Chapter 6
Marcy’s office on Lex was on the ninth floor of a building with a doorman who didn’t smile. I got there at 9:50 Friday morning— not Tuesday, because Thursday night Julian texted that his work had moved his shift and could we push, and I’d said Friday— and sat in the waiting room with my envelope on my lap and Julian’s envelope I hadn’t opened beside it.
He arrived at 9:57, a little out of breath but not sweaty. He’d worn the dark charcoal suit again, white shirt open at the collar, hair combed but wavy where it dried wrong. He saw me and nodded, sat two chairs away like we’d agreed without talking about it.
“Elise, Julian,” Marcy said at ten sharp, coming out herself. She was in her forties, gray suit that fit better than mine, no jewelry except a thin watch. “Come on back.”
Her office was small and bright, window facing the air shaft, diplomas on the wall. She closed the door and motioned to the two chairs across from her desk. We both sat. My suitcase was at home under the bed. There was no handle between us now, just a desk.
“Let’s make this clean,” Marcy said. She put reading glasses on. “Elise signed May 9th. Julian, you’ve now signed as well, notarized. Under New York law, no-fault, we file and there’s no mandatory waiting to start the case, but the court won’t finalize for at least about a month after service and filing, sometimes longer. You both understand that?”
We both nodded.
“Good. Elise, you initiated after a contract marriage that began in March 2023 at City Hall, correct?”
I swallowed. “Yes.”
Marcy looked at Julian. “And you both entered it knowingly? No coercion?”
“No,” Julian said. His voice was steady. “My engineering transfer required a valid visa status that was expiring. Elise agreed to help for a year. My family— my mom in New Jersey— she pushed me to do it that way instead of going home. I told Elise it was temporary. Paper only.”
He said it looking at Marcy, not me. That was Marcy’s trick. She asked him while I was in the room but not to me, so he had to say it out loud without performing it for me.
“We lived together,” I said, because Marcy nodded for me to go on. “Separate bedrooms on 38th. Joint account for rent that his parents funded at first. We had an interview in November. Green card interview. We passed.”
“And after that?” Marcy asked.
“After that we were supposed to file for divorce quietly,” Julian said. “Six months after. But winter came and I got the transfer extended and— I asked her to stay longer. I said it looked better to wait a year.”
“You stayed?” Marcy asked me.
“I did,” I said. My hands were folded on my envelope. “I thought if we stayed, maybe it would be less weird. Instead it got heavier. He was gone for shifts. I was alone in the apartment checking married on every form. In April I told him I was done. I signed.”
Julian finally looked at me. “I didn’t file mine because I wanted to talk, not because I wanted to trap you. At the bus stop— Gate 6— I saw your location on Find My. You left it on. I ran to Grand Central and then the bus listing said Gate 6. I grabbed the handle because I thought if you left on that bus I’d never get to say—” He stopped and looked down at his hands. “That I’d started to want it to be real. Late. And that’s not fair to use now.”
The office was quiet except for the air conditioner. Marcy let the silence sit.
I felt my eyes get warm but I didn’t cry. I’d cried at the diner and in the shower on 81st and that was enough. What I felt now was the thin click of a piece fitting, not relief, not love— understanding. He hadn’t chased me to keep a contract. He’d chased me because the contract had ended and he didn’t know what else to hold.
“Thank you for saying it plainly,” Marcy said. She opened both envelopes, checked the signatures against her checklist, made copies. She stamped something. “You’re doing this right, both of you. No money claims, no property fight, no children. Simple filing. If you both stay on this course, you’ll be divorced in about six weeks.”
“Six weeks,” I repeated.
“Unless one of you withdraws consent before judgment,” she said, neutral. “You don’t have to decide today how you feel about each other. Just whether you want me to file these.”
She slid the packet back across the desk.
I put my hand on it. Julian put his hand near it but not on it, waiting.
May you like
On Friday at 10:12 a.m. in a room with no bus waiting, the choice was finally mine without a crowd or a door about to close. I could tell her to file. I could ask for the weekend.
I looked at Julian— his suit, his open collar, the faint sweat at his temple even with the AC— and then at Marcy’s steady face. I breathed once, slow, before I spoke.
