My Husband’s Countdown Dropped When She Smiled At Him Chapter 10

My Husband’s Countdown Dropped When She Smiled At Him Chapter 10

The next morning, the sky finally cleared.

Crestwood’s rainy season seemed to end that day.

Sunlight broke through the clouds and spilled over the steps of the County Clerk’s Office.

Eight-fifty a.m. I stood at the bottom of the steps and watched a black car pull up to the curb.

Owen got out. He’d lost so much weight. His cheekbones stood out. His suit hung loose on him. No driver. He’d come alone.

When he saw me, he stopped.

A few yards apart, we just looked at each other.

The number was still there above his head. [3648 days]

I smiled.

That number didn’t mean a thing to me anymore.

“Let’s go.” I turned first and walked toward the entrance.

Owen followed. His footsteps were heavy, like his shoes were full of cement.

The place wasn’t busy. We didn’t even have to wait at the divorce window.

The clerk took our documents and asked the standard question.

“You’ve both thought this through? No chance of working things out?”

I nodded. “Yes.”

Owen stood next to me.

His hand was flat on the counter, clenched so tight his knuckles were white.

There was a dark bruise on the back of his other hand from yanking out his IV.

The clerk handed over the stamped divorce decree. “You’re all set. It’s final.”

I took mine.

The judge’s signature at the bottom of the decree caught the light.

Owen’s hand trembled as he picked up his copy.

He stared at it like it was a death sentence.

“Nora.”

His voice was dry as sandpaper.

I turned back.

“That day…” His eyes were red as he looked at me.

“That day in the rain, when I gave your blanket to Paige… for a second, I thought you were being cold.”

He finally said the truth.
“I thought you weren’t generous enough. Not kind enough.”

“So I wanted to make you feel left out for a while. Make you learn to compromise.”

I listened to his confession.

I’d already figured it out anyway.

All that favoritism of his. It wasn’t just overflowing sympathy. It was also a secret punishment.

“I know,” I said quietly.

“So I’m not angry at you. I just don’t need you anymore.”

I turned away and walked out the doors of the County Clerk’s Office.

Outside, the sun felt warm on my skin.

I walked to the curb and hailed a cab. Right as I pulled the door open, I looked back.

Owen was still standing on the steps, gripping that red certificate in his hand. He was looking at me.

And that number above his head—the one that had haunted me, wrecked me, made me question everything—

In the sunlight, it started to fade.

Going transparent.

And then.

Pop.

A soft sound, like a bubble bursting.

It vanished into the air.

I slid into the cab.

I said. “Hartfield International Airport, thanks.”