Chapter 8: Final Signatures

6.

He was used to my silence on the phone and chuckled to himself.

The sound grated, too familiar. I bit my lip, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of a response.

“Emmy, you’re really too cute.”

There was a mockery in his tone, as if he thought I was still his to tease, his to keep.

“I told you, it’s all just an act.”

He sounded smug, like a magician revealing the trick behind the curtain.

“So,” he sounded cheerful, “let’s keep up the act. Come with me to the county clerk’s office for the divorce decree tomorrow?”

I held the phone.

I listened to my own breathing, slow and measured. I thought about the way the moonlight looked on my packed suitcases.

“Emmy, don’t worry, it’s just—”

“Okay,” I said.

The word cut him off. My voice was steady, sure. I felt a quiet kind of power rising in my chest.

“Whoa~~~”

There was a burst of jeering from the other end.

I could hear the voices of his friends—shouting, laughing, daring him on. Their noise felt distant, irrelevant.

I hung up.

The silence after was pure relief. I stared at my reflection in the window, saw the resolve in my eyes, and almost smiled.

Sent him the time on Messenger.

The message was short, businesslike. I didn’t wait for a reply.

The next day, I got up early.

The sky was still gray. I packed a breakfast bar and two bottles of water, my nerves too jumpy for real food.

Derek was late as usual.

I sat in the lobby, watching the clock, the receptionist tapping her nails on the desk. The minutes crawled by.

Probably because of Madison, there was a shallow bite mark at the corner of his mouth.

He wore it like a badge, but pretended nothing was wrong. I looked away, my cheeks burning.

He pretended nothing was there.

I focused on the posters on the wall—reminders to register to vote, get your flu shot. Anything but his face.

I pretended not to see.

There was a small mercy in letting the lie linger.

The process was even smoother than last time.

No one asked questions. The clerk just stamped the forms, slid them across the counter. It was over before I could blink.

It took less than five minutes.

It felt anticlimactic, almost surreal. Years together, ended with a signature and a stamp.

“Emmy, I’ll give you a surprise tomorrow.”

Derek lightly kicked my calf.

His sneaker nudged my leg, playful and entitled. I didn’t flinch.

I put away the divorce decree. “Derek, are you free tonight?”

My voice was even, almost casual. I met his gaze, unwavering.

I looked at him. “There’s something I want to talk to you about.”

Derek was stunned.

He blinked, surprised. I watched the gears turning in his mind.

Since we got married, I’d always called him ‘honey.’

This was the first time I’d used his name, the first time I’d met him as an equal, not a pet.

The next moment, he curved those blue eyes and flicked the red envelope in his hand:

“All right.”

He tucked the envelope into his jacket, grinning like a kid with a secret. I let the silence settle between us, heavy and final.