Three Breakdowns A Year Was All I Was Allowed Chapter 09

Three days after Nathan returned to the States, I received an express delivery.

Inside was the signed divorce agreement.

No conditions attached.

No [wait until you come home].

Just a note.

[This time, we’ll do what you decide.]

I sat holding the paper for a long time.

There was an empty space in my chest.

It didn’t hurt.

It just felt heavy.

I’d thought that when this day finally came, I’d feel satisfied.

In the end, I simply put the agreement back in its folder and called my lawyer.

“We can go ahead now.”

That evening, I messaged Three Ninety-Nine first.

[He signed.]

He asked: [Are you upset?]

I touched the bracelet on my wrist.

[A little.]

[But I don’t regret it.]

[Then let yourself be upset for a while.]

[That’s okay.]

As I looked at the words, tears slowly fell.

For the first time, I didn’t count how long I’d been crying.

The process moved quickly.

On the video call to confirm our agreement, Nathan sat on the other side of the anteen.

He’d lost a lot of weight since I’d last seen him.

The official asked, “Do you both confirm that you’re choosing to end this marriage?

I said, “Yes.”

When it was his turn, he was silent for a few seconds.

“Yes.”

With that one word, it was done.

Our four-year marriage ended just like that

Before the call ended, he suddenly said my name.

“Claire.”

I looked up.

He seemed to have so much he wanted to say.

In the end, he only asked:

“Are you doing well now?”

I paused

“I am.”

He nodded.

“Good”

The screen went dark.

I sat where I was, my fingers still for a long time.

My brother used to ask me that all the time.

Now it was Nathan asking.

But it no longer meant anything.

At noon, Mom called.

She didn’t try to talk me out of anything. She didn’t cry.

She just asked, “What do you want to eat? I’ll make it when you come home.”

I held the phone, a sudden sting behind my nose.

“Chicken pot pie.”

“Okay.”

She paused.

“Claire, it’s your life.”

I almost cried again.

“Yeah.”

As the project entered its final stage, someone was injured in an accident on-site.

When the ambulance arrived, my hands were covered in blood.

I stood in the hospital hallway, my legs shaking.

The fear I hadn’t felt in so long came rushing back.

Without thinking, I opened my contacts.

Nathan’s name was still there.

My finger hovered for two seconds.

Then I scrolled past it.

I contacted the insurance company first, then my coworker’s family, then confirmed the next steps

with my company.

Only after I’d handled everything did I sit down.

The water sloshed in my paper cup.

Just then, Three Ninety-Nine sent a message.

[Are you doing okay today?]

I replied: [Not really.]

[A coworker was hurt.]

[Have you done what you needed to do?]

[Yes.]

[Then you can be scared now.]

eyes suddenly stung.

Being mature didn’t mean never being afraid.

I lowered my head and let myself cry for a while.

The next day, my coworker was out of danger.

I stood outside the hospital just as dawn broke.

A message from an unfamiliar number appeared on my phone.

[I heard they’re out of danger. It’s been a hard day for you.]

I recognized the tone.

It was Nathan.

I didn’t reply.

Later, my lawyer sent me an electronic document.

[Your divorce is final.]

I stared at the words for a long time.

Then I changed his contact name from [Husband] to [Nathan].

I didn’t delete him.

I didn’t block him, either.

Just an ordinary name.

When I was done, I locked my phone.

As I looked up, the sun was rising behind the buildings across from the hospital.

The light was a little harsh.

I narrowed my eyes.