Chapter Thirty-Five #2
He snorted again, louder this time. “Good. Then you won’t have to fight him for visitation.”
He outlined the basics: If Cam contested, it’d be a couple months, tops, but with the evidence, it could be over in six weeks.
I’d get the divorce, he’d keep his house and his accounts, I’d get whatever I wanted to claim as personal property.
No spousal support, no drawn-out battles.
Just signatures, paperwork, and a final court date.
He handed me a pen. “Sign here, and I’ll send the draft to his lawyer.”
I took the pen and paused, staring at the page. My hand shook so hard I worried the signature would come out as a toddler’s scrawl. I pressed down and signed anyway.
He looked at me with a little more softness then. “Are you sure you don’t want something from him? You’ve got leverage. He won’t know what to do with himself if you just let him walk.”
I looked up at him, surprised at the sting behind my eyes. “He’s already lost a lot. There’s nothing left I can take that matters.”
He nodded, like he’d seen it a hundred times before but still respected it every time. “Alright. I’ll be in touch if we need anything else.”
I stood, suddenly unmoored. The room was spinning a little, the low-grade scent of old coffee and stale air clinging to my skin. I thanked him, walked out to the parking lot, and sat in my car for a long minute, breathing.
My phone buzzed. A text from Nate: Good luck. Call me when it’s over, okay? I’ll take you out for victory donuts.
I smiled, actually smiled, and texted back: Deal.
I started the car. The air was sharp and cold, but for the first time in months, I felt like I could fill my lungs again.
∞∞∞
I told Cam to meet me at my favorite coffee shop—just a few blocks from my job, the one with wobbling mismatched mugs and tattered orange velvet chairs that looked like props from a tragedy.
I always came here when life felt like jagged glass; the scent of cinnamon and burnt espresso numbed the edges of every sharp moment.
He was already there, slumped at a corner table, eyes glued to his phone, thumb pumping nerves across the screen. He looked smaller than memory, as if the last few months had hollowed him out. My chest constricted—part of me wanted to flee. But I owed him this. I owed myself.
He saw me approach—hope flared in his eyes like a match struck in smoke. “Hey,” he said, voice trembling, nudging his mug toward me. “You look… good.”
I sank into the seat opposite him, fingers tightening around my cup until it bit into my skin. “You do too,” I lied, forcing a brittle smile that cracked instantly.
Silence fell. The espresso machine hissed behind the counter, its roar filling every aching pause. Finally, he cleared his throat. “So… how’s everything?”
My heart hammered. I stared at the swirling coffee. “Moving,” I said, tracing the rim with a shaking finger. “I saw a lawyer this morning.”
He flinched as though I’d struck him. Shoulders slumped. “That makes sense.”
“I wanted you to hear it from me,” I whispered, nails digging into the ceramic. “I didn’t want you served like a punchline.” He managed a weak smile. “That’s more than most would do.”
Silence thickened. Outside, a dog barked at a passing cyclist. Panic pulsed in my throat.
“I’m not going to fight you,” he said, head bowed. “If this is what you want, I won’t make it ugly. I just kept hoping you’d change your mind.”
My breath caught. “I tried, Cam. A hundred times.” I lifted my eyes, grief flaring in my chest. “But I can’t live as a ghost in my own marriage. It’s dead.” My words landed like hammers. “You swung the axe.”
He laughed or sobbed—I couldn’t tell which. “Yeah. I know.” He buried his face in his hands. “Can I tell you something I’ve been holding onto?”
I nodded, blood pounding in my ears.
“I’m not going to be a dad. Not with her.” His voice cracked like ice. “Lacey’s baby—it’s not mine. The real father got a test. They’re together now. She said having me around would only confuse him. So I’m out.”
The air thinned. “I’m sorry,” I whispered, though the words felt hollow.
“Me too,” he said, voice breaking. “All that mess… for nothing.”
“It matters,” I said, surprising myself. “You wanted something I couldn’t give. I needed something you didn’t have. Maybe now we both find those pieces elsewhere.”
Anger flickered across his face—aimed at himself. “I never meant to hurt you.”
“I know,” I said, steel threading my voice. “But you did.”
We sank into a lighter silence, one of acceptance rather than pain.
After a moment, I spoke: “I’m sorry about the baby. I know how badly you wanted it.”
He stared at his hands. “I don’t even know if I wanted the baby, or just a chance to fix myself. I’m in therapy—she says I shouldn’t ruin anyone else until I sort my mess out.”
On impulse, I reached across the table and brushed his trembling hand. He closed his around mine—an echo of who we used to be.
He let go first. “Are you happy?” he asked.
“I’m trying. Nate… he’s good to me.”
He nodded, a ghost of a smile. “He better be.”
Laughter ripped through the tension. We finished our coffee in an ease I never expected, the world humming around us.
When we stood, Cam pulled me into a hug that shook with all the words we’d never say. He whispered, “I’ll always love you, Livi.”
His words struck me with both warmth and regret. “I want you to be happy, Cam. Really happy.”
He released me and walked out into the pale street, shoulders hunched but free—like he’d finally let go.
I lingered, sipping the last dregs of coffee, still hot even when cold. Then I stood and stepped into the bright winter morning, my heart pounding with fierce hope for whatever came next.