At lunch, we close the shop for an hour and retreat to the small break room in the back. Mia unpacks containers of homemade pasta salad, passing them around with plastic forks.
“So,” she says, settling into the chair across from me, “how’s it been, living with me for two months? Be honest.”
I twirl pasta around my fork, considering. “Well, aside from the snoring.”
“Enthusiastic breathing,” she corrects.
“Right, that. It’s been... good.” The word feels inadequate. “Better than good. I don’t know how to thank you.”
Valerie reaches across the table, squeezing my hand. “You don’t have to thank us. That’s what friends do, and I know you’d do the same for either of us.”
I absolutely would.
“Still,” I say, blinking back the sudden moisture in my eyes. “Not everyone would make room in their life for a broken woman with a psycho husband and almost no money.”
“First of all,” Mia says firmly, “you’re not broken. Bent maybe, a little cracked around the edges, but not broken.”
“And second,” Valerie adds, “your psycho husband is in jail, where he belongs. And after tomorrow, he won’t even be your husband anymore. You can partner with the business. He can’t control your money after that.”
Tomorrow. The word sends a shiver down my spine, equal parts fear and anticipation. “Do you really think the judge will grant it? Just like that?”
“With the charges against Eli? Absolutely,” Valerie says, her tone leaving no room for doubt. “Plus, you’re not asking for anything. No alimony, no property other than your books. Just a clean break.”
“Your books,” Mia reminds me. “Don’t forget about those.”
My books. My sanctuary in that house of horrors. I’ve missed them more than I’ve let myself admit. “I just want to get my books and never set foot in that house again.”
We finish lunch talking about easier things. A difficult customer Valerie dealt with last week, Mia’s newest Netflix obsession, plans for redecorating the guest room I’ve been staying in to make it more “me.” They’re doing what they’ve done every day since I left the hospital. Treating me normally while giving me space to heal.
As we clean up and prepare to reopen the shop, my thoughts drift to him. My stalker. My masked man. True to his word, he’s given me the time I asked for. No texts, no calls, no shadowy figures watching from afar. I’ve caught myself reaching for my phone a dozen times, fingers hovering over his number before pulling back. Part of me has wanted to reach out, to hear his voice, to feel that strange connection that sparked between us. But I’ve stopped myself each time. I made a promise. To him and to myself, that I’d wait until the divorce was final.
After tomorrow, it will be.
The afternoon passes quickly, filled with the satisfying rhythm of completed orders and happy customers. By closing time, my back aches from standing at the printer, but it’s a good ache, honest and earned. As I help Valerie count the register and Mia locks the front door, a sense of peace settles over me.
“You good for tomorrow?” Valerie asks, eyeing me carefully as she tucks the day’s earnings into the safe. “9 AM at the courthouse. I’ll pick you both up at eight.”
After the incident, Valerie’s insurance covered a new car for her. Which I’m grateful for. After that fiasco, she deserves it.
I nod, pushing down the flutter of nerves in my stomach. “I’m ready. I just want it to be over.”
“It will be,” Mia says, slinging an arm around my shoulders. “And then we’re going out for a proper celebration. No more looking back, only forward.”
As we walk to Mia’s car, I glance up at the sky. The sun is setting, painting everything in shades of gold and pink. Tomorrow, I’ll be Lila Fischer for the last time. After that, I’ll be Lila... someone else. Someone new. Someone free.
The thought carries me home, through dinner and a shower, all the way to the guest bed that’s become mine these past two months. I lie awake long after Mia’s gone to sleep, staring at my phone in the darkness, thinking about the text I’ll send tomorrow. Thinking about finally seeing his face again.
The courthouse looms in front of us, all cold stone and imposing columns. My stomach twists itself into knots as Valerie finds a parking spot, and I have to wipe my sweaty palms on my skirt. I’ve worn the only professional outfit I own, a navy pencil skirt and matching blazer. It hangs a little loose now; I’ve lost weight since everything happened. Mia reaches over from the backseat and squeezes my shoulder.
“You got this,” she says, her voice steady and sure. “We’re right here with you.”
I nod, not trusting my voice. The three of us climb out of the car and make our way up the stone steps. My legs feel like they’re made of jelly, and I’m grateful for Valerie’s arm linked through mine, keeping me upright. Security is a blur of metal detectors and badge-flashing officers, and then we’re inside, following signs to Family Court.
The hallway outside Courtroom C is crowded with people, other couples ending their marriages, lawyers in expensive suits, court personnel hurrying from one room to another. We find three empty seats on a wooden bench, hard and uncomfortable as church pews. Fitting, I suppose, for the dismantling of a sacrament.
“You okay?” Valerie asks, eyeing me with concern. “You’re shaking.”
I am. My hands tremble no matter how tightly I clasp them in my lap. “What if the judge says no?” I whisper,giving voice to the fear that’s been growing since we got in the car. “What if I have to stay married to him?”
