Chapter 9 - The Day We Actually Got Divorced
The morning of my divorce, Chicago was covered in snow.
I woke before sunrise.
For several minutes, I stared at the ceiling and wondered whether I was making the biggest mistake of my life.
Then I remembered something Rebecca told me months earlier.
A right decision can still hurt.
I dressed simply.
Black pants.
Cream coat.
No jewelry.
No ring.
When I reached the courthouse, Daniel was already there.
Of course he was.
He stood near the windows wearing a charcoal suit.
No visible security.
No family.
Just Michael nearby.
When Daniel saw me, his entire face changed.
He walked over.
“You came.”
I almost smiled.
“It's my divorce.”
“Technically ours.”
“Don't become possessive now.”
“Right.”
He looked nervous.
I had seen Daniel before negotiations that affected hundreds of millions of dollars.
He had never looked this nervous.
“You okay?” I asked.
“No.”
“Good.”
He frowned.
“You keep enjoying my emotional development.”
“It's satisfying.”
Michael approached.
“Are you two certain you want me here?”
Daniel said, “No.”
I said, “Yes.”
Michael smiled.
“Emily wins.”
Daniel muttered, “Everyone enjoys this too much.”
Rebecca arrived.
We entered together.
The hearing was short.
Painfully short.
Four years of marriage reduced to names, dates, signatures, legal questions.
No children.
No contested property.
No spousal-support dispute.
No objection.
The judge looked at us.
“You understand that once entered, this dissolution terminates the legal marriage?”
“Yes,” I said.
Daniel's voice followed.
“Yes.”
“Any possibility of reconciliation?”
The question came again.
This time, Daniel looked at me.
There was no expectation.
No plea.
Only acceptance.
I answered.
“Not within this marriage.”
The judge paused.
Perhaps she had heard stranger things.
Daniel's eyes filled.
Then he said, “I agree.”
The papers were signed.
The marriage ended at 10:42 a.m.
That was it.
No thunder.
No broken glass.
No dramatic music.
Daniel Blackwood and Emily Carter Blackwood became Daniel Blackwood and Emily Carter again with the movement of a pen.
Outside the courtroom, I cried.
Daniel stood several feet away.
He looked like he wanted to hold me.
He didn't.
That restraint was the reason I walked toward him.
I wrapped my arms around his waist.
He froze.
Then slowly held me.
For once, neither of us cared who watched.
“I am sorry,” he whispered.
“I know.”
“I'll always be sorry.”
“I know.”
“I still love you.”
“I know.”
I pulled back.
Daniel wiped tears from my cheek.
“Do you regret it?”
The question terrified me.
“No.”
He nodded.
Pain, but acceptance.
“Do you?”
He looked at the courthouse doors.
“I regret giving you reasons to need it.”
My heart broke and healed simultaneously.
We walked outside.
Michael waited beside a car.
Daniel looked at him.
“Give us a minute.”
Michael left.
Snow fell between us.
“So,” Daniel said.
“So.”
“You're single.”
I laughed.
“So are you.”
“Terrible.”
“Devastating.”
He put his hands into his coat pockets.
“Would you have dinner with me Friday?”
I stared at him.
“Are you asking me on a date?”
“Yes.”
“You're very recently divorced.”
“So are you.”
“That sounds messy.”
“Extremely.”
I smiled.
“Seven.”
His face changed.
“Seven?”
“Friday. Seven.”
Daniel smiled.
Not the controlled smile from magazines.
The real one.
The young one.
“I'll pick you up.”
“No.”
His smile vanished.
“I'll meet you there.”
“Right. Boundaries.”
“Good memory.”
“Therapy.”
I laughed.
Then we walked in opposite directions.
That Friday, Daniel chose a small Italian restaurant where no one cared who he was.
He arrived with flowers.
Yellow tulips.
“No expensive jewelry?” I asked.
“I was advised that diamond necklaces may be aggressive for a first date.”
“Who advised you?”
“Sarah.”
My mouth fell open.
“You talk to Sarah?”
“She sends threats disguised as relationship advice.”
“That sounds like her.”
We ate pasta.
We talked about ordinary things.
Movies.
Architecture.
Travel.
The terrible coffee at my office.
Daniel told me he wanted to sell the mansion eventually.
“Why?”
“Too many ghosts.”
“Where would you live?”
He looked embarrassed.
“I haven't decided.”
“No Blackwood penthouse?”
“No.”
“Private fortress?”
“Tempting.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“Kidding.”
He took a breath.
“I thought maybe a house.”
“That sounds dangerously normal.”
“I know.”
“With neighbors?”
He looked horrified.
“Let's not rush.”
I laughed so hard the couple at the next table stared.
We dated for three months.
No public announcement.
No engagement.
No promises beyond the next week.
Daniel continued therapy.
So did I.
I had spent years blaming him for my unhappiness, but therapy forced me to admit something uncomfortable.
I had abandoned myself before Daniel fully abandoned me.
I stopped working because it was easier.
I stopped confronting him because I feared losing him.
I accepted apologies without requiring change.
His behavior was his responsibility.
My silence was mine.
Understanding that made me stronger.
My restoration firm won a major contract in Milwaukee.
I traveled alone.
Daniel did not send security without asking.
He hated it.
But he didn't.
When I came home, he waited at the airport with coffee.
“You survived.”
“Barely.”
“Did you check the hotel locks?”
“No.”
He closed his eyes.
“Growth is painful.”
Six months after our divorce, Daniel moved out of the mansion.
He bought a house near the lake.
Not enormous.
Still much larger than any normal person needed.
I teased him relentlessly.
“It has twelve bedrooms.”
“Eight.”
“That's still absurd.”
“Two are offices.”
“Six bedrooms.”
“One for guests.”
“Who are the other five for?”
He looked at me.
I knew immediately.
Future.
Children.
Family.
Hope.
Daniel looked away.
“Optimism.”
I kissed him.
By then, kissing Daniel no longer frightened me.
Loving him still did.
But it was a different fear.
Not fear of disappearing.
Fear of believing in something again.
The Blackwood empire changed slowly.
Daniel sold several nightclubs.
He separated family influence from legitimate businesses.
He created an independent board.
Employees whispered that the terrifying Daniel Blackwood had become “reasonable.”
Michael considered that insulting.
Vanessa moved to Los Angeles for a series.
Before leaving, she met me for coffee.
“I owe you more apologies than one person can reasonably deliver.”
“Yes.”
She smiled.
“I am glad you're difficult.”
“What?”
“Daniel needed someone who wouldn't let him remain comfortable.”
“I almost did.”
“But you didn't.”
She stood.
At the door, she looked back.
“For what it's worth, he never loved me the way he loves you.”
I shook my head.
“Don't.”
“What?”
“Don't make this about which woman he loved more.”
Vanessa paused.
Then nodded.
“You're right.”
“He hurt me because he made bad choices. Not because you were better or worse.”
A small smile appeared.
“You really did change.”
“So did he.”
Vanessa left.
I never considered her my friend.
But I stopped considering her my enemy.
That felt like freedom too.
Nine months after our divorce, Daniel and I attended Michael and Julia's anniversary party.
For the first time, we arrived together publicly.
Cameras flashed outside.
A reporter shouted:
“Daniel! Are you and Emily remarried?”
Daniel stopped.
I groaned.
“Don't.”
He smiled.
“No.”
Another reporter called, “Planning to?”
Daniel looked at me.
The old Daniel might have answered for both of us.
Instead, he said, “That's Emily's decision as much as mine.”
I stared at him.
Later, inside, I said, “That was annoyingly mature.”
“Therapy.”
“You're getting repetitive.”
“I pay a fortune for the right to use that excuse.”
We danced.
Halfway through the song, Daniel whispered, “I bought a ring.”
I stiffened.
He immediately continued.
“Not tonight.”
I relaxed.
“Okay.”
“I bought it three months ago.”
“Daniel.”
“I haven't carried it with me.”
“Good.”
“I don't want you to feel ambushed.”
“Very good.”
“I'll ask someday.”
I looked up.
“When?”
“When I think you can say no without being afraid I'll fall apart.”
My chest tightened.
“And if I say no?”
“I'll take you to dinner Saturday.”
I smiled.
“What if I say yes?”
His eyes softened.
“I'll take you to dinner Saturday.”
That was when I knew.
Not that I would marry him.
May you like
Not yet.
But that this time, the choice would truly belong to me.
