Fifty-Three
fifty-three
NEVER AGAIN - KELLY CLARKSON
CALLIE - AUGUST 6, 2013
T he day is finally here.
The courthouse looms ahead, a solid, imposing structure that seems to absorb the early morning light, casting long shadows across the cracked pavement. It’s an old building with weathered stone steps that lead up to heavy double doors. I let out a slow, measured breath, feeling the moment's weight settle into my chest like an anchor. Today is the day I officially close the chapter on a part of my life that feels like it’s been dragging on forever.
For a second, I just sit there, staring at the courthouse, letting the reality of it all sink in. This is the place where my marriage, the one that was supposed to last forever, will be officially declared over. It’s strange how something so monumental can be reduced to a few pieces of paper and a couple of signatures.
Adam didn’t put up a fight when my attorney sent over the paperwork; he just didn’t want to pay for an attorney, so everything moved forward quickly. As much as I hate him, this divorce is still a reminder of everything he put me through and how little the life we shared seemed to matter to him.
But maybe that’s a good thing. The quicker it’s over, the quicker I can move on. Still, I can’t help but feel the sting of it, the finality. I want this—I know I do. But that doesn’t make it any easier. In this moment, I feel like a complete failure.
The air feels heavy as I finally step out of the car, my shoes making a dull thud against the pavement. I’m surprised by how calm I feel, like there’s a sense of inevitability about this, as if it was always going to end this way. My heart beats steadily, almost in sync with the rhythmic sound of my footsteps as I approach the courthouse. Each step brings me closer to that final moment, to the release I’ve been waiting for, yet it also makes the weight of what I’m about to do more tangible, more real.
I reach for the metal door handle and pull it open, the sound of the courthouse door creaking in my ears, a somber reminder that this is it. There’s no going back now. I’m about to walk into a room where my past and future will collide, where the life I thought I was going to have will officially end, and where the life I’ve been building can truly begin.
The courtroom is colder than I expected. The air conditioning hums quietly, a stark contrast to the tense silence that fills the room. I sit on the hard wooden bench, my back straight, hands folded tightly in my lap. The room is simple, almost sterile, with plain walls and a judge’s bench that seems too large for the small space. A few empty chairs are scattered around, making the room feel even lonelier.
My eyes flicker to the clock on the wall. Five minutes past the scheduled time. There’s no sign of Adam, not even a hint of his presence in the hallway outside. I swallow hard, trying to push down the anxiety gnawing at the edges of my composure. I thought I’d be prepared for this, but sitting here, waiting, it all feels too real, too raw.
The door at the back of the courtroom swings open, and I turn my head, my breath catching in my throat. But it’s not him. Just another attorney, shuffling papers as they make their way to the front. I exhale slowly, trying to keep my emotions in check. I don’t know why I expected him to be here. Deep down, I knew he wouldn’t show. It’s easier for him this way—just disappearing, letting everything happen without having to face me or what we’ve become.
The judge, a stern-looking woman with sharp eyes and a no-nonsense demeanor, enters the room and takes her seat. She glances over her glasses at me, then at the empty space where Adam should be. The silence stretches, heavy and uncomfortable. My attorney leans in, whispering something I can barely register. It’s procedural, just instructions on what will happen next. I nod mechanically, my focus drifting to the door one last time. Still nothing.
“Is the respondent present?” the judge asks, her voice carrying a note of finality.
My attorney stands, clearing his throat. “No, Your Honor. The respondent was notified of today’s proceedings but has not appeared.”
The judge nods, as if she expected this. “Very well. We will proceed in his absence.”
Her words hit me harder than I anticipated. There’s no more waiting, no more wondering. It’s happening, and there’s no stopping it. I feel a strange sense of abandonment wash over me, a mixture of relief and disappointment that he couldn’t even be bothered to show up for this.
The judge reviews the documents, her pen scratching against the paper as she signs her name, sealing the end of my marriage with a few swift strokes. My attorney hands her another set of papers, and I catch a glimpse of the familiar text. My heart skips a beat as I see the line where Adam’s name is printed next to mine, along with the words “and the unborn child, due November 2013.” It’s like a punch to the gut, a painful reminder of the tangled web I’ve found myself in.
My hand instinctively moves to my belly, resting protectively over the life growing inside me. It’s strange to know that even though Adam has been absent most of my pregnancy, he’s still attached to this child on paper. This feels like another step that solidifies my identity as a single mother exactly one week before what would have been Adam and my second wedding anniversary.
“The court hereby dissolves the marriage between Callie Graham and Adam Graham,” the judge announces, her voice cutting through my thoughts. “In addition, the petitioner, Callie Graham is awarded custody of Sara Graham, with every other weekend visitation awarded to Adam Graham. Custody of the unborn child will be determined six weeks after the child is born. For now, the petitioner will retain full responsibility.”
It’s done. Just like that, the life I once knew is officially over. I should be happy, relieved, something… but all I feel is a quiet emptiness, a strange detachment as the judge speaks a few more formalities that barely register in my mind.
The judge gives me a small nod, and my attorney gathers the documents. I stand, my legs a little unsteady as I force myself to move. My heart pounds in my chest, and I can feel the weight of everything pressing down on me, but there’s also a lightness, a tiny flicker of hope, that maybe—just maybe—this is the first step toward something better.
As I walk out of the courtroom, I don’t look back. There’s nothing left for me there. Through the window, I see the sun shining as if the world is oblivious to the monumental shift that just occurred. I pause for a moment and take a deep breath. It’s over.
I push open the courthouse doors, stepping into the bright August sunlight. The sudden warmth feels almost jarring after the cool, sterile air inside. I pause at the top of the steps, my eyes squinting against the glare as I take in the world around me. Everything seems surreal, like I’m watching a scene unfold from someone else’s life. The hum of passing cars and the chatter of people on the sidewalk feel distant, muted, like they’re happening on the other side of a glass wall.
I run my fingers through my hair, feeling the soft breeze brush against my skin, and let out a long, shaky breath. It’s done. The papers are signed, the words have been spoken, and the life I had with Adam is officially behind me. A part of me feels like I should be crying, or at least feel something more profound than this numbness that’s settled in my chest. But instead, there’s just this strange, quiet calm—a sense of closure that I wasn’t sure I’d ever find.
I pull my phone out of my bag, my fingers trembling slightly as I swipe through my contacts. Owen’s name stares back at me, and for a moment, I just stare at it, letting the familiar comfort of his name ground me. I tap the screen, bringing the phone to my ear as I descend the courthouse steps. It rings once, twice, and then his voice fills the silence.
“Hey, Dollface,” Owen says, his voice warm and familiar. “How did it go?”
The sound of his voice feels like a lifeline, something solid to hold onto. I close my eyes, letting the relief wash over me. “It’s done,” I say, my voice steadier than I expected. “Adam didn’t show up, so they went ahead without him.”
There’s a brief pause, not of hesitation but of Owen letting me set the pace. “And how do you feel?”
I stop at the bottom of the steps, looking out at the world that continues to spin, completely unaware of the monumental shift that just took place in my life. I think about his question, letting it sit with me for a moment. “I feel… free,” I finally say, the word tasting both strange and wonderful on my tongue. “It’s weird and kind of sad, but mostly I just feel like I can finally breathe again,” I tell him. It’s as if I’ve been holding my breath for years, and now, with one simple act, the tension is starting to unwind.
I can hear the smile in his voice when he responds. “That’s good, Callie. You deserve that.”
I bite my lip, blinking back the sudden sting of tears. There’s so much I want to say, so many emotions swirling inside me, but the words get tangled up in the quiet. Instead, I let the silence stretch, hoping he understands the gratitude that’s too big to fit into a sentence. He’s been my constant, my support when everything else felt unsteady, and I’m not sure I would’ve gotten through this without him.
“So, what’s next?” Owen asks gently, as if sensing my thoughts.
“I’m going to pick up Sara from my mom’s, and then I’m heading to Taylor’s for a girls' night,” I tell him, my voice softening at the thought of my daughter. Just the idea of seeing her, holding her close, feels like the final piece of this puzzle I’ve been trying to solve. “I need to see her, you know? Remind myself why I did all this.” She’s my why, the heartbeat of every difficult decision I’ve made.
“I get it,” Owen says quietly. “And hey, if you need anything, just call me. I’m here.”
“I know you are,” I whisper, my heart swelling with the simple truth of it. Owen has been my constant through all of this, the steady presence I didn’t know I needed until he was there.
“I love you, Callie,” Owen says suddenly, his voice firm and sure, cutting through the noise like a beacon. “I just wanted you to know that.”
I’m taken aback, not because I didn’t expect him to say it, but because of how genuine it sounds and how deeply it resonates with me now. The words mean so much more to me now than they ever did in my marriage that is now over. “I love you too, Owen Klein. Thank you so much for being here for me through all of this.”
“Anytime, Doll. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” he says.
“You know, I usually hate it when people say ‘I love you’ as they’re hanging up,” I admit, a small laugh escaping despite myself. “It always feels so obligatory, like something you say out of habit. But with you, it doesn’t feel that way.”
“I’m glad,” he replies. “Now go enjoy your girls’ night. You’ve earned it.”
“Will do,” I say, feeling lighter than I have in a long time. “Talk to you later.”
“Later,” he echoes, and with that, the call ends.
I tuck my phone back into my bag, taking one last look at the courthouse before turning toward my car. The weight that’s been pressing down on me for so long feels like it’s finally starting to lift. The path ahead might still be uncertain, but I know I’m moving in the right direction now.
A few months ago, while I was working a shift at the coffee shop, Taylor and Brooke came up with the idea of having a divorce party. They even wanted to do one of those “burn the dress” celebrations. However, they were sad to hear that I’d already thrown the dress and wedding album in a dumpster one day in a fit of rage when I still lived at the apartment. So, we settled on a girls’ night at Taylor’s house instead.
When I open the front door of my sister’s house, I am met with the aroma of popcorn, nail polish, and baked goods I can only assume were made by my best friend, Brooke. The comforting scents pull me out of my post-courthouse haze and into my friends’ warm, chaotic embrace. The living room is a colorful mess of snacks, a massive bowl of fruit punch with floating strawberries, and an impressive array of face masks laid out like war paint. It's the perfect setting for the kind of night where nothing matters but laughter and letting go.
“Welcome to the first official meeting of the Divorcees Who Hate Their Exes Club!” Taylor declares as I walk in, raising a cup of fruit punch in a mock toast. She’s wearing a face mask that’s supposed to be soothing green tea but has hardened into a shade of murky green that makes her look like she’s trying to audition for a low-budget sci-fi movie.
With her long auburn hair piled into a messy bun and her hazel eyes sparkling with mischief, Taylor has a chaotic energy that always feels like home. She’s the one who’ll make you laugh until your sides hurt, even when you’re knee-deep in life’s messiest moments. It’s comforting to know I can always depend on her.
My big sister wraps me in a hug that feels exactly right at this moment, and I can’t help but laugh as I wipe my cheek, where some of her face mask has smudged when she held me tight. Looking around the room, I see the familiar faces of family and friends I haven’t had the opportunity to see in a while.
Meredith, Wayne’s daughter, lounges on the couch in oversized sweats and a faded basketball tee, her dark curls piled into a loose bun. With her effortless beauty, all she needs is a swipe of lip gloss and a confident smile. She’s nearly six feet tall, towering over me as she stands to hug me. “Callie, I’ve been waiting for this day like it’s the season finale of One Tree Hill ,” she says, squeezing me.
“It’s not that exciting,” I laugh. “But yeah, I miss that show way more than I’ll ever miss Adam.”
We share a hug before she settles back on the couch.
My cousin Olivia is setting up a mini nail salon on the coffee table, laying out every shade of nail polish imaginable, from classic reds to sparkly purples. With her dark curls and bright yellow sundress that pops against her tan, she waves a glittery nail file like a magic wand. “Tonight’s all about you,” she says with a wink. “No arguing—you’re getting the full mani-pedi treatment, like it or not.”
“Alright, if I must,” I say with a hint of sarcasm, though the idea sounds fantastic. I can’t even remember the last time I had any kind of spa treatment and my feet are killing me from being on them at the courthouse earlier today. “But I vote for black polish with silver on my ring finger—that’s the only bling I’ll ever need. I am not getting married again.”
Meredith rolls her eyes at that. “Girl, never say never,” she says, popping a bite-sized treat into her mouth. “Taylor tells us you’re seeing someone, and it’s gotten pretty serious.”
I shoot a glare in Taylor’s direction and she gives me a sorry expression. I guess everyone was bound to find out anyway. “Yes,” I admit, “I am seeing someone and yes, I suppose you could say it’s serious. But that doesn’t mean I’m getting married again.”
“I give it a year!” Brooke exclaims from the kitchen, and I cannot help but laugh.
After a moment, Brooke comes in with her arms full of baked goods that she sets down in a spread on the coffee table. Her hair is in her signature low-side ponytail, and she has a pink clay mask on that is cracking from her exaggerated expressions as she snorts at Taylor’s smeared face mask. “Oh my god, Taylor, you look like Shrek if he had a spa day that went horribly wrong.”
Taylor gasps, mock-offended, then bursts into laughter. “Says the one who looks like a Pepto-Bismol ad gone wrong.”
“Hey, this is a luxury brand, thank you very much,” Brooke retorts, pouring a glass of punch before handing it to me. “And besides, you can’t put a price on self-care, even if it makes you look like a pink goblin.”
I plop down between them, setting Sara on the floor with her toys. She immediately toddles over to the coffee table and grabs a handful of popcorn, stuffing it into her mouth, which makes me momentarily panic that she might choke. Lexi, Brooke’s daughter who’s a little older than Sara, sits beside her, carefully stacking blocks in a perfect little tower, her long blonde curls bouncing with every excited wiggle.
Brooke raises an eyebrow at me, her mask cracking even more with her smirk. “So, how does it feel to be a free woman?”
I think for a moment, trying to put words to the jumble of emotions swirling inside me. “Weirdly anticlimactic. I expected fireworks or at least some dramatic music, but nope. Just a judge with a coffee stain on her robe and a clerk who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. It's like the world kept spinning, and I’m still here trying to catch my breath.”
Taylor snorts, almost spilling her punch. “Classic. I always imagined my divorce would be some kind of dramatic movie moment, you know? Like, walking out with sunglasses on, flipping the bird. But it was mostly just me crying in the car while eating cold McDonald’s fries.”
Meredith nods sympathetically. “Yeah, divorce is never glamorous. It’s more like, ‘Here’s your paperwork, good luck figuring out the rest.’ But hey, at least you get a clean slate.”
“And cake!” Brooke announces with a flourish as she disappears into the kitchen, only to re-emerge carrying a massive, eye-catching cake on a silver tray. It’s decorated in bright pink frosting with neon green accents, covered in edible sparkles, and reads in bold, cheeky letters:
SINGLE AND READY TO MINGLE (OR NOT).
I burst into laughter, my hand flying to my mouth. “Oh my god, Brooke, you actually baked a divorce cake?”
Brooke beams with pride, setting the cake on the coffee table. “Of course I did! This is my finest work—both pastry and petty combined. Because nothing says ‘moving on’ like cake with a side of sass.”
Olivia leans in closer, admiring the cake. “This is iconic—the perfect blend of ‘celebrate’ and ‘screw you.’”
Sara, blissfully ignoring the gravity of the occasion, crawls over and smacks her tiny hands into the cake, grabbing a fistful of frosting and smearing it across her face. Lexi squeals in delight and joins in, swiping a bit of frosting herself. The room erupts in laughter as Sara giggles, her face now a sticky mess of pink frosting and toddler joy.
“Well, I guess Sara’s officially blessed the cake,” Taylor laughs, handing me a fork. “Go on, Callie. Take the first bite of your freedom.”
I take the fork, digging into the part that says “MINGLE,” and savor the absurdly sweet, slightly too-sugary frosting. It’s ridiculous, over-the-top, and exactly what I need right now. “This is amazing, Brooke.”
Brooke grins, clearly pleased. “It’s what I do best—deliciously aggressive desserts. And hey, if anyone deserves a big ol’ slice of ‘screw you’ cake, it’s you, Callie.”
Meredith raises her punch glass, her eyes glimmering with a mixture of mischief and genuine warmth. “To new beginnings, kicking exes to the curb, and the unpredictable chaos of whatever comes next!”
Taylor, Olivia, and Brooke all raise their glasses, and we clink them together, the sound echoing with joy and a hint of rebellion. Lexi and Sara clap their frosting-covered hands in unison, adding their own gleeful applause, and I can’t help but laugh. Tonight isn’t about pretending everything’s perfect; it’s about reveling in the mess, finding the joy in between the cracks, and knowing that no matter what comes next, I’m surrounded by the people who will laugh with me, cry with me, and always, always show up with cake.
As we dig into the cake, chatter fills the room, drowning out the noise of the day. And for the first time since I walked out of that courthouse, I feel truly free—not just from the past, but from the weight of it all. And that, I realize, is worth celebrating.
The night continues with a steady stream of laughter, snacks, and several questionable choices from Taylor’s collection of random spa products. Thankfully, my niece, Ava, has done a wonderful job keeping Sara and Lexi entertained so we can have our “boring grown-up time,” as she called it, before ushering the girls into the playroom to watch a movie.
“Okay, now that the kids are occupied and Ava won’t be traumatized by my adult drama,” Taylor says, glancing nervously toward the hallway to make sure the coast is clear, “I’ve got a confession to make.”
The room falls silent as we all turn our attention to her. Taylor, who’s usually the one doling out snarky comments and keeping things light, suddenly looks more serious, her expression wavering between nervous and hopeful. She pulls her face mask off in one quick swipe, tossing it aside like she’s shedding a layer of pent-up stress.
Taylor chews her lip, fidgeting with the edge of her punch cup. “Okay, so… I don’t completely hate Nick.” Her voice is barely a whisper, as if saying it louder might shatter whatever fragile truth she’s holding onto. “Ava’s dad, Nick. We’ve, um… kind of been talking again.”
Brooke’s eyes widen in surprise, nearly dropping the nail polish brush she’s been using on Olivia’s toes. “Oh my god, Tay, are you serious? Like… talking talking?”
Taylor nods, a little sheepishly. “Yeah. It started with co-parenting stuff, you know, for Ava. But then it kind of… evolved? We’ve been texting more, and he’s been showing up to Ava’s soccer games, and not just the ones he’s scheduled to be at. And—don’t freak out—but we went to dinner last week. Alone.”
Olivia gasps, clutching her heart like she’s watching a soap opera unfold. “Wait, are we talking ‘dinner dinner’ or like, ‘we’re still pretending to be mature co-parents dinner?’”
Taylor groans, burying her face in her hands for a moment before peeking through her fingers. “It was ‘dinner dinner.’ As in, no kids, actual adult conversation, and he paid.”
I can’t help but smile at Taylor’s admission. I always loved Nick and was sad for both him and my sister when they split up. “How did it feel?” I ask gently, giving her space to sort through her tangled emotions.
Taylor sighs, the kind of deep, conflicted exhale that says more than words can. “It was… good. Really good, actually. But I don’t know. Part of me feels like an idiot for even considering it, you know? Like, what if we just end up right back where we started, with him flaking out and me feeling like I’m holding the pieces together on my own?”
Meredith, ever the pragmatist, speaks up. “People can change, Tay. I mean, sometimes they don’t, but sometimes they do. And if he’s showing up and making an effort, that’s not nothing.”
Brooke nods, reaching out to squeeze Taylor’s hand. “You’ve got to do what feels right for you and Ava. And hey, it’s okay to not completely hate him. It doesn’t mean you’re committing to anything right now. Just take it one step at a time.”
Taylor’s eyes flicker with uncertainty, but there’s also a glimmer of something else—maybe relief at finally saying it aloud. “I just don’t want Ava to get her hopes up, you know? She’s already been through enough. And I don’t want to be that mom who gets caught up in some wishful thinking and drags her kid along for the ride.”
Olivia sighs, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. “Look, you’re an amazing mom. And you’re also allowed to figure things out without having all the answers upfront. If Nick is stepping up and proving himself, that’s worth paying attention to. And if it doesn’t work out, Ava’s got a mom who loves her more than anything.”
Taylor nods slowly as if letting the words settle over her. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. It’s just… complicated.”
I reach over and give her a gentle nudge. “And if it gets too complicated, we’ve got your back. We can scare him off with more of Brooke’s divorce cakes or something equally passive-aggressive.”
Everyone laughs, the tension breaking as Taylor wipes the last bit of mask residue from her cheeks. “Thanks, guys. Seriously. I needed this.”
Meredith raises her punch glass again. “To messy lives, complicated feelings, and friends who are willing to make fools of themselves to keep you sane.”
As laughter fills the room again, I realize I’m not just starting over; I am finally finding the strength to choose happiness—for Sara, for my friends, and for myself.