18. Chapter 18
Lydia
Iwalk into Norah Fulsom’s office with five minutes to spare, offering a polite smile to the young man behind the front desk as I quietly shut the glass door behind me.
“Hi, I’m Lydia Dryer. I have a three o’clock appointment with Ms. Fulsom.”
“Yes, honey. Go ahead and have a seat. I’ll let Ms. Norah know you’re here,” Marcus says, chomping his bubble gum and flashing a wide grin. I like him instantly. He has an easy, upbeat energy that’s inviting.
I settle into one of the oversized leather chairs. I’d been anxious on the walk over, but the calm of this office and Marcus’ sunny disposition soften the edge of it.
A few minutes later, a woman steps out of the hallway. Norah, I presume. She’s striking. Chocolate brown hair, sharp cheekbones, impeccably dressed. And those eyes…they look a lot like Nick’s.
It clicks immediately. Sister. She is his sister.
Relief slips through me before I can stop it. Definitely not his wife.
“Come on in, Lydia. I’m happy to meet you.” Norah extends her hand, and I take it, shaking gently.
Up close, she’s even more polished. Confident in a way that doesn’t need to announce itself. Comfortable in her own skin. I already feel better.
“Can I get you some water? A soda?” she asks.
Norah takes her seat behind the desk while I sit across from her.
“No, thank you. I’m alright.” I try not to fidget with a loose thread on my skirt.
She clasps her hands together and looks at me steadily. “Alright then. Tell me exactly what brings you in today.”
My stomach flips.
I’ve wanted to sit in a chair like this and say these words for so long. Several times over the years, I’ve come close to picking up the phone and making an appointment with an attorney, only to back out at the last second.
Now I’m here. Ready, and terrified.
“I want to divorce my husband.”
The words leave me on a slow exhale, and once they’re out, something shifts. Like I’ve been holding them in my lungs for years without realizing it. A weight lifts.
“Well,” Norah says calmly, “lucky for you, that’s my specialty. Can I ask what grounds we’ll be filing under?”
“What do you mean…? Like why I want to divorce him?”
I knew I’d have to explain. I knew this part was coming, but other than the little I’ve told Nick, no one knows the details. No one knows about the abuse.
Norah shakes her head gently as she pulls a legal pad and pen from her drawer. “Yes. If you’d prefer, you can write it down instead of saying it out loud for now. But I will need specifics.”
I lace my fingers in my lap and stare down at them.
I’m ready.
I want to say it. I want it all out in the open. I just need a second to gather the words.
“Yes, of course. I can talk about it. I’m ready. I haven’t been able to talk to anyone about it. No one other than Ni—” I stop myself before I completely out myself to his sister. That is not why I’m here.
“Take your time,” she says sweetly. It occurs to me then that if Norah is this patient with all her clients, it’s no wonder she’s so successful.
I take a deep breath and dive in, headfirst.
“My husband’s name is Simon Dryer. We’ve been married for five years, and he’s been verbally abusive for most of that time.
One night a few weeks ago, we attended one of his work events, and he got inebriated.
I insisted on driving us home, and when we pulled into the parking garage of our condo, he became belligerent and hit me across the face, slamming my head into the window. ”
I realize my voice is shaking, but now I’ve started telling my story, I’m compelled to keep going.
“He immediately apologized, but I decided right then I was leaving. I’ve wanted to for a long time, and him hitting me solidified that decision.
We went upstairs, and he kept apologizing.
He tried to initiate intimacy but passed out instead.
I lay there for what felt like hours, making sure he was truly asleep.
Then I crawled out of bed, threw shoes and clothes into a few bags, and left as quietly as I could.
I made it to my car before he woke and realized I was gone. ”
I stop to take a deep breath. Damn, it feels good to say this out loud. Reliving that night is rough, but telling someone why I left feels freeing.
I go on to tell her how I drove for hours that night. How I stopped for gas and cash, then kept driving. Just far enough to make it hard for him to follow.
“And that’s how I ended up here,” I say with a small shrug, suddenly unsure what I expect her to do with all of that.
Maybe I didn’t need to share quite so much, but once I started, it was hard to stop. Damn my rambling tendencies.
The room feels very quiet now.
Norah looks up from her legal pad where she’s been taking notes. “I’m sorry you had to go through that, Lydia. No one deserves to be hit or demeaned. I’m proud of you for getting yourself out.”
I can’t stop the smile that spreads across my face. These aren’t circumstances to smile about, but hearing Norah say she’s proud of me overshadows everything else. I can’t remember the last time anyone told me they were proud of me. That’s sad, but it feels great.
Norah leans forward, her expression shifting, less warm now, more focused.
“Tell me what Simon does for a living, Lydia.”
There’s something in her tone. Measured. Intent.
“I need to understand the full picture,” she says. “Especially since you mentioned he didn’t allow you to work. That kind of control usually comes from someone with money or influence. Sometimes both.”
My stomach tightens.
“Simon is an attorney in Austin. A well-known one. That was a huge factor in why I never followed through with speaking to an attorney before. I was afraid of what he would do if he found out I’d spoken to someone about leaving.
He had never been physically abusive before that night in the car, but I could feel it coming. I knew it was only a matter of time.”
I sink back into my chair. Nervousness sweeps over me as I consider Norah might know Simon, or at least know of him.
Yes, they are states away from where he practices, but apparently his influence stretches far beyond Texas.
What if Norah knows him and word gets back about where I am and that I’ve spoken about a divorce?
A wave of nausea hits me.
“Do you know him?” I ask shakily. I’m bracing myself on the arms of the chair, unsure of what I’ll do if she says she does.
Norah looks up from the notepad again. She sets the pen down and meets my gaze.
“No, I do not know him. And it sounds like I’m better off that way.
He sounds like a prick. But Lydia, even if I did, I take my job very seriously, and if you choose to have me represent you, you are my priority. Attorney-client privilege is absolute.”
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “Thank you, Norah. I appreciate that. It’s important to me he doesn’t know where I am. Preferably forever, but at least until we can get the ball rolling.”
Norah nods, jotting something else on her notepad. “I understand, Lydia. Are you seeking anything from him? We can pursue spousal support, and—”
I raise a hand to gently cut her off. “No, please. I don’t want anything from him. No money, no assets. I just want it to be over.” I hope my tone sounds as resolute as I feel. I want nothing from Simon, just a clean, solid break. I need that if I’m going to make it on my own.
Norah slowly shakes her head and reaches across the desk to rest her hand on mine.
“I understand, but are you sure? Based on what you’ve said about his career, he would probably be required to pay out handsomely each month.
That money could help you get on your feet and settled here in Whispering Hills, or wherever you choose to start your new life. ”
She speaks with patience and quiet authority, laying out options I haven’t even considered. And I appreciate it. I truly do. But I don’t waver.
“I’m sure,” I say, holding her gaze. “I don’t want anything that belongs to that man. Not his money. Not his help.”
My voice is steadier than I expect.
“I’ve never been on my own before,” I add quietly. “This is my chance to do that.”
“That’s very admirable, Lydia. You are obviously a very strong woman. However, if you change your mind, I’m happy to pursue alimony. I’d like to see him held accountable for what he put you through.”
I let out another slow breath, forcing my shoulders to relax.
“Thank you, Norah. Really. I’d be very grateful if you’d represent me.” I hesitate, then add, “You seem more than capable. And I appreciate you seeing me sooner than Friday. I’m just…ready for this to be over.”
She gives me a small, knowing smile.
For a split second, I wonder if she’s been through something like this too.
“One more question, Lydia,” she says gently. “Has Simon contacted you since you left? Have you spoken to him at all?”
“He’s texted me multiple times. They start out nice enough, but when I don’t respond, he gets nasty. He calls me stupid and threatens to show up here. I don’t know how he could know where I am, but he has connections everywhere, so I just…don’t know.”
Norah keeps scribbling. Hearing Simon has contacted me has clearly put her on edge.
“Do you still have those texts?”
“I do. I wanted to delete them, but I thought I’d better save them just in case. I can forward them to you if you want.”
“Yes, please. We want as much of a paper trail as possible.” Norah gathers her notes.
Man, she’s taken a lot. I love how prepared she is, how seriously she’s already treating this.
It feels like my voice is finally being heard after years of silence.
It’s a nice feeling. A foreign one, but still nice.
I remind myself Norah is my attorney. I’m paying her to handle my divorce. She’s doing her job. Still, there’s something about her. I can feel it.
She’s not just polite because she has to be. She’s genuinely kind. Steady. The kind of woman who listens without judgment. I find myself wondering if, once all this is over, we might be friends.
The thought surprises me. I was so isolated during my marriage to Simon. Friendships faded into something I didn’t realize I lost until they were gone. I miss girl talk. Easy laughter. Someone to call just because. I’m hungry for that.
Norah pushes her chair back and stands. I do the same, taking it as my cue our meeting is over. I feel lighter. Hopeful.
I reach across the desk to shake Norah’s hand, but before I can, she steps around it and pulls me into a hug.
“We’ll get this taken care of,” she says quietly. “And then you can move on. Maybe even find your real happy ever after.”
The hug is brief, but it means more than she realizes.
For a split second, I freeze. I can’t remember the last time someone hugged me like this. Not out of obligation. Not out of expectation. Just…kindness. The realization tightens my chest in a way I didn’t expect it to.
I blink the emotion away and step back, offering her a small smile.
“Thank you, Norah. I really appreciate you.”
She offers a small, knowing nod.
“Men like your husband are exactly why I became a divorce attorney, Lydia. They walk around as though they’re untouchable. Like they’re owed obedience. And they’re used to getting away with it.” Her expression hardens slightly. “I don’t mind reminding them they’re not.”
She winks, the edge softening again, and leads me toward the door. “I’ll be in touch. I’ll get everything filed and let you know if anything important comes up. In the meantime, forward me every text he sends you.”
We step into the lobby.
“One more thing.”
I turn to face her. “Yes?”
Norah pauses before I step out, holding my gaze to make sure I’m listening.
“Please don’t hesitate to reach out if you need anything at all,” she says softly. “You’re not alone in this anymore.”
The restraint around my heart loosens. I didn’t realize how badly I needed to hear that. She studies me for another second, then adds, “And Lydia? Live your life. Have some fun. You’re young. You’re beautiful. Don’t give that man one more day of control over you.”
Her voice isn’t preachy. Just kind.
“You’ve already done something incredibly brave. Be proud. Hold your head high. You deserve a good life.”
For the first time in a long while, I let myself believe that might actually be true.
I blink quickly to keep the tears from spilling. I’m not sure Norah realizes that may be the kindest thing anyone has ever said to me.
In twenty-five years, no one has ever looked at me like this. No one has ever spoken to me like I’m brave. Or strong. Or deserving of something good.
I give her a small nod, because if I try to speak, I’ll fall apart right here.
Norah walks me to the front door and pushes it open, sunlight spilling in around us.
“Go enjoy the day,” she says with a smile. “It’s beautiful. Fall’s coming.”
I wave goodbye and start down the street.
City workers and shop owners are already out, setting pumpkins on stoops and arranging mums and cornstalks in neat little displays. The whole town feels like it’s gearing up to be the backdrop for a Pinterest board.
The lightness in my chest feels unfamiliar, but I don’t want it to fade.
As I leave Norah’s office, I feel more content than I can remember. I tilt my face toward the cloudless blue sky, closing my eyes as I breathe in the crisp mountain air.
And then I collide straight into something solid.
I stumble back, startled, my eyes flying open as I start to apologize.
Large, warm hands settle on my shoulders, steadying me.
“Hi, Lydia.”