12. Jillian
— ? —
Jillian
The law firm smelled like leather and money and the particular kind of silence that costs three hundred dollars an hour.
I sat across from a woman named Diana Okafor, who had silver-streaked hair and the kind of face that suggested she’d heard every sad story in the world and had stopped being surprised by any of them.
She’d come highly recommended by Harper’s cousin, who’d described her as “the person you call when you’re done being nice. ”
I was done being nice.
“Mrs. Anderson.” Diana folded her hands on the desk between us. “Before we begin, I need to ask. Are you certain about this?”
“I’m certain.”
“Divorce is…”
“I know what divorce is.” My voice came out steadier than I expected. Three days of crying at Harper’s apartment, and a hardness had calcified inside me. Set into a shape I could use. “I’ve spent three years being uncertain. Being patient. Being understanding. I’m finished with all of it.”
Diana studied me for a long moment. Then she nodded once and pulled a legal pad toward her.
“Tell me everything.”
So I did.
I told her about the wedding and the promises and the way Trevor used to look at me like I was the answer to a question he’d been asking his whole life.
I told her about the slow erosion. The dinners that got shorter.
The phone calls that went unanswered. The mother-in-law who treated me like a stain on the family silver.
I told her about Chloe.
“Has your husband had a physical affair with this woman?”
“I don’t know.” The words tasted like ash. “I don’t think so. But he gave her everything else. His time. His attention. His presence at events where I should have been standing beside him. He let her sit in my chair at his family’s table and didn’t say a word.”
Diana wrote something down. “Emotional abandonment. We can work with that.”
“Can we talk about how I want him served?”
She looked up. “Most clients prefer to inform their spouse directly before…”
“I want him served.” I held her gaze. “I want him to find out the way I found out about everything that mattered in that marriage. Without warning. Without preparation. Without the chance to manage his reaction or control the narrative.”
A small smile crossed Diana’s face. The first sign of anything other than professional neutrality.
“I think I understand you, Mrs. Anderson.”
“Good.” I stood up and gathered my purse. “Because I want those papers in his hands by Friday.”
***
The flowers started arriving on Saturday morning.
The first arrangement was roses. Two dozen white ones in a crystal vase that probably cost more than the flowers in it. The card said only: I’m sorry. -T
I told the delivery person to take them to the hospital down the street.
The second arrangement came an hour later. Peonies this time. Pink and blush and cream, spilling out of a box like they were trying to escape. The card said: Please let me explain. -T
Hospital.
By noon, there were six arrangements sitting in the lobby of Harper’s building. The doorman, a sweet older man named Gerald, looked at me with an expression somewhere between sympathy and confusion.
“Mrs. Anderson, I’m running out of space.”
“Donate them all.” I signed the delivery receipt without looking at it. “The cardiac ward. The cancer center. Wherever they’re needed. He doesn’t get to buy his way out of this.”
Gerald hesitated. “There are some letters too. Hand-delivered.”
I looked at the stack of cream envelopes on his desk. Trevor’s handwriting on each one. The loops were wrong, too tight, too desperate, nothing like his usual precise script.
“Return them unopened.”
“Ma’am…”
“And Gerald?” I met his eyes. “He’s going to show up eventually. Don’t let him up.”
Gerald nodded slowly. “Understood.”
I went back upstairs and didn’t let myself feel anything until the apartment door closed behind me.
***
“You’re going to the luncheon?” Harper stood in her kitchen doorway, holding a coffee mug like a weapon. “Jillian, you don’t have to do this.”
“I committed to it three months ago.” I checked my reflection in the hallway mirror. Navy dress. Pearl earrings. Makeup that hid the dark circles under my eyes. “The Roslyn Foundation raises money for children’s literacy programs. I’m not going to abandon them because my marriage fell apart.”
“No one would blame you for skipping.”
“I would blame me.” I turned to face her. “He took everything else from me. He doesn’t get to take this too. I’ve spent three years building relationships with these people, working on these causes, making myself part of a world that matters. I’m not going to disappear just because it’s awkward.”
Harper set down her mug. “You know he might be there.”
“He’s not on the guest list. I checked.”
“Jillian.” Her voice was gentle. “When has a guest list ever stopped an Anderson?”
I didn’t answer. I grabbed my clutch and walked out the door.
***
The luncheon was being held at the Carlisle Hotel, in a ballroom decorated with books and fairy lights and the kind of tasteful excess that made rich people feel good about writing checks.
I arrived early, signed in, and spent twenty minutes having perfectly pleasant conversations with perfectly pleasant women who all looked at me with the same careful curiosity.
They knew. Of course they knew. Three days since I’d walked out of the gala, and the gossip had spread through society like wildfire. I saw it in their eyes, heard it in the slight pauses before they spoke to me.
Poor Jillian. Did you hear? The husband and that Williams girl.
But they were polite. They always were. And I smiled and nodded and pretended I didn’t notice the whispers that followed me across the room.
I was examining the silent auction items, a weekend in the Hamptons, a private cooking class, a signed first edition, when I felt him before I saw him.
Some things you know in your bones.
I turned, and Trevor was standing by the entrance.
He looked terrible. That was my first thought, cruel and satisfying. His suit was immaculate, but his face was drawn, dark hollows under his eyes, jaw tight with a strain that might have been pain. He was holding a manila envelope in his hands like it was made of glass.
The divorce papers.
Our eyes met across the room.
I turned away.
I picked up the bidding sheet for the cooking class and wrote down a number I couldn’t afford, keeping my hand steady through sheer force of will. Footsteps crossed the floor behind me. The heat of his presence settled at my shoulder.
“Jillian.”
“I’m busy.”
“Please.” His voice dropped, unsteady. “Five minutes. That’s all I’m asking. Five minutes to explain.”
I set down the pen and turned to face him.
He looked worse up close. His eyes were red-rimmed, and there was a tremor in his hands that I’d never seen before. The man who never lost his composure, who could hold a room without trying, was standing in front of me shaking.
Good.
“You had three years of minutes, Trevor.” I kept my voice level. Controlled. The way his mother always spoke to the help. “You spent them on someone else.”
“That’s not… I didn’t…” He stopped. Swallowed. “I know what it looked like. I know what I did. But nothing happened with Chloe. Not physically. I never…”
“You danced with her to our song.” Each word landed like a stone. “In front of everyone we know. While I watched.”
“I know.”
“You let her take my place at your family’s table. You let her stand beside you in photos. You let her make me feel like a ghost in my own marriage.”
“I know.”
“So what, exactly, do you want me to explain to you?” I stepped closer, close enough to see the pulse jumping in his throat. “What part of this do you not understand? You chose her. Over and over, for months, you chose her. And now you want five minutes to tell me why I should forgive you?”
“I don’t want forgiveness.” His voice was raw. “I don’t deserve it. I just want you to know that I see it now. All of it. Every time I failed you, every time I let my mother and Chloe make you feel less than…”
“Don’t.” The word came out with an edge I didn’t intend. “Don’t you dare stand here and tell me you finally see me. I was right in front of you for three years. You could have seen me any time you wanted. You just didn’t bother to look.”
He reached for my arm.
I stepped back so fast I nearly knocked over the auction display.
“Don’t touch me in public.” My voice rose, carrying. A woman passing with a champagne glass turned to look. I didn’t care. “You’ve done enough of that with other women.”
The woman’s eyes went wide. She hurried away, and I knew, I knew, that every person at this luncheon would hear about this moment before the main course was served.
Let them.
“Jillian, please…”
“Sign the papers, Trevor.” I looked at the envelope still clutched in his hands. “It’s the only decent thing you can do for me now.”
I walked away.
I kept my spine straight. My shoulders back. My chin up. I nodded to the women who watched me pass. I smiled at the Foundation director who caught my eye. I was grace under fire. I was dignity in the face of destruction.
I was an Anderson wife one last time.
The bathroom was mercifully empty. I locked myself in a stall and pressed my hands flat against the door and breathed through the shaking that started in my chest and spread outward until my whole body trembled.
I would not cry.
I would not cry.
I would not give him the satisfaction of one more tear, even if he’d never know about it.
The shaking lasted a few minutes. Then it stopped, as suddenly as it started, and I was still standing. Still breathing. Still whole.
I unlocked the stall. Fixed my lipstick in the mirror. Went back to the luncheon and bid on three more auction items I couldn’t afford.
By the time dessert was served, I’d almost convinced myself I was fine.
***
Harper was waiting when I got home.
“How bad was it?”
“He was there.” I dropped my clutch on the counter. “He bribed his way onto the guest list.”
“Of course he did.” She handed me a glass of wine. “Are you okay?”
“No.” I took a long sip. “But I didn’t cry. And I didn’t take him back. So I’m calling it a victory.”
My phone buzzed.
Then again.
Then a third time.
I looked at the screen. Three texts from Trevor, arriving one after another like a heartbeat.
The first: I signed nothing. I won’t fight you, but I won’t stop either.
The second: Chloe is out of Mother’s house as of this afternoon. I’ve cut off all contact with my mother until she apologizes to you personally.
The third: I know these papers are what I earned. I’m going to spend every day making you want to tear them up.
I stared at the screen until the words blurred.
“Jillian?” Harper’s voice seemed far away. “What does it say?”
I didn’t answer.
I just kept staring at that last message, at the promise buried inside it like a seed, and I hated how much I wanted to believe him.