No, you chose me after you lost him. Her face tightened. That's not fair. Neither was what you did. She looked toward the house.
Can I at least get the rest of my things? Make a list. I need clothes, some documents, and a few personal things. Send me the list. She nodded.
Then she looked at me again. Are you really divorcing me? Yes. There's no chance. No, she stood silently.
After a moment, she asked, "Do you hate me?" "No." "Then why are you so cold?" "I'm not cold." I looked directly at her.
"I'm done." She started crying. I didn't move. She eventually walked back to her car. The following week, Martin contacted her attorney.
The divorce process officially began. Wanda moved into an apartment. I stayed in the house. We communicated only through our attorneys unless something required a direct answer. That made everything easier.
There were no midnight arguments, no screaming, no begging, just paperwork. Then came the question of the house. Martin explained that we could sell it and divide the proceeds or negotiate a buyout. I decided to sell. I couldn't imagine staying there.
Every room reminded me of the marriage I thought I had. The bedroom where we'd slept for 10 years, the kitchen where we'd eaten together, the hallway where Wanda had stood crying while I told her to leave. I didn't want any of it. The house went on the market. A buyer made an offer within 2 weeks.
I accepted. Wanda signed the necessary documents. One afternoon, while she was collecting the last of her belongings, she stopped in the living room. Our wedding photograph was still sitting on the shelf. She picked it up.
We looked happy. We were. She looked at me. Were you ever happy with me? Yes.
Her eyes filled with tears. Then why can't you forgive me? I can forgive you. She waited. But I can't trust you.
She slowly put the photograph back. Then she picked up her box and walked out. I watched her leave. The house was sold a few days later. 10 years of marriage had become a stack of legal papers and an empty house.
But for the first time since that anniversary night, I felt like I was finally moving forward. The divorce took four months to finalize. Four months of paperwork, meetings, and waiting for dates. I expected those months to be difficult. They weren't.
Once the decision had been made, there was nothing left to debate. Wanda had hired her own attorney, and for the most part, everything stayed professional. We divided the savings, handled the house sale, separated our accounts, and settled the remaining financial matters. There were no major fights. Maybe because both of us already knew exactly why we were there.
The marriage was ending because Wanda had chosen another man. The final hearing was on a Tuesday morning. I arrived early. Wanda came in about 10 minutes later. She looked at me from across the room.
Hi. Hey. She sat down beside her attorney. For several minutes, neither of us spoke. Then she leaned toward me.
Are you nervous? No, I am. I looked at her. I know. She looked down at her hands.
I still can't believe this is happening. It already happened. She looked at me. What do you mean? The divorce is just making it official.