You sat in the passenger seat outside the courthouse, one hand resting on the curve of your eight-month belly while rain streaked across the windshield.
The building ahead looked cold, severe, built for endings. Your mother gripped the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles had gone white.
“I can still come in with you,” she said softly. “You don’t have to face this alone.”
You turned to her with a calm you had saved for this exact morning. “I’m not alone, Mom.” Your hand slid over your stomach. “I haven’t been alone for months.”
Before she could answer, your phone buzzed. A text from your attorney lit the screen: I’m inside. Everything is ready exactly as discussed. Trust the timing.
Trust. After everything Damian had poisoned, the word felt almost absurd.
You closed your eyes and breathed slowly, the way your doctor had taught you when stress began driving your blood pressure up. Memories came in flashes: a second rent payment on an apartment you had never seen, restaurant charges on nights Damian claimed he was with clients, perfume on his jacket that was too expensive and too floral to ignore.
Then the image that had ended your marriage long before the court ever could: Damian’s coworker Rebecca Hayes stepping out of a downtown loft building while you sat in your car across the street. She adjusted her blouse, smiled, and Damian appeared behind her. He leaned down and kissed her with casual familiarity, like he was greeting the life he truly wanted.
That was when it ended.
A knock on the passenger window pulled you back. Damian stood outside in a charcoal suit, polished and handsome in the way men like him carefully maintain. Beside him was Rebecca in a burgundy dress and sharp heels, one manicured hand looped confidently through his arm.
“We should go in,” Damian said smoothly. “The judge doesn’t like people being late.”
You lowered the window only slightly. “Wouldn’t want to inconvenience the court on your big day.”
Rebecca smiled sweetly, but the cruelty under it was obvious. “Cristina, I hope we can keep things civilized. I know this is painful, but really, it’s for the best. Damian needs someone who understands the world he moves in.” Her eyes dropped deliberately to your stomach. “And you have different priorities now.”
Your mother made a quiet, angry sound, but you opened the door before she could speak. The rain was colder than you expected. Stepping out slowly, one hand supporting your belly, you met Rebecca’s gaze with such calm that her smile flickered. She had expected tears, humiliation, some visible collapse from the abandoned pregnant wife. You gave her nothing.
“You’re right,” you said evenly. “I do.”
Inside, the courthouse smelled like damp coats, paper, and floor polish. Your attorney, Michael Grant, waited by security with a folder tucked under one arm. He was silver-haired, composed, and had the look of a man too experienced to be impressed by anyone’s performance.
“Right on time,” he said.
“I usually am.”
His mouth tilted slightly. “Yes. They tend to count on that.”
