet when we arrived a little after nine that morning.

We checked in at the family court clerk's office and took our seats in the waiting area. There were two couples ahead of us.

A young couple was arguing in hushed voices, the woman blinking back tears as she jabbed at the man's arm while he kept his head down and said nothing.

Another middle-aged couple sat quietly beside each other, each absorbed in their own phone.

Michael sat straight with both hands resting on his knees.

I leaned back in my seat, staring at the slogan on the wall. [Strong Families, Strong Communities.]

Our case was called a little while later.

We went into the courtroom, where a court clerk checked our paperwork before the judge looked over the file. "You're both asking for an uncontested divorce?"

"Yes," I said.

Michael paused for a moment before answering, "Yes."

"You've both agreed on the division of property and everything listed in the settlement?"

"Yes."

"Yes."

The judge looked over the papers one last time before signing the final divorce decree.

Just like that, our marriage was over.

The clerk handed each of us a certified copy of the final decree. "Keep this for your records. The property division will be handled according to your settlement agreement."

He was already moving on to the next case.

I took my copy. It was thinner than I'd expected.

When I stepped outside the courthouse, the late March sunlight made me squint.

The wind was light, and a few magnolia trees along the street were already in bloom.

I stood on the courthouse steps and took a deep breath.

It wasn't the kind of deep sigh that came from sadness or exhaustion.

It felt more like something inside me that had been blocked for four years had finally opened up.

Michael walked beside me, his pace slow.

He was waiting. He was waiting for me to say I regretted it, to ask if there was someone else, to burst into tears, beg him to stay, or make a scene.

He was ready for all of that.

What he wasn't ready for was me saying nothing.

A minute went by. I pulled out my phone and checked it.

Claire had sent me a message. [Are you here yet? I'm waiting for you in the parking lot, row 3 in Section A.]

I headed across the street.

"Evelyn." He called out from behind me.

I turned around.

He was standing on the courthouse steps, clutching his copy of the divorce decree, his expression complicated.

"Just like that?" he asked. "After four years, it's really over that easily? You don't have anything else to say? You don't even want to ask why?"

I looked at him. The March sunlight made his white shirt look almost washed out.

He wasn't bad-looking. At five foot ten, with sharp features and barely an ounce of extra weight, he was the kind of man most people would consider a good catch.

But it didn't matter to me anymore.

"What do you want me to ask?" I said. "Why you wanted the divorce? Or whether you had someone else?"

"I'm not seeing anyone else," he said quickly.

"Doesn't matter if you are or not," I said, pulling my suitcase. "I've got things to do."

He took a step forward. "Wait. We still haven't found anyone to take care of Mom. Shouldn't you help out?"

"She's your mother. You handle it."

"That's not what I meant. We need to make sure everything is taken care of—"

"There won't be any transition." I looked at him. "As of 9:26 this morning, I have no legal responsibility for her anymore."

He looked like he'd been caught off guard. His mouth opened, then closed again.

I crossed the street.

In the parking lot, Claire's silver-gray sedan flashed its headlights twice. She was leaning against the driver's door, waving at me from a distance. "Over here."

I quickened my pace and walked over.

She took my suitcase, tossed it into the trunk, then looked me over for a couple seconds. "So? He didn't give you a hard time, did he?"

"No. He only asked why I was so quick to agree."

She snorted. "He really thought everyone would fall apart without him. Come on, get in. You're officially free now."

I slid into the passenger seat and buckled my seat belt.

Claire handed me a hot latte. "Low-fat, just the way you like it. Warm you up a little."

I took it. The heat from the paper cup seeped into my palm. "Thanks, Claire."

"Don't mention it." She started the car. "Let's drop your stuff at your new place first, then I'm taking you out for a proper lunch."

The car merged into traffic.

I leaned back in my seat and watched the streets slide past the window. High-rises. Pedestrians. Red lights turning green.

It was an ordinary morning. But for me, it was the first morning in four years when I didn't have to rush to feed someone their medicine, turn them over, or clean them up before a certain time. "Claire."

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for being here for me," I said.

She glanced at me, her voice turning more serious. "Don't say that. If you'd made up your mind sooner, I would've come to get you four years ago."

I didn't answer. I lifted my coffee to my lips and took a sip. It was sweet.