The filing has already been submitted. You can't just end 24 years like this. You ended our marriage when you decided I wasn't worth telling the truth to. I'm simply making the legal part official. She sat down slowly.
For the first time since she had returned, she looked less angry than frightened. What happens now? She asked. Patricia will contact your attorney. We'll deal with the house, the accounts, and everything else through the proper process.
And us? I closed the folder. There is no us anymore. Julia stared at me as though she had expected another answer. I picked up my coffee and carried it to the sink.
Behind me, she began turning the pages again, searching for something that might change the situation. But the decision had already been made, and the next person who needed to understand that wasn't Julia. It was Colin. Julia stayed at the kitchen table long after I went upstairs. I could hear the papers moving beneath her hands, followed by the occasional sound of her phone vibrating against the wood.
I didn't go back down. For 24 years, I had been the man who tried to solve every problem before it became a crisis. If Julia was upset, I asked what was wrong. If we argued, I looked for a compromise. If she pulled away, I assumed there was something I could do to bring her closer.
That night, I finally understood how little those efforts mattered when the other person had already decided to leave. The following morning, I found Julia asleep on the living room sofa. Her suitcase was beside the door, still packed from her trip. She had apparently decided not to return to the bedroom. I made coffee and called Patricia.
"She has the papers," I told her. "She knows I've filed." "Good. From this point forward, keep communication civil and preserve anything related to the finances." If she wants to discuss the divorce, direct her to my office.
She says she was protecting herself. That may be her explanation. We still need to establish where the money went and account for it properly. Don't get drawn into an argument about motives. After the call, I sat at the kitchen table and reviewed the bank statements again.
I had spent years investigating cases where people tried to hide what they had done. The patterns were familiar. What I hadn't expected was how difficult it would be to apply that same discipline to my own marriage. Around 10, Julia came into the kitchen. "Did you tell Natalie?" she asked.
"No, please don't involve our daughter in this. I haven't involved her, but I'm not going to lie. If she asks me what's happening," she folded her arms. "She's going to blame me. That's between you and her."
Julia looked away. For a moment, I thought she might apologize. Instead, she picked up her phone and walked outside. I didn't follow her. About an hour later, Liam called.