Chapter 18 - THE DIVORCE
Ryan and I ended our marriage on a rainy Friday morning.
No reporters.
No dramatic confrontation.
The judge asked whether the marriage was irretrievably broken.
"Yes," I said.
Ryan said, "Yes."
That was it.
Thirteen minutes later, we were divorced.
Outside, Ryan stood beneath the courthouse awning.
"I thought I'd feel something bigger."
"So did I."
"You hungry?"
I stared at him.
"Are you asking your ex-wife to lunch?"
"No. That sounds terrible now."
It did.
We laughed.
Then went separate ways.
Custody settled at a schedule neither of us loved.
Which Naomi said was often a sign of a workable compromise.
Vivian earned supervised visits after months of counseling and no further violations.
The first visit was painfully formal.
She brought too many toys.
I told her three.
She brought six.
Progress was not magic.
Margaret met Thomas once a month for coffee.
Sometimes she came home furious.
Sometimes amused.
Neither planned to reunite.
Thank God.
My half brother, Caleb, visited the mansion during spring break.
Oliver immediately called him "Uncle Cake."
Caleb hated it.
The name stayed.
I reduced my travel schedule.
Not to become a martyr.
Because I wanted to.
I also hired professional childcare.
Margaret protested.
Then spent her free afternoons painting again.
I had forgotten she painted.
Maybe she had too.
One evening she showed me a canvas.
The mansion.
But she had painted the gates open.
"Subtle," I said.
"I've never been subtle."
"That's objectively false. You hid my father for twenty-six years."
She threw a paint rag at me.
We laughed until her hands hurt.
Then she became quiet.
"Are you happy?"
I looked around.
"No."
She blinked.
I continued.
"But I'm not waiting for happiness to prove I made the right choices."
Mom nodded.
"That sounds healthier."
"Don't sound surprised."
The next morning, Ryan arrived early for pickup.
He stood at the gate with a paper bag.
"What is that?"
"Breakfast."
"For the twins?"
"For you too."
I almost refused on principle.
Then smelled cinnamon rolls.
"Fine."
He handed me the bag.
No hidden message.
No attempt to come inside.
Just breakfast.
The gate closed between us.
May you like
This time, neither of us treated it like war.
