Chapter 5
Regina stopped replying. Ten minutes later, she updated her social media feed.
There were only two photos. The first was her acceptance letter from the Ithaerynian Academy of Arts. The second was a view from the window of the old studio in the Hudson Manor.
Outside, the leaves of the old crabapple tree had all fallen, its branches outlined against the dusk sky.
On the windowsill, a tube of freshly opened paint was squeezed onto the palette, a gentle yet stubborn shade of dusty pink.
The caption read: [The air of a fresh start feels amazing.]
Walter stared at those photos for a long time.
He remembered that, years ago, when Regina got her acceptance letter from the Ithaerynian Academy of Arts, she snapped a picture just like this and rushed to his tiny startup office.
Her eyes sparkled as she said, "Walter, I can help you out while I'm in school!"
He felt that she had the prettiest smile back then.
His phone buzzed again. Alma sent him a private message, flooding the chat with crying emojis. [Walter, did you see what she said?
[I was just trying to make peace, and she went and humiliated me...]
He didn't reply right away. Instead, he opened Regina's social media feed. To his surprise, she hadn't blocked him.
There wasn't much there. The latest post was from half a month ago. It was a close-up of an unfinished fine brushwork piece.
Before that, there were a few photos of home-cooked meals. The caption read: [Davy jad an extra plate of food today.]
And that was all.
Before the divorce, her social media feed was almost all about Davy and family. Now, all of that was gone.
Alma called, her voice trembling with emotion, ""Walter, do you think I was wrong to post on social media? I was just so happy that I wanted to share our home with my friends..."
Walter said, rubbing his temples, "Don't worry about it. Get some rest."
After hanging up, Walter pulled up Regina's latest post again. He recognized that tube of dusty pink paint in the photo. It was her favorite shade, "Twilight Purple."
She always said it looked like the final edge where darkness would meet light before dawn.
Suddenly, he remembered that, in their tenth year of marriage, Regina had carefully asked him, "Walter, once Davy starts elementary school, would it be alright if I started painting again?"
He'd been overwhelmed with fundraising back then, so he just brushed her off. "It's not like we need the little bit of money you'd make. Why bother painting?"
After that, she never mentioned it again.
The night wind slipped in through the window, bringing with it the bite of late autumn. Walter turned off his phone, and as the screen went dark, he saw his own blurred reflection staring back at him.
He was thirty-eight, successful, and about to welcome a new life into his world.
He was supposed to be the textbook definition of a winner.
But somehow, that emptiness inside him kept getting bigger.
On the last morning of the divorce cooling-off period, Regina walked into the City Hall at ten sharp.
She picked a seat by the window, took out her biennale proposal from her bag, and continued revising it. The soft, rhythmic sound of her pen moving across the paper was calm and steady.
At half past ten, Walter still hadn't shown up.
By eleven, their appointment number was skipped on the number board in the lobby.
A staff member walked over and asked, "Miss, is your husband still coming? Do you want to give him a call?"
Regina said, glancing at her phone, "It's fine. He'll be here."
At noon, the revolving door finally spun open. Walter strode in, dressed in a sharp dark gray suit, not a hair out of place.
He scanned the lobby, and when he spotted Regina by the window, his brow instinctively furrowed.
He said as he walked over, his tone showing little real apology, "Sorry, got caught up in a last-minute meeting. Did you wait long?"
Regina closed her folder and stood up. "Let's go. They can still process it before their lunch break."
Walter was caught off guard by how calm she was, his excuses just died in his throat.
He thought he'd see her upset, maybe hurt, maybe even crying.
But Regina simply grabbed her plain canvas bag and headed for the marriage registration window, walking so steadily it was like she was just taking a casual stroll.
The paperwork was done in no time. The staff member printed, stamped, and handed over two small maroon booklets, saying in a mechanical tone, "Congratulations on being single again."
As they walked out of the divorce office, the autumn wind swept up a carpet of fallen leaves.
Walter stopped on the steps and lit a cigarette. The smoke drifted away in the breeze as he glanced at Regina. "Davy said he wants you to take him to the zoo this weekend."
She said, pulling out her planner, "Sure. I'll pick him up at two on Saturday and have him back by four."
Walter hesitated. "So, you really don't have anything you want to say to me?"
Regina finally looked up at him. Her eyes were completely emotionless, like still water.
She shot back, "Say what? Am I supposed to congratulate you on your new marriage?"
Walter was caught off guard, his breath hitching. He stubbed out his cigarette, his voice low. "Regina, is this really how you want to act?
"No matter what, we're still Davy's parents, even after the divorce."
Regina replied with a nod, "I know. I'll stick to the visitation schedule, and you handle your parental responsibilities. There's no need for anything else."
"You..." Walter stepped forward, reaching for her wrist, but Regina smoothly pulled away, avoiding his touch.
His hand froze awkwardly in midair before he withdrew it. Walter's gaze fell on the emerald bangle around her wrist.
Back when they were married, he'd called it too old-fashioned and told her to put it away. Now, after the divorce, she wore it every day.
"So you really hate me now?" Walter's voice was low.
Regina said, her smile cool and distant, like the first frost in autumn, "I don't hate you. Hating someone takes too much out of you. I'd rather put my energy into things that are actually worth it."
With that, she walked down the steps. Parked by the curb was an old white sedan, a secondhand car she'd bought with the money from selling her paintings.
Before getting in, she glanced back at him. "Oh, and by the way, Davy's allergic to mangoes. Alma might not know. Just make sure to let her know."
Regina closed the door, started the engine, and drove off, slipping into the city traffic without looking back.
Walter stood there, watching the white car disappear around the corner. His phone buzzed in his pocket. It was a message from Alma. [Is it done? I made soup at home. I'm waiting for you.]
She also sent a photo of her ultrasound report, the image blurry. The caption read: [Our family of three.]
Walter stared at the photo for a long time, and suddenly his mind drifted back to twelve years ago.
When he and Regina came to this office to get their marriage certificate, it was late autumn as well.
She wore a red sweater, her smile radiant, hands trembling as she signed. When they stepped outside, she grabbed him for a selfie on the steps and said, "Walter, you have to treat me well forever, okay?"
He said, "Okay."
The wind swept through, sending plane tree leaves tumbling to the ground. Walter tugged at his tie, feeling an odd discomfort, like that maroon divorce booklet in his pocket was burning against his skin.