Page 107 of Guilty as Sin

My wife isn’t blinking either, but she isn’t staring me down the way she has in the past. I wish she were. Instead, she’s completely impassive. Like nothing I’ve said matters.

I make one last desperate attempt.

“And I’m sorry I was planning to kill Connor.” It doesn’t come out sincerely, and she raises an eyebrow at my lie. “Okay, I’m not sorry I wanted to kill a potential enemy. But I am sorry that it would’ve meant killing your brother. I know how much he means to you.”

She blinks then. But it’s not a concession. She’s as expressionless as she was before. My apologies mean nothing. At this point, I hope she takes out her switchblade and goes for my throat. Stab. Then slash.

Unfortunately, she doesn’t. She returns her attention to the legal folder in her hand.

“You’ll need to sign this.” She lays a stack of papers on the table and clicks open a pen. When I don’t move, she walks toward me, holding out the pen by its tip.

She’s making sure we don’t touch.

I take it from her, careful not to place my fingers anywhere near hers. As soon as I have the pen, she takes several steps away. Like she can’t stand to be near me. I approach the papers the way a man walks to his scaffold. My brain refuses to focus. It takes me several tries to read the paperwork’s header.

In the Circuit Court of Cook County, Illinois; County Department, Domestic Relations Division; In RE the Marriage of Cora O’Sullivan, Petitioner, and Brady O’Sullivan, Respondent; Petition for Dissolution of Marriage

I try to swallow, but my throat feels too thick. My vision blurs as I process the words Irreconcilable differences. I wipe the back of my hand across my eyes. I will not let her see me cry. I will not let her know that I am weak.

That she is my one weakness.

She’s already completed the signature for Cora O’Sullivan, Petitioner. All that’s left is for me to sign above Brady O’Sullivan, Respondent.

I click the pen, clear my throat, and go to sign. Shit. I clicked the pen closed. Now I look like even more of an idiot as I smear my hand across my eyes again. I click the pen open and scribble my signature on the divorce papers.

Across the room, Cora smiles in relief. Like this is the happiest moment of her life. Meanwhile, my heart is in pieces. The protein shakes churn in my stomach. I want to vomit this awful feeling out of my body.

She approaches me cautiously and tugs the papers toward her. My wife checks my signature.

My ex-wife.

She nods to herself and slides the papers into her folder. Then she pulls out another sheet of hateful paper and lays it on the table in front of me.

I take a deep breath. I ready my pen to give her however much alimony she wants. Again, my brain refuses to process the information I’m reading.

Application for Marriage License; Partner A - Partner Type: Bride; Name - First: Cora, Middle: Muloney, Last: O’Sullivan

“What?” It’s the only word I can think of. I’m too miserable to allow anything as cruel as hope into my heart.

But when I look up at Cora, she’s beaming at me. That perfect, beautiful smile of hers.

“It’s the only way to guarantee that our marriage is valid,” she says. “The first time around wasn’t quite legal, given that I was still technically Samantha Greene. Even O’Sullivan intelligence has its oversights, apparently. But now my name change is official, and it’s the three names I want for the rest of my life.”

Feeling dizzy, I reread the bride’s name on the marriage license.

First: Cora, Middle: Muloney, Last: O’Sullivan

“I thought you hated being a Muloney,” I say, stunned. “I thought you hated being an O’Sullivan.”

“I did once. I don’t anymore.” She says it simply, but my head’s still spinning.

“And the trick with the…?” I gesture to the divorce papers. Because it was a trick.

Cora acknowledges this with a grimace. She reaches for the red square in the middle of the table. Picks up the Claddagh ring I gave her. Slips it back onto her finger.

“I had to make sure you would really let me go.”

My heart bursts out of my chest with everything I feel for this woman. I have no more words. I don’t need any. I cross the room in two steps, then she’s in my arms, laughing as I spin her around the room.