He Asked Me To Wait, I Asked For A Divorce Chapter 03

The next day, I took the signed divorce papers to the Duval County courthouse.

The clerk read them and frowned.

“Your husband isn’t here. We can’t complete an uncontested filing without the required waiver and signatures.”

I’d come prepared.

“He left today on an unaccompanied Navy assignment. His commanding officer and other personnel witnessed him sign everything.”

“The law doesn’t force two people to stay married when both have agreed to end it.”

“This is his signed settlement and waiver of service. Please file it and date-stamp the record.”

The clerk looked at how young I was, then at the paperwork I’d organized, and her expression softened.

“You’ve done your homework.”

I lowered my eyes.

In my last life, knowing nothing had let people carve me up until there was nothing left.

This time, I would learn every rule that could protect me and never forget it.

News of the divorce filing spread quickly through both families and the Navy housing community.

Some people said I was cold. Others said I had no idea how good I’d had it.

A Navy spouse I knew quietly asked me, “Claire, you really went through with it?”

I smiled.

“What good would being scared do? Nobody else has to live my life for me.”

I started making marine protective gear by hand.

In my last life, I’d spent years learning from an old dockworker because I wanted to make Gavin a pair of non-slip deck gloves that actually fit. The gear I eventually made resisted abrasion and saltwater and held up through sun, spray, and hard use.

I brought a few sample pairs of reinforced marine work gloves to a local marine supply store. At first, the owner wouldn’t take them.

“Handmade? Nobody cares about handmade work gloves anymore.”

I set a pair on the counter.

“Soak them in saltwater for half a day. Then drag them against a dock line.”

He tried it, skeptical. The canvas came away with only a shallow mark.

I said, “Deck crews, field crews, dockworkers—they can all use these. If they don’t sell, I’ll pick them back up. I won’t cost you an inch of shelf space.”

He thought it over and kept three pairs as samples.

Three days later, he called and asked me to come in.

“You got any more? I’ll take everything you’ve got.”

I nodded.

“I do.”

From then on, I took freelance design work during the day and made protective gear under a desk lamp at night.

Mom hated seeing me push myself so hard.

“Planning to ruin your eyes? You’re up past midnight every night.”

I laughed. “I want my eyesight. I want the money too.”

The day my first payment cleared, I brought home cherries and salmon.

Mom scolded me for wasting money, but her hands shook as she sliced the salmon.

We had barely put dinner on the table when Denise showed up.

She stood in the hallway, loud enough for the entire floor to hear.

“Claire Bennett, you have the nerve to eat like this?”

“My son is halfway across the world serving his country, and you’re back here treating yourself like nothing happened. Do you have any conscience at all?”

I put the lid back on the pan and walked out slowly.

“I earned the money. I bought the food. What part of that has anything to do with the Mercer family?”

Denise dropped down in the hallway and raised her voice even louder, making sure every neighbor could hear her.

“Everybody come hear this! She married my son for two days, forced him to sign divorce papers, and now she says his parents mean nothing to her. What kind of wife does that?”

Doors opened up and down the hall as neighbors came out to watch.

In my last life, crowds terrified me. The second people gathered, I’d panic and go quiet, convinced no one would believe me anyway.

Now, all I felt was a headache coming on.

I went back inside and returned with the signed divorce agreement.

“Denise, would you like me to read it out loud for everyone?”

Her crying stopped on a dime.

I unfolded the agreement and read clearly.

“Gavin Mercer voluntarily agreed in writing to end the marriage with Claire Bennett. From that point forward, each party was free to move on with their own life. You are not my mother-in-law, and I am not your daughter-in-law.”

One of the neighbors leaned in for a look.

“That is Gavin’s signature.”

“Then what is she doing here?”

Humiliated, Denise doubled down.

“You don’t stop being family just because you signed some paperwork! You were my daughter-in-law for two days, and that still means something.”

I looked at her.

“If you need a daughter that badly, adopt one. Don’t show up at my door and assign me the job.”

The hallway burst into laughter.

Denise scrambled to her feet and raised a hand at me.

Mom charged out of the kitchen holding a chef’s knife.

“Touch my daughter and see what happens.”

Denise stumbled backward.

Mom was usually so mild she avoided even the smallest confrontation.

But in that moment, she stood in front of me, slight and trembling, yet steady as a wall.