Chapter 13
1770 Words
Summer’s POV
The next morning began with paperwork.
It wasn’t glamorous.
There were no dramatic speeches.
No tears.
No last-minute hesitation.
Just… paperwork.
Strangely enough, that made everything feel more real than the argument with Ethan ever had.
Lena insisted on driving me.
“You’ve had enough taxis this week,” she said as she tossed me a bottle of water before climbing into the driver’s seat.
I smiled.
“Bossy.”
“I prefer caring.”
“You’ve always preferred being right.”
“I usually am.”
I laughed quietly, shaking my head.
It felt… nice.
Laughing without forcing it.
The law firm occupied the top three floors of a sleek glass building in downtown Los Angeles.
Minimalist.
Elegant.
Professional.
The receptionist welcomed us with a warm smile.
“Good morning. Do you have an appointment?”
“I do.”
I smiled politely.
“Summer Carter. I have a ten o’clock appointment with Ms. Olivia Hayes.”
The receptionist nodded after checking her computer.
“She’s expecting you.”
She glanced at Lena.
“And you are?”
“Lena Brooks. I’m here as support.”
The receptionist smiled knowingly.
“Ms. Hayes said you were welcome to come in if Mrs. Carter wanted you there.”
I looked at Lena.
“You coming?”
She squeezed my shoulder.
“Only if you want me to.”
“I do.”
Olivia Hayes looked to be in her early forties.
Sharp navy suit.
Hair neatly tied back.
Confident without being intimidating.
She stood the moment we entered.
“Mrs. Carter.”
She offered her hand.
“It’s nice to finally meet you.”
“Thank you for seeing me.”
“My pleasure.”
She shook Lena’s hand before gesturing toward two comfortable chairs.
“Please.”
“Have a seat.”
Her office overlooked the city skyline.
Normally, I would’ve admired the view.
Today…
I barely noticed it.
Olivia opened a slim folder.
“I know this isn’t the easiest reason for us to meet.”
I nodded quietly.
“So before we discuss paperwork…”
She folded her hands together.
“…I want to ask you one question.”
I looked at her.
“Are you absolutely certain this is what you want?”
There wasn’t a trace of judgment in her voice.
Just professionalism.
I took a slow breath.
“Yes.”
“No one is forcing you?”
“No.”
“No one has threatened you?”
“No.”
“You’ve had time to think?”
“I have.”
She held my gaze for another moment.
Then nodded once.
“Alright.”
She opened the file.
“Let’s discuss the process.”
For the next forty-five minutes…
She explained everything.
Patiently.
Carefully.
“There are several stages.”
“The first is filing the petition for dissolution of marriage.”
She slid a document toward me.
“Once filed, your husband must be officially served.”
I nodded.
“He’ll then have a specific period to respond.”
“If he contests anything…”
She continued.
“…property division, financial matters, or any requests either party makes…”
“…the process can take longer.”
“How long?”
She smiled gently.
“It depends.”
“If both parties cooperate…”
“It can be relatively straightforward.”
“If they don’t…”
She didn’t finish the sentence.
She didn’t have to.
I understood.
She continued.
“I also want to reassure you of something.”
I looked up.
“You are not required to meet him alone.”
“If communication becomes difficult…”
“My office handles it.”
“If he begins contacting you excessively…”
“We document it.”
“If necessary…”
“We request that all communication goes through legal representatives.”
Relief washed over me.
“So…”
“I don’t have to keep talking to him?”
“No.”
The answer came immediately.
“Not if you don’t wish to.”
Something inside me loosened.
I hadn’t realized how much I’d dreaded the endless conversations.
The pleading.
The arguments.
The guilt.
Olivia pushed another document toward me.
“This authorizes my firm to represent you.”
I stared at the signature line.
This was it.
Once I signed…
There would be no pretending yesterday hadn’t happened.
No going back to normal.
I picked up the pen.
Without hesitating…
I signed my name.
Summer Rivers Carter.
Olivia smiled softly.
“We’ll file everything today.”
“And…”
She closed the folder.
“…your husband will be served within the next few days.”
When we stepped back outside, I released a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.
“How do you feel?”
Lena asked.
I thought about it.
“Lighter.”
She smiled.
“Good.”
“I also feel like throwing up.”
She laughed.
“Also normal.”
On the drive back, another thought surfaced.
“Lena?”
“Hm?”
“I should probably call work.”
She nodded.
“I was thinking the same.”
“I don’t think I can go back yet.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I’ve never taken leave before.”
“You’ve also never filed for divorce before.”
Fair point.
When we got back to her apartment, I sat at the kitchen counter with my phone in my hand for nearly five minutes before pressing the call button.
“Good morning, Summer.”
My manager’s familiar voice came through.
“Good morning.”
“I… was wondering if I could request some personal leave.”
There was a brief pause.
“Is everything alright?”
I looked down at my wedding ring.
I still hadn’t gotten used to the pale mark it had left behind.
“No.”
I answered honestly.
“I’m going through a divorce.”
Silence.
Then…
“I’m very sorry to hear that.”
His tone softened immediately.
“Take whatever time you need.”
“I’ll submit the paperwork today.”
“No rush.”
“We’ll mark it as personal leave.”
“You’ve never given this company a reason to question your commitment.”
Relief flooded through me.
“Thank you.”
“If there’s anything we can do…”
“I appreciate it.”
When the call ended…
I simply sat there.
“It’s done.”
Lena placed a mug of tea in front of me.
“It is.”
Monday morning…
Lena returned to work alone.
The apartment felt strangely quiet after she left.
I spent most of the morning reading.
Trying to.
My concentration lasted all of three pages.
My phone buzzed.
Lena.
I answered immediately.
“Everything okay?”
“You’ll laugh.”
“I doubt it.”
“The receptionist just called me.”
I frowned.
“Why?”
“A delivery arrived.”
“What kind?”
“White roses.”
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
“There must be…”
She paused dramatically.
“…a hundred.”
I sighed.
“The card?”
“‘Please talk to me. I love you.’”
I pinched the bridge of my nose.
“Ethan.”
“So…”
“What should I tell them?”
I didn’t even have to think.
“Refuse them.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“They’ll send them back.”
“Good.”
She smiled through the phone.
“I’ll let them know.”
The following morning…
My phone rang again.
Lena.
“Guess.”
“What now?”
“Your favorite cinnamon pastries.”
I laughed despite myself.
“He remembered.”
“He did.”
“What do I do?”
“Same answer.”
“Return them?”
“Yes.”
“You know the receptionist said something funny?”
“What?”
“‘If he’s trying to win her back, he’s going to have to do better than baked goods.’”
I couldn’t help laughing.
“She’s not wrong.”
Wednesday…
Another call.
“Summer?”
“I’m almost afraid to ask.”
“This one’s heavier.”
“Heavier?”
“A jewelry box.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“I opened it enough to check who it was from.”
“And?”
“A diamond bracelet.”
She sent a photo.
The one I’d admired months ago while we were walking past a jewelry store.
I remembered saying it was beautiful.
I’d also remembered saying it was too expensive.
Apparently…
He’d remembered too.
My chest tightened.
Not because I wanted it.
Because it reminded me that knowing what someone likes isn’t the same as knowing how to love them.
“Return it.”
“No hesitation?”
“No.”
“It goes back.”
By Thursday…
Reception no longer had to ask.
Whenever another delivery arrived…
They called Lena.
Lena gave the same answer.
“Refuse it.”
One receptionist even joked,
“I think we’ve become experts at returning gifts.”
Lena laughed.
“You have no idea.”
That evening…
She came home smiling.
“What?”
“The security guard asked me something today.”
“What?”
“He said…”
She cleared her throat dramatically.
“‘Your friend must really be something.’”
I laughed.
“Why?”
“‘Most people would’ve accepted the flowers by now.’”
I looked down into my tea.
“No.”
“I’ve accepted enough crumbs.”
Lena’s smile softened.
“I knew you’d say that.”
Friday morning…
My phone remained silent.
No flowers.
No pastries.
No jewelry.
Nothing.
For the first time all week…
I allowed myself to believe he’d finally stopped.
At exactly 2:17 that afternoon…
Lena called.
I answered with a groan.
“Now what?”
She was unusually quiet.
“They served him.”
My heart skipped.
“…Already?”
“About an hour ago.”
I slowly sat upright on the couch.
“How do you know?”
“My cousin works at Olivia’s firm.”
She lowered her voice.
“She couldn’t tell me details…”
“…but she did tell me the papers were delivered personally.”
I swallowed.
Somewhere across the city…
Ethan now held the documents I’d signed.
The marriage certificate we’d once framed with pride was now being answered by a petition for dissolution.
It wasn’t a threat anymore.
It wasn’t an argument.
It was real.
Very, very real.
And for the first time since I walked away…
There was nothing either of us could do to pretend otherwise.
- Writer
