Chapter 2: THE COURTHOUSE

The courthouse smelled like old paper and floor polish.

I arrived at eight forty-five, wearing a simple dress and no makeup. My reflection in the glass doors looked thin and pale, and for a moment I did not recognize myself. Three years of barely eating, barely sleeping, and barely existing had carved me down to something fragile.

That was going to change.

I sat on a wooden bench outside the registrar’s office and folded my hands in my lap. My fingers felt strange without the ring. Lighter. Freer.

At nine fifteen, Richard walked in.

He wore a charcoal suit that fit him like it was stitched onto his body. His jaw was tight, his eyes cold, and he moved through the corridor like a man being forced to waste his time. When he saw me on the bench, he did not greet me. He simply stood in front of me and looked down.

“You actually came,” he said.

“You sound surprised.”

“I assumed you would change your mind overnight.” He adjusted his cuff. “People say things they do not mean when they are emotional.”

“I was not emotional last night, Richard. I was clear.”

He studied me for a long moment. “What do you want? Money? A property? Name it and we can skip this entire performance.”

“I want nothing.”

His eyebrow raised. Just slightly. “Nothing.”

“Nothing that belongs to you.”

Something flickered in his eyes. Confusion, maybe. Or the beginning of something he did not want to name. He sat down beside me, leaving a full body’s width of space between us.

“This is about Tonia,” he said flatly. “You have always been jealous of her.”

“This is not about Tonia.”

“Then explain it to me. Because from where I stand, you have a comfortable life. A home. Financial security. Most women would kill for your position.”

I turned to look at him. Really look at him. His sharp features, his dark eyes, the mouth that never smiled at me. For three years I memorized that face, loved that face, and it gave me nothing in return.

“Your position,” I said quietly, “is a prison. And I am done serving my sentence.”

He blinked.

Before he could respond, the registrar opened his door and called us in. The process was fast and cold. Two signatures. Two copies. Three years dissolved in the time it took to write my name.

When it was done, Richard held the certificate and stared at it like he could not believe it was real.

“You will regret this,” he said. “Within a week, you will call me.”

“You think so?? No. I will not.”

“Where will you go? You have nothing, Evelyn. No family; no career; no connections.” His voice was not cruel. It was factual. He genuinely believed every word. “I gave you everything you have.”

I almost laughed. Instead, I picked up my copy of the divorce certificate and stood.

“Thank you for the last three years, Richard. I mean that. You taught me exactly what I will never accept again.”

I walked out. My heels clicked on the polished floor, steady and even, and I did not look back. Not once.

Outside, the autumn air hit my face and I breathed deep. The sky was grey and wide and mine.

A black car waited at the curb. Tinted windows. No markings. The door opened as I approached, and I slid inside without hesitation. The leather was warm, the interior silent, and my brother Anthony sat across from me with a bottle of water already in his hand.

“Drink,” he said. “You look like you have not eaten in a month.”

“I have not eaten well in three years.”

His jaw tightened. “That ends today.”

The car pulled away smoothly. And from the courthouse steps, I saw Richard emerge with his phone pressed to his ear. He was looking around the car park, his brow furrowed, watching my car disappear into traffic.

He could not see through the tinted glass. He could not see me sitting in the back of a car worth more than his monthly salary.

I like that.

Anthony handed me the water and said nothing for a long moment. Then, carefully, he asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not yet.” I leaned my head against the window. “Take me home.”

He nodded. The car turned toward the Williams estate. And as the city blurred past, I let my eyes close. Rest. Real rest. For the first time in three years.

But rest would have to wait. Because just as my eyes closed, Anthony’s phone rang, and his face shifted when he looked at the screen.

“What is it?” I asked.

He hesitated. “Father collapsed this morning. He is stable, but... Evelyn, the doctors say it is his heart. He has been hiding it from us.”

My blood went cold. I sat up straight. “Drive faster.”