I was tired of it, so I steered the conversation back on track. “When do you plan on getting a lawyer? Have you even been looking?”
Instead of answering, she turned it around on me. “Why the sudden rush? You didn’t seem to care before.”
“Are you kidding me? You’re the one who wanted this divorce. You found me so repulsive that you sought out other men. Now I’m giving you what you want, and you’re making it hard for me. Why?”
Her haughty attitude softened. “I’m not trying to make this difficult for you,” she said genuinely.
And maybe she was telling the truth. She’d never intentionally made things harder during our separation, but trust was in short supply.
“Then sign the papers. They’re as fair as I can make them.”
She hesitated. “I just think we should talk first.”
“No, Paige. There’s nothing left to discuss,” I snapped, my patience gone.
She fell silent. Realizing that yelling wouldn’t help, I took a deep breath.
“Look, I’m not trying to screw you over. I’m just trying to move on. But I can’t do that with the weight of our marriage holding me down. It’s too much.”
I didn’t mean to be that honest, but the words just came out. When I looked at her, I saw her eyes welling up.
“I’m sorry, Artie. I’ve been really terrible to you,” she admitted.
I didn’t respond, just listened. When she realized I wasn’t saying anything, she asked, “Can you ever forgive me?”
Could I really forgive her? Could I move past that day that seemed to define everything? Over time, the pain faded, and that day became just a few paragraphs in my past.
“I do forgive you, Paige,” I said.
She smiled, relieved. “Really?” she asked.
“Yes. Now, I just want to move forward.”
Relief washed over her face. “That’s all I’ve wanted, to know you forgive me.”
Feeling positive about our conversation, I added, “Great. Now you can sign the papers with a clear conscience.”
Her smile faded into disappointment and then anger. “Wait, are you just saying what I want to hear to get me to sign?”
I was taken aback. “What?”
She stood close, the scent of eucalyptus lotion strong. “Who is she?” she demanded, glaring at me.