They spoke with her for several minutes before one officer came to my door. I explained everything. I showed him the messages, the previous warning, the records of her calls, and the information about her appearance at my office. I also showed him the message where I explicitly told her not to contact Clare or come to my home again. The officer looked through everything.
Have you told her directly to stay away? Yes. And she came here anyway? Yes. He nodded.
We'll document tonight's incident. Nicole was eventually told to leave. Before she drove away, she looked toward my house. I didn't wave. I didn't speak to her.
I simply watched her car disappear. The next morning, I met Grant at his office. He had already started preparing the paperwork. We're going to request a protective order, he said. I nodded.
I want everything documented. It will be. The process took several weeks. Nicole was served with the order. She was legally prohibited from contacting me directly, approaching my home or workplace, or contacting Clare through other people.
For a while, there was complete silence. I thought that was the end. Then one afternoon, Grant called. She violated the order. I stopped walking.
How? She sent a letter to me. Yes. Did you open it? No.
My office forwarded it directly to me. What happens now? She'll have to appear before the court. A few weeks later, Nicole stood in a courtroom and explained why she had contacted me despite the order. She said she was desperate.
She said she wanted one final conversation. The judge didn't allow her to turn it into a discussion about our marriage. The issue was simple. She had been ordered to stay away. She had ignored that order.
Nicole received a formal warning from the court and additional restrictions were placed on her contact with me. Afterward, Grant handed me the paperwork outside the courthouse. That should give you some peace. I looked at the documents. I think it will.
As I walked toward my car, I saw Nicole standing across the street. She didn't approach. She couldn't. For several seconds, we simply looked at each other. Then she turned away.
I got into my car and drove home. That night, Clare came over. We ate dinner at the kitchen table. She asked me if I was okay. I'm fine.
Really? I nodded. For the first time, I think it's finished. She reached across the table and took my hand. I looked around the kitchen.
Two years earlier, Nicole had stood in almost the same room and told me she had found real love. She had believed those words were the beginning of her new life. Instead, they had been the moment she walked away from ours. I had spent enough time wondering why she had chosen someone else. I didn't wonder anymore.
Her choice belonged to her. So did everything that came after it. I had finally learned that moving on didn't mean forgetting what happened. It meant refusing to let someone else's decision control the rest of your life. For the next several months, I heard nothing from Nicole.
No calls, no letters, no messages through other people. Eventually, even mutual friends stopped mentioning her. That was how I knew it was finally over. Clare and I kept seeing each other. Neither of us rushed into anything.