The Divorce He Asked For, The Empire I Took Away Chapter 12

The Divorce He Asked For, The Empire I Took Away Chapter 12

On the day the court finalized our divorce, the sky was gray.

Marcus and I sat outside the family-court hearing room without speaking.

A clerk verified our identification, notarized agreement, asset disclosures, and filing dates.

The judge asked whether both of us understood the settlement and were signing voluntarily.

We said yes.

The marriage certificate stayed in the record. We left with certified copies of the divorce decree.

Marcus followed me down the courthouse steps and called my name. I paused.

“If you ever need anything, you can still call me.”

I did not turn. “I won’t.”

I requested a car. After it had gone a couple of blocks, I looked down at the decree, placed it inside my bag,

and closed the zipper.

At the hotel, I packed and checked out.

My mother waited outside in a gray coat, holding a bag of oranges. She took my luggage without asking questions.

In the car, she handed me the fruit.

“Eat on the way.”

The first orange was sour.

My mother glanced at me while driving. “You’ve lost weight.’

“I know.”

“Stay with us. I’ll cook.”

“Okay.”

As the city receded beneath a gray sky, Dana messaged me.

Dana: [Finished?]

Lydia: [Finished.]

Dana: [How do you feel?]

I thought before answering.

Lydia: (Lighter.]

Dana sent a sun emoji, then added that Derek’s friends had exposed Vanessa too. She had also borrowed

money during their month together and never repaid it.

I read the message without answering. That was Vanessa’s problem now.

It was nearly dark when we arrived. My father was watching television in the living room.

He put down the remote. “You’re home.

Hungry?”

“Very.”

My mother went to the kitchen. My father changed channels and cleared a place beside him on the couch.

He did not ask about the divorce.

A home-renovation program showed someone comparing tile colors.

My eyes began to ache, not from grief but from familiarity.

I had sat on that couch since childhood. One section of leather on the arm had worn away, exposing the

foam.

My mother called us to dinner.

She had made braised short ribs, green beans, baked eggs, cucumber salad, and soup. The ribs had been my favorite as a child.

She watched me taste one.

“Good?”

“Good.”

She smiled and placed another on my plate.

After dinner, I washed dishes while she wiped the counter.

“Your life belongs to you now,” she said. “Don’t look back.”

I put away the final bowl and closed the cabinet.

“I won’t.”

That night, I slept in my old roum on freshly changed sheets that smelled of clean laundry.

A thin crack had crossed the ceiling since I was in high school.

I remembered Marcus saying I could call if I ever needed him.

I had not turned around.

There would be no need.

My phone displayed a Facebook notification from Vanessa. She had erased every post, changed her profile image to gray, and replaced her bio with one word: Nothing.

I watched for two seconds and backed out.

My own exposure post was still online.

I deleted it.

Not because I had softened, but because I no longer needed it.

The evidence was preserved. Every necessary word had been spoken.

Everyone who needed to leave was gone.

The post had completed its purpose.

I turned off the light. A sliver of streetlight showed through the curtains as I closed my eyes.

Tomorrow would begin without Marcus or Vanessa.

Only me.

I pulled the blanket closer and soon fell into a deep sleep.

There were no dreams.