“Not gonna happen,” Mia says firmly. “Not with what he did to you. The restraining order, the charges—there’s no way a judge will force you to stay in that marriage.”
“But what if—”
“No what-ifs,” Valerie cuts me off gently. “One step at a time, remember? That’s how we’ve gotten through everything else.”
She’s right. One step at a time is how I survived those first days in the hospital, how I made it through giving my statement to the police, how I’ve navigated each day since. I take a deep breath, trying to steady my racing heart.
“Fischer case?” A court officer calls from the doorway, scanning the crowded hallway.
“That’s us,” I say, rising on shaky legs. Valerie and Mia flank me as we follow the officer into the courtroom.
The room is smaller than I expected, with worn carpeting and fluorescent lighting that makes everyone look sickly. The judge, an older woman with silver hair pulled back in a severe bun, glances up from her papers as we approach the front.
“Mrs. Fischer,” she says, her voice neither warm nor cold. “I understand you’re seeking an absolute divorce from Eli Fischer, currently awaiting trial on multiple charges including assault and attempted sexual assault.”
“Yes, Your Honor,” I reply, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Speak up, please,” she instructs, not unkindly.
I clear my throat. “Yes, Your Honor.”
She shuffles through some papers. “And you’re not seeking any financial settlement or division ofproperty?”
“No, ma’am,” I say, standing straighter now. “I don’t want anything from him. Not the house, not the car, not his money. Nothing.” I pause, then add, “Except my books from my library in the house. Those are mine. They’ve always been mine.”
Something in the judge’s expression softens slightly. “I see. And Mr. Fischer is not contesting the divorce?”
“No, Your Honor. He’s been served the papers in jail, and his lawyer indicated he won’t contest it.”
Of course he won’t. Eli’s fighting much bigger battles now. The assault charges, the attempted rape charges, and whatever else the police are investigating. A divorce is the least of his worries.
The judge makes a note, then looks up at me again. “Mrs. Fischer, I’ve reviewed the circumstances of your case, including the police reports and hospital records.” Her gaze drops to my wrist, where the bandage has been removed but a faint discoloration still lingers. “Based on the evidence of extreme cruelty and the ongoing criminal case against your husband, I’m granting your petition for absolute divorce, effective immediately.”
The relief hits me so hard I actually sway on my feet. Valerie’s hand steadies me as the judge continues.
“You’ll be notified if Mr. Fischer is moved to a different facility or if he’s released on bond, though given the severity of the charges, that seems unlikely. You’re free to collect your personal belongings from the marital home at any time, though I’d recommend having a police escort if you’re concerned about your safety.”
“Thank you, Your Honor,” I manage, blinking back tears.
“And Mrs. Fischer,” she adds, “or I should say, Ms. Angelo now?”
I nod, the sound of my maiden name strange but welcome.
“I wish you all the best.” She bangs her gavel once, gently. “Case closed.”
Just like that, it’s over. Ten years of marriage dissolved in less than fifteen minutes. I turn to Mia and Valerie, both of them beaming at me, and the tears I’ve been holding back finally spill over.
“Come on,” Mia says, pulling me into a quick hug. “Let’s get out of here.”
We push through the heavy courtroom doors and back into the hallway, which seems brighter somehow, less oppressive. I feel lighter with each step, as if I’ve set down a weight I’ve been carrying so long I forgot it was there.
Outside, the sun is shining; the air crisp winter air hits differently now. I stop at the top of the courthouse steps, breathing deeply, filling my lungs with free air.
“How does it feel?” Valerie asks, watching me with a smile.
“Weird,” I admit. “Good-weird, but still weird. I keep waiting for it to hit me that I’m really divorced.”
“Maybe you need a divorce party,” Mia suggests as we head back to the car. “We could invite the whole print shop crew, get a cake shaped like Eli’s head and stab it repeatedly.”
