Chapter 1
Divorce Day Blues
My life was a beautiful disaster.
A gorgeous, chaotic, "What the hell am I doing?" kind of disaster.
In six months, I'd gone from married café manager to divorced café owner, from suburban housewife to apartment dweller with a judgmental cat named Karen who somehow managed to roll her eyes better than any human I knew.
My debt was higher than my hopes, my income was lower than my expectations, and my social life consisted entirely of Karen's disapproving stares and my best friend Davina's increasingly creative attempts to drag me back into the dating world.
Davina cut the engine. "You look like you're about to throw up on my dashboard."
I pressed my forehead against the cool window, watching the courthouse steps shimmer in the Florida heat. "Maybe I am. Do you have any of those little bags?"
"Brooklyn Marie Wallace, you are not throwing up on divorce day.
I just had this car detailed." She twisted in her seat to face me, her blonde hair catching the sunlight streaming through the windshield.
Despite the humidity that had already started to frizz my hair, her perfectly applied red lipstick somehow remained intact.
At barely five-foot-two, Davina had always been petite and curvy, but what she lacked in height, she made up for in fierce determination. Her warm brown eyes narrowed as she studied me with the intensity of someone who'd known me long enough to read every micro-expression. "Second thoughts?"
"Third, fourth, and fifth thoughts. I'm basically having a thought convention in here." I tapped my temple.
Chris had been calling and texting every day since I'd walked away, a relentless campaign of voicemails that ranged from apologetic to manipulative to downright ridiculous.
Yesterday's gem had been a three-minute rambling message about how he'd changed and wanted to work on us, followed immediately by another voicemail asking if I could speak with my father because he was going to lose his promotion.
The man didn't want this divorce, but he also didn't want me. He wanted his promotion.
"Talk to me, Brooke. What's rattling around in that beautiful head of yours?"
I lifted my head from the window and slumped back into my seat. "I'm second-guessing everything. What if he's right? What if I'm just…" I gestured vaguely at myself.
"Stop." Davina's voice cut through my spiral.
"Don't you dare finish that sentence with his words.
" She reached over and grabbed my hands.
"Brooke, you deserve someone who thinks the sun rises and sets with you.
Someone who brings you coffee the way you like it without being asked.
Someone who doesn't make you feel like you're auditioning for the role of wife in your own marriage. "
I knew everything she was saying was true; my logical brain was nodding along like a bobblehead. But my scared-as-hell heart was doing an interpretive dance in my chest.
"You will meet someone, Brooke. Someone who deserves you."
That I wasn't sure about, Chris had spent every day since I left him crafting a carefully orchestrated campaign to convince me that I'd peaked with him.
That he was my lottery ticket to happiness, and if I gave him this freedom to figure himself out, he'd come back as the husband of my dreams. All I had to do was ignore his infidelities and keep quiet about them, at least until after he made partner.
The manipulation was so smooth it almost felt like kindness.
"I should probably get in there before they give away our spot to another dissolving marriage."
"Brooke." Davina's hand covered mine, warm and steady. "It's okay to be sad." Her voice gentled, the sharp edge melting away. "It's okay to mourn the life you thought you were going to have."
The word mourn hit me like a revelation.
That was exactly what this felt like. I wasn't sad about losing Chris. I was mourning the death of my imagined future. The cozy Sunday mornings I'd planned, the kids we'd talked about, the best friend I thought I'd married, who turned out to be more like a stranger I'd been sharing a bed with.
"But don't you ever let him make you think you don't deserve better. Because honey, you deserve the whole damn fairytale."
I forced a smile that felt like wearing shoes that were too small.
"Are you sure you don't want me to come in with you?"
I shook my head. "No, I need to do this myself."
"I'll be here when you're done."
I smiled softly, almost sadly. "Thanks for being here."
"Where else would I be?" I had never been more thankful for Davina and her friendship.
She was the only one who supported me and my decision to divorce Chris.
My parents agreed with Chris that I wouldn't do any better than him.
Chris's parents, too. Davina was the only support I had. Well, and Kali, my café manager.
I closed the car door and took the long walk under the hot Florida sun through the parking lot into the courthouse, dreading seeing Chris again.
Even though he'd called and texted every day since the separation, to remind me why I was wrong, I hadn't seen him in person.
I'd avoided him because I knew how the interaction would go.
Today, there would be a judge and lawyers, so I hoped our interaction would be quick and minimal.
I just wanted to get this over with and start my new life, whatever it may look like.
I strolled through the entrance, the cool air hitting my face as I moved robotically through security, then across the first floor to the elevator.
I pressed the arrow-up button and stood silently staring up at the changing digital floor numbers as the world continued around me.
The doors chimed open, and I stepped in, spinning as I hit number twelve and waited for them to close.
Just as they started to close, a hand shot between them. The rubber bumpers bounced back. A familiar cologne hit me first. Then the polished shoes. The pressed pants. His favorite red tie.
No.
Chris stepped inside, and the doors sealed us in together.
"Hey, Brooke." Even though the elevator was spacious enough for a small dance party, he stood shoulder to shoulder with me like we were sharing a phone booth.
I didn't respond. I had nothing to say to him. I wanted to pretend this marriage never happened, like it was a really vivid dream about making terrible life choices.
"There's still time to stop this." Chris rocked forward on his polished shoes once we were in motion, his voice rising at the end like a game show host offering me a chance to change my final answer.
I rolled my eyes but didn't respond, focusing on the floor numbers.
"You know this is insane, right?"
Two. Three. I was counting floors like meditation.
His hand shot out. Before I could react, his palm slammed against the emergency stop button. The elevator lurched, then froze. The overhead lights flickered before settling into a slightly dimmer glow.
"What are you…" The words died in my throat. My chest constricted, each heartbeat a separate hammer strike against my ribs. The sudden stillness amplified everything: the faint hum of the halted machinery, the rasp of his breathing, the blood rushing in my ears.
He pivoted slowly, placing himself between me and the control panel. His shoulders, broader than I remembered, blocked my escape route completely.
"Brooke," he drew out my name like he was savoring it, "think about what you're doing." His voice was soft, reasonable. The tone he used in court when he was about to go for the kill.
This was exactly what I'd wanted to avoid. "Chris, move."
"Listen to me, Brooke. If you do this today, it's over. There's no going back. I'm moving on."
"That's literally the entire point of divorce, Chris. It's not supposed to be reversible like a jacket."
"When you're all alone in this world," his tone dropped to what I think he thought was intimidating, "you won't have me to run back to."
I sighed, feeling suddenly exhausted by the whole performance. "Okay."
"God, would you rather I have lied to you?" He shoved his hand through his hair. "I told you so we could fix us, not to get divorced."
The sad part was, this whole fight wasn't even about me. It was about the career he thought he was going to lose, like I was some kind of professional accessory he couldn't afford to misplace.
"Look, Chris, I'm glad you were honest with me.
" I folded my arms across my chest, my voice taking on the tone I used with difficult customers at the café, pleasant but with steel underneath.
"I wish you had told me earlier, like before we got married, or maybe even before we started dating, but I understand now that you needed me to advance in the firm. "
"I didn't need you to move up," he cut me off, sounding like a politician denying obvious facts.
"Right." I nodded slowly, my sarcasm thick enough to spread on toast. "You needed me to move up as quickly as you did."
He shook his head, but the flush creeping up his neck told me we both knew I was right.
"I completely understand you wanting that," I continued, my heel tapping against the elevator floor in rhythm with my words, "but what I don't understand is how you thought I was so desperate that I would be okay with you sleeping with another woman while I worked on myself for you."
I squared my shoulders, drawing myself up to my full height. My hands dropped to my sides, fists clenched, nails biting into my palms. "Honestly, Chris, you can go fuck yourself."
His hands slammed against the elevator walls on either side of my head. The metallic bang echoed in the confined space. His ragged breathing fanned across my face, and suddenly his cologne wasn't just annoying… It was suffocating.
"You will regret this." His finger jabbed toward my face, stopping inches from my nose, and the vein in his forehead pulsed in his temple like a really angry mood ring.
"Chris." My voice was steady despite feeling like I was trapped in the world's worst escape room.
My palms pressed flat against his chest, feeling his heart hammering like it was trying to break free.
When I shoved, he barely moved, but something inside me shifted, not breaking, but transforming into something stronger.
"Do you know why I told you the truth?" His breath was hot against my skin as he leaned closer, and I had to fight the urge to recoil. "Because the thought of having sex with you made me physically ill."
The words hit like a slap, and for a moment, the elevator walls seemed to close in. My chest seized, breath catching somewhere between my ribs and throat. My face flushed hot, then cold.
But I wouldn't let him see it break me. Instead, something wonderful happened: I realized I didn't care. Not about his opinion, not about his approval, not about any of it. I lifted my chin and met his eyes. "Are you finished?"
He stepped back, straightening his red tie like he was trying to regain some dignity, and I reached out, slamming my hand against the button.
The elevator lurched back to life.
"You will never find anyone as good as me," his eyes raked over me with disgust, "as long as you look like that."
I almost laughed. After everything, that was his closing argument? "I'm okay with that," I said, realizing I genuinely meant it.
The elevator door chimed open, and I side-stepped around him with the grace of someone who'd just remembered how to be herself.
"Do you really know what you're doing, Brooke?" Chris's voice chased after me, a desperate last attempt to regain control.
I paused outside the elevator doors, one foot already pointed toward my future. My shoulders, which had been hunched for months, rolled back as I twisted to face him. A slow smile spread across my face.
"I'm putting on my big girl panties and doing what I have to do." My eyes met his, unwavering, as a courthouse aide hurried past with an armful of files. I inhaled deeply, the musty courthouse air suddenly smelling like possibility. "And that starts with divorcing you."
His mouth twisted with anger, lips thinning to a bloodless line. His head recoiled with surprise, like he couldn't believe his manipulation hadn't worked.
"Good luck, Chris." I adjusted my purse strap; the weight of it was suddenly lighter on my shoulder. "I hope you find whatever you're looking for."
I spun around, my heels clicking a victory march against the tile floor as I walked away without looking back, each step carrying me further from the woman I'd been, and closer to the one I was becoming.