Chapter 10
For the first time in years, his whole face broke open with something unguarded and bright. Relief. Joy. Maybe disbelief.
Then, more gently, “Do you want to cry?”
I shook my head.
“Do you want to hit something?”
A wet laugh escaped me. “Maybe.”
“Good.” He took the envelope from my hand and opened the passenger door. “Get in. I have paperwork too.”
I blinked. “What paperwork?”
He looked at me over the roof of the car, the corner of his mouth lifting.
“Marriage paperwork.”
I stared at him.
Then I started laughing for real.
That had always been Ethan’s gift. Not that he made everything lighter. He didn’t. He just made pain feel survivable.
I got into the car.
At the next office, I signed a second set of papers.
By the time I walked out again, I had a new husband.
If you asked whether it was impulsive, the answer was yes.
If you asked whether it was reckless, probably.
If you asked whether I regretted it, not for a second.
Ethan had loved me for ten years.
Not the face under the makeup. Not the fantasy of me. Me.
The version who once cried because she spilled coffee on a final draft. The version who forgot to eat when she got anxious. The version who chose the wrong man and kept choosing him long after it hurt.
He knew all of it.
And still chose me.
“I know this is insane,” I said when we got back in the car.
He buckled his seatbelt. “A little.”
“You’re awfully calm for a man who just married his best friend in under an hour.”
“I’ve been ready for ten years. You’re the one who’s late.”
I looked out the window so he wouldn’t see my eyes fill again.
That evening, I posted a second photo.
Not a close-up this time. A full-body shot in the city light, smiling beside Ethan, my hand looped through his arm, the new marriage certificate just visible in the corner.
Caption: Upgraded.
The internet lost its mind all over again.
Cole lost his mind most of all.
I heard about it from three different people before midnight.
Apparently he had been at an officers’ gathering when he saw the post. One of his friends joked that if Cole had known his ex-wife looked like that, he should have introduced her to the rest of the unit instead of hoarding her. Cole smashed a whiskey glass in his hand so hard he needed stitches.
He called me twenty-one times.
Blocked.
He emailed.
Unread.
He sent a message through a mutual acquaintance.
I ignored that too.