Chapter 3: Courthouse Endings and Old Wounds

That afternoon, Shawna really did take me to the county courthouse.

She was in a great mood the whole way there.

She hummed along to the radio. Tapped the steering wheel. Made small talk, like we were heading to a movie—not dissolving our marriage.

Kept asking where I wanted to go for our third anniversary.

Shawna and I grew up together. This was our third year of marriage.

"How about Prague?"

"You’ve wanted to feed pigeons in Prague Square since you were seven."

She got out of the car and, as attentive as ever, opened my door.

Her perfume drifted in the air. I used to find it comforting. Now it just made my stomach twist.

Hey—have you been crying?

She frowned, her fingertip brushing the corner of my eye.

Her touch was soft, but her eyes were sharp, searching for weakness.

Told you, it’s just for show. Just a prop. I’m just curious when he’ll finally cave.

As she spoke, something fell out of her purse.

A box of condoms.

Shawna cleared her throat and rubbed her nose.

She didn’t explain.

I followed her into the county courthouse.

Everything went smoothly.

Sometimes I can’t get the words out. I have aphasia.

Around strangers, I often can’t speak.

But I can nod or shake my head.

"Is this divorce voluntary?"

"Yes."

I nodded.

"Are you sure the relationship has broken down?"

"Yes."

I nodded again.

Thirty-day waiting period. Come back in a month to finalize.

Shawna took the receipt, fingers steady.

Before we’d even left the office, she snapped a photo and sent a message.

Like clockwork, a message from Sam Choi popped up on my phone too.

Shawna sent him a picture of the receipt, with a note:

"Happy now? Night! Go clean yourself up for me!"

She tapped his profile. Blocked him. Just like that.

Just as she finished, a text about a plane ticket came in.

And an iMessage:

[Ticket’s booked, for a month from now.]

[See you in Paris.]

That night, I dreamed of Shawna again.

When we were kids, Shawna was so sweet.

Her hair always in pigtails. Freckles on her nose. She’d chase me down the block after school. Those were the days when the world felt safe and small.

"Jack, your eyes are so pretty. Can I always look at them and talk to you?"

"Jack, your piano playing is so beautiful. Can I come listen to you every day?"

"Jack, I like you the most! When I grow up, I want to marry you!"

I liked Shawna too.

We always sat together at school.

After school, we’d play together.

Even the night my parents died in a car accident. I was in her family’s car, playing rock-paper-scissors with her.

But the two cars were too close.

I watched with my own eyes as a big truck barreled through.

Boom—

My dad, my mom, my sister, even the puppy I’d raised since I was little, all trapped in the fire.

For a long time, I couldn’t speak.

I needed Shawna with me just to fall asleep.

Back then, Shawna was so patient.

She practiced speaking with me.

Told me stories all night long.

Anyone who called me "mute"—she’d sock them, no hesitation.

Marrying her felt... natural. Like breathing.

The day after I graduated college, she was at my bedside first thing in the morning:

"Jack, let’s go get our marriage license."

That day, we became husband and wife.

In my dream, red roses covered our new home. The scent was everywhere.

She knelt on the bed and kissed me gently.

She said, "Jack, let’s be this happy forever."

But when I opened my eyes, the whole world was black.

I grabbed my phone. Another message from Sam Choi.

A photo.

A messy bed, the sheets damp.

Suddenly I felt sick.

I rushed to the bathroom and dry heaved.

All that came out were tears. That’s all I had left.

In the end, I sat on the cold floor, hugging my knees.