Chapter 10 - The Courthouse Steps
The legal annulment was finalized on a crisp, cloudless morning in mid-November.
The county courthouse was a solemn neoclassical structure of gray granite and sweeping marble steps. Inside the courtroom, the proceeding took less than twelve minutes.
Judge Eleanor Vance—no relation to Arthur, though sharing his no-nonsense judicial demeanor—reviewed the uncontested petition, examined the supporting exhibits, and stamped the order of nullity with a sharp, echoing thud of her wooden gavel.
“The marriage between Grace Elizabeth Miller and Mark Anthony Davis is hereby declared null, void, and non-existent under the law,” she announced. “The petitioner’s maiden name is restored. The parties are dismissed.”
I signed the final docket sheet, shook Arthur’s hand warmly, and walked out into the bright rotunda.
As I pushed through the heavy brass exterior doors into the midday autumn air, a figure stepped out from behind one of the granite columns.
Mark.
He had lost weight—at least fifteen pounds. His suit hung loosely from his frame, and the polished corporate sheen that had once defined him was completely eroded. His firm had demoted him to an off-track research associate position following the ethics inquiry into his misuse of travel funds, shuffling him into a windowless office far from client-facing meetings.
“Grace,” he said, taking a tentative step toward me.
Arthur moved to interpose himself, but I touched his sleeve gently, indicating it was fine.
“You got what you wanted,” Mark said, looking down at the steps. “The annulment is done. My reputation is in ashes. Lily won’t stop texting me from burner numbers, threatening to expose more of our messages if I don’t send her money. My parents barely speak to me.”
“You got what you earned, Mark,” I answered, adjusting the strap of my bag. “There is a significant difference.”
“Did you ever love me?” he asked, a sudden, desperate crack in his voice. “Or was I just another project for you to manage? Another item on your checklist?”
I looked at him, remembering the man I had smiled at across candlelit tables, the man I had trusted with my future, the man whose ring I had worn with proud, naive devotion.
“I loved the man you pretended to be,” I said honestly. “The man who said I deserved to be cherished. The man who promised that with him, I wouldn’t have to carry the whole world alone. But that man never existed, Mark. You were just another parasite who found a host that gave too much.”
He flinched as if I had struck him across the face.
“I’m sorry, Grace,” he whispered. “For whatever it’s worth. I am so deeply sorry.”
“Keep your apologies,” I said, stepping past him down the granite stairs. “They don’t pay the caterer, and they don’t wash champagne out of silk.”
May you like
I didn't pause to see if he watched me walk away. The sidewalk was clear, the autumn breeze was invigorating, and my car was parked across the square.
***
