Chapter 19
The divorce became final quietly.
No photographers.
No statement.
No war.
Only signatures.
I expected some dramatic feeling when my solicitor called.
Instead, I was sitting on the floor with Noah.
He was beginning to sit upright with support.
He kept reaching for my watch.
“Stop trying to steal that,” I told him.
He grabbed it again.
I laughed.
My phone vibrated on the table.
I let it ring.
Clara entered the room carrying a bottle.
“Aren’t you going to answer?”
“No.”
“It could be important.”
I looked at Noah.
His hand was wrapped around my finger.
“It isn’t.”
She glanced toward the phone.
Then back at me.
“You don’t know that.”
“No.”
I smiled faintly.
“But I know this is.”
She went still.
Months earlier, I would have said that sentence hoping she noticed.
Hoping it earned something.
That day I meant it.
Maybe that was why she believed me.
The phone stopped ringing.
Noah laughed.
A real laugh.
Not a baby noise.
A laugh.
I stared at him.
“Was that—”
“Yes.”
“He laughed.”
“He’s done it before.”
My happiness cracked instantly.
Clara saw.
“Oh.”
“When?”
“A few days ago.”
I looked back at Noah.
Of course.
There would always be firsts I missed.
That was what separation meant.
That was what consequences meant.
You did not become better and receive the past as a reward.
You became better because the future still existed.
“He laughed,” I said again.
Clara sat across from me.
“He recognizes you now.”
I looked up.
“What?”
“When you come in.”
My throat tightened.
“He knows your voice.”
I could not speak.
Clara looked down at the bottle.
“You asked me once whether he did.”
I remembered the first meeting.
The fear.
The unbearable suspicion that I was a stranger holding my own child.
“He does,” she said.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For telling me.”
She nodded.
Things between us had become strangely formal in some ways and more truthful in others.
We no longer pretended.
If she was angry, she said it.
If I was hurt, I did not convert hurt into power.
We talked about Noah.
Sometimes, rarely, we talked about us.
One afternoon she asked, “Do you miss the company?”
“Yes.”
The answer surprised her.
“I thought you’d say no.”
“I’m trying not to lie for effect anymore.”
She smiled slightly.
“So you miss it.”
“Parts of it.”
“What parts?”
“Walking into a room and knowing people had to listen.”