17. Audrey
— ? —
Audrey
The lawyer’s office smells like stale coffee and regret.
I sit in a leather chair that’s seen better days, signing my name on line after line while a woman named Patricia explains the legal process in a voice carefully stripped of emotion. She’s done this a thousand times. She’ll do it a thousand more.
“Maine is a no-fault state,” she says, sliding another page toward me. “You don’t need to prove anything. Irreconcilable differences is sufficient grounds.”
“I understand.”
“The division of assets will be straightforward given the insurance situation. The property was jointly owned, so the settlement will be split fifty-fifty once it’s finalized.”
“And custody?”
“Given that you’re both residing in the same location and there’s no evidence of abuse or neglect, the court will likely default to joint custody unless one party contests.” She looks up from her papers. “Is that something you anticipate?”
Am I anticipating Rowan fighting for custody of our daughter?
“No,” I say. “He’s a good father.”
“Good.” She makes a note. “That simplifies things considerably.”
I sign the last page and set down the pen. My hand is trembling slightly. I clasp both hands in my lap to hide it.
“What happens now?”
“You serve him the papers. He has thirty days to respond. If he contests, we go to mediation. If he doesn’t-” She shrugs. “The court finalizes the divorce within sixty to ninety days.”
Sixty to ninety days. That’s all it takes to dismantle fifteen years.
“Is there anything else you need from me?”
“Just one thing.” She leans forward, and for the first time, something human flickers in her professional expression. “Are you sure about this?”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve been doing this for twenty years, Mrs. Callahan. I’ve seen a lot of divorces. And the ones that happen this fast, this cleanly - sometimes they’re the right choice. But sometimes they’re a test.”
My throat tightens. “A test?”
“Some people file because they want out. Some people file because they need to know if their spouse will fight to keep them.” She holds my gaze. “If this is a test, you should be prepared for the possibility that he might not give you the answer you’re looking for.”
She sees right through me.
“It’s not a test,” I lie.
“Of course.” She stands, offers her hand. “The papers are ready whenever you are.”
I drive home with the manila envelope on the passenger seat, heavy as a stone.
This is a mistake. This is a mistake. Turn around, go back, tell Patricia you changed your mind.
But I don’t turn around.
Because the truth is, I need to know. I need to know if Rowan will fight for this marriage the way he should have fought for it three months ago, before Maryse, before the texts, before everything fell apart.
He fought for Mr. Buttons. He ran into a burning building for a stuffed rabbit. Will he run into the fire for me?
The rental looks smaller than ever when I pull into the driveway. Rowan’s truck is there. He’s home.
Good. Let’s get this over with.
I find him in the kitchen, washing dishes. Such a mundane task. Such an ordinary moment to detonate a bomb.
“Hey,” he says, glancing over his shoulder. “Lily’s at Emma’s for a playdate. I was going to start dinner in-”
He stops when he sees the envelope in my hands.
“What’s that?”
I set it on the table. My fingers don’t want to let go, but I force them to release.
“Divorce papers.”
The word hangs in the air like smoke. His face goes white.
“Audrey-”
“I need you to read them. Take time. Think about what you want.”
“I know what I want.” His voice cracks. “I want you. I want our family.”
“Then prove it.”
I turn and walk toward my room, every step feeling like wading through concrete. Behind me, I hear the rustle of paper. The creak of a chair.
I close my bedroom door and sit on the edge of the bed, hands shaking, heart pounding.
Fight for me. Please. Just this once, fight for me.
Three days pass.
Three days of Rowan looking at me with hollow eyes, of careful silences and avoided conversations. Three days of waiting for him to say something, do something, anything.
On the third night, I find the papers on the kitchen table.
Signed.
Every page. Every line. His signature, steady and clear, on every single one.
No.
I flip through the pages frantically, looking for a note, an objection, anything that suggests he actually read what he was signing. But there’s nothing. Just his name, over and over, a surrender in ink.
He didn’t fight. He didn’t even try.
I sink into a chair, the papers clutched in my hands, and something in my chest collapses.
This is what I asked for. This is what I got.
So why does it feel like I’ve been stabbed?
He finds me an hour later, still sitting in the dark kitchen, tears streaming down my face.
“Audrey?” His voice is tentative. “Are you okay?”
I laugh - a broken, hysterical sound. “Am I okay? You just signed away our marriage without reading a single page, and you’re asking if I’m okay?”
“I-” He stops, confusion crossing his face. “You said to sign them.”
“I said to read them. I said to think about what you want.”
“I did think about it.”
“For three days? You thought about fifteen years together for three days and decided to just - give up?”
“I wasn’t giving up.” He moves closer, and I can see the exhaustion in his face, the weight of sleepless nights. “I was giving you what you wanted.”
“What I wanted?” I’m on my feet now, papers scattering across the table. “I wanted you to fight, Rowan! I wanted you to look at those papers and say no. I wanted you to tell me you weren’t going to lose me without a battle. I wanted-”
My voice breaks. I can’t finish.
“You wanted me to fight,” he repeats slowly, like he’s translating a foreign language.
“Yes.”
“For you.”
“Yes.”
“But you-” He runs a hand through his hair, bewildered. “You filed for divorce. You handed me the papers. You said-”
“I said prove it. Prove you want this family. And you proved the opposite.”
“I thought I was being selfless.” His voice is barely a whisper. “I thought - if you wanted out, who was I to stand in your way? After everything I did, after all the ways I hurt you - I thought letting you go was the right thing.”
“The right thing?” I’m crying now, ugly sobs that tear through my chest. “The right thing was fighting for me. The right thing was refusing to sign. The right thing was getting on your knees and begging me not to give up on us.”
He stares at me, and I watch the realization dawn on his face - slow, horrifying, complete.
“Oh God,” he breathes. “Oh God, Audrey, I didn’t - I thought-”
“You thought wrong.”
I gather the papers with shaking hands, shoving them back into the envelope. I can’t look at him. I can’t be in this room with the man who just handed me the end of our marriage like it meant nothing.
“Audrey, please-”
“Don’t.” I hold up a hand, stopping him. “I need to be alone right now.”
“Let me explain-”
“You don’t get to explain. You had three days to explain, and instead you signed every page.” I finally meet his eyes, and the devastation there almost makes me crumble. Almost. “You gave up, Rowan. When I needed you to fight harder than you’ve ever fought for anything, you gave up.”
I walk past him to my room and close the door.
On the other side, I hear him slide down the wall. I hear the sound of a grown man crying - deep, wrenching sobs that shake the thin walls of this tiny rental.
Good, I think viciously. Let him hurt. Let him feel what I’ve been feeling.
But there’s no satisfaction in it. Just emptiness.
I curl up on my bed and cry until there’s nothing left.