Chapter 14
His voice broke slightly.
“I know.”
It was the first time he hadn’t defended himself.
That almost made it worse.
“What do you want from me, Julian?”
A long silence followed.
Then he said, “I want thirty days ago.”
My eyes filled.
“You can’t have it.”
“I know.”
This time, when the silence came, neither of us tried to fill it.
Finally, I said, “Goodnight, Julian.”
“Goodnight, Claire.”
I ended the call.
Eight days remained.
Chapter 5: DAY THIRTY
The morning my divorce became final, I woke before sunrise.
I made coffee.
Then I walked into the garden wearing boots and an old sweater.
I had planted tomatoes three weeks earlier.
Most were doing badly.
One plant had survived.
I crouched beside it and laughed.
Some metaphor was probably hiding there.
I decided not to look for it.
At nine, I drove to Charleston.
I wore a cream-colored suit I had bought myself years before.
Not mourning black.
Not revenge red.
Just something that made me feel like Claire.
Reporters waited outside the courthouse.
Questions came immediately.
“Claire, did Julian cheat?”
“Claire, is Sophie Lane responsible for your divorce?”
“Are you taking sixty percent?”
“Will you reconcile?”
I walked inside without answering.
Julian was already there.
He stood when I entered.
For a second, we simply looked at each other.
Twelve years.
How do you fit twelve years into one final look?
You don’t.
Evelyn touched my arm.
“You ready?”
“Yes.”
The documents were waiting.
Our signatures already covered most pages.
Only the final acknowledgments remained.
The attorney reviewed everything.
Hawthorne Manor belonged to Julian.
My personal investments remained mine.
Our business interests were separated.
Sixty percent of the designated liquid marital assets transferred to me.
There were no challenges.
No delays.
No last-minute disputes.
The attorney turned the final page toward me.
I signed.
Julian signed after me.
And just like that, I was no longer Mrs. Mercer.
No thunder.
No dramatic music.
No sudden understanding of the universe.
Just ink drying on paper.
Outside the conference room, Julian asked, “Can I have five minutes?”
Evelyn looked at me.
I nodded.
We walked into an empty hallway.
Julian put his hands in his pockets.
He had done that when he was twenty-one whenever he was nervous.
“I heard filming starts next month.”
“Yes.”
“Martin says the script is good.”
“You talked to Martin?”
“He called me.”
“Why?”
“To make sure I wasn’t going to create problems for you.”