I knew, of course, that it would say that. I knew this was what I came here for. But seeing it in ink feels so final, I’m almost a little dizzy.
“Here,” Elena says, sliding the top copy toward me. “This is the petition. We’re filing under irreconcilable differences, no contested property, no minor children. Very simple.”
She says it as if we’re dividing up an ugly couch we never liked.
Irreconcilable differences.
My vision blurs over the words as if I might faint.
I blink hard and look down at the words anyway.
My name–His name–Dates. Legal phrases that mean nothing and everything. Somewhere in the middle, there’s a line about the marriage being “irretrievably broken.”
My fingers go cold.
Broken.
It has me thinking about that last night together. Scottie’s mouth on mine, his hands on my body, the way he whisperedI love youagainst my skin like it was the easiest, truest thing he’d ever said.
Broken. We weren't broken until I broke us. More like shattered us into a million pieces.
“You’ll sign here,” Elena says, tapping a spot near the bottom. “And here, on the acknowledgment page. We’ll have Mr. Easton come in tomorrow to sign his portion, and then we’ll file with the court.”
Tomorrow.
By tomorrow afternoon, this marriage could be over on paper, even if it will never be over in my soul. As much as I wish it weren’t true, a part of me will always be married to Scottie, even if it’s only in my mind.
He’ll move on with Anika, or someone like her. They’ll have children who look like him. They’ll spend Christmas in Whitefish with Hillary and Arny, that they’ll call pop-pop and nanna, and I’ll live isolated in a mansion with a husband who’s always working for the next power move and children that will be shipped off to boarding school at an age that’s far too young for them to be away from me, but Maxim and my father will insist and I’ll have no say.
I’ll be married to a man who thinks love looks like diamond necklaces, shopping sprees, and day spas. Whether he’ll be faithful isn’t likely, either, no matter how much he claims that he always thought we’d end up together. Each year, we’ll grow further apart, and I won’t bother to notice or care.
“Do you have any questions?” he asks.
I stare at the pen he’s placed beside the form. My hand reaches for it automatically, the way it has a thousand times when presented with contracts, waivers, rehearsal schedules.
But it hovers above the paper as if there’s an invisible wall.
My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat.
Sign. For his father. For Arnold. For Scottie. For their future as a family.
I lower the pen to the page.
And my hand shakes. Not a little but a full tremor, as if I’m having a seizure.
A full, visible shaking of my hand that makes the tip of the pen stutter over the paper before I even start the first letter of my name.
“Katerina?” Elena prompts. “Is anything unclear?”
I swallow. My mouth is dry. “No. It’s… clear.”
You can do this,I tell myself.You’ve danced through injuries. You’ve smiled through pain. This is just another performance. Sign it. Sign and go.
I press the pen tip down again.
Images flash too fast:
Scottie in the kitchen, pretending burned bread is delicious. Scottie’s mom hugging me in Montana, calling me sweetheart and her sweet face on video call as she walked me through dinner and we laughed for an hour. Scottie in the roadhouse, hands on my hips, saying Jesus, I want you like he meant every word. Scottie whispered, “There is no ‘just in case’. We’re going to figure this out. For better or worse.”
