Chapter 15
I woke up on my sister's couch to the sound of her coffee maker hissing. It was just after seven and the light coming through her apartment blinds was thin and gray, the kind of morning that doesn't promise anything. My dress hung over her bedroom door on a padded hanger. Someone had covered it with a clean white sheet so I wouldn't have to look at the lace if I didn't want to.
My mom sat at the small kitchen table with her hands around a mug. She didn't ask how I slept.
"Your shoes are by the door," she said quietly. "Both of them now."
The county evidence tech had returned the single high heel the night before in a clear plastic bag with a tag on it. I hadn't opened it. This morning the bag was on the floor next to my duffel, and next to it, in a mason jar full of water, was the bouquet.
My sister had saved it. The white roses had opened too wide overnight and the baby's breath had gone a little brown at the edges. It didn't look romantic anymore. It looked like what it was, something that had been on the floor while I was on the floor.
I knelt down and looked at them. I didn't pick up the shoe. I didn't need to hold it to know what it meant. For hours yesterday people had tried to tell me what those objects were. A bridal bouquet. A lost shoe. A funny story for the reception. Now they were listed on a property receipt as Item #2 and Item #3. That was better. That was true.
My phone buzzed on the coffee table. I knew without looking it would be her.
It was a text from the older woman. From his mother. The name on the screen was still saved as Mrs. Whitaker.
Hannah, dear, I hope you rested. I have spoken to our attorney. We can still make this discreet for everyone. Please call me before you file anything. I only want to protect your future.
I read it twice. My mom watched my face.
"You don't have to answer that," she said.
"I know."
I pressed the side button and the screen went black. I didn't delete it. I didn't answer. I just set the phone face down and left it there. That was the first real choice of the day and my hand wasn't shaking when I did it.
At nine, my sister drove me to the legal aid office downtown. My ally from the night before, Jenna from the advocacy center, met us in the lobby. She carried a manila folder and she didn't hug me, she just nodded and said, "You ready?"
The lawyer was a woman in her forties with a soft voice and a hard desk. She laid out two forms. Annulment or divorce. In this state, she explained, an annulment was possible given the circumstances and the short duration, but a simple no-fault divorce was faster and just as clean. No hearing where I'd have to see him if I didn't want to.
"Which one lets me keep my name?" I asked.
"Both," she said. "You never changed it legally. You don't have to."
I checked the box for divorce. I wrote my name in the same handwriting I'd used on the seating chart two days ago. My sister stood behind me with her hand on the back of my chair. When I got to the line that asked for reason, the lawyer had typed irreconcilable differences and irretrievable breakdown and then, in parentheses, (see attached incident report #2024-1187). I didn't have to write out what happened in my own words on that form. The report was already filed. The video was already logged.
"Do you want to keep the veil?" the lawyer asked, glancing at the notes Jenna had given her. "Sometimes clients want it returned or destroyed. It's your property."
I thought about the veil spread out on that patterned rug, how it had covered me when I was face down.
"I'm keeping it," I said. "Not as an heirloom. Just folded in a box in my closet. So I remember what it covered and what it didn't."
She nodded and made a note. "That's allowed."
We signed where we needed to sign. Jenna made copies. The clerk stamped everything. There was no dramatic gavel. Just a stamp and a receipt and a date six weeks out for the hearing. When we walked out, the air outside was cool and smelled like fryer grease from the diner across the street.
My sister asked if I wanted to go straight home. I said I wanted to walk a minute.
I left them by the car and crossed the parking lot to the diner. I didn't go in. I just kept walking past it to where the lot ended and the chain-link fence looked out over the highway. Cars were moving north, steady and fast. The sound was constant, not tense. Just road noise and wind.
May you like
I stood there and breathed. For the first time since that bedroom, my breath didn't catch on the inhale. It went in and out steady. No one was watching me from a doorway. No one was standing over me. The bouquet was in a jar, the shoe was in a bag, the veil was in a box, and his name was on a form that was moving away from me without me having to chase it.
I put my hands in the pockets of my sister's old sweatshirt. My feet were in sneakers now, both on the ground, laced tight. The highway kept moving and I didn't need to be on it yet. I just needed to stand there and know I could walk forward when I was ready, alone, and keep walking.
