Page 123 of Love You Madly

The judge reviews the documents, her pen scratching against the paper as she signs her name, sealing the end of my marriage with a few swift strokes. My attorney hands heranother set of papers, and I catch a glimpse of the familiar text. My heart skips a beat as I see the line where Adam’s name is printed next to mine, along with the words “and the unborn child, due November 2013.” It’s like a punch to the gut, a painful reminder of the tangled web I’ve found myself in.

My hand instinctively moves to my belly, resting protectively over the life growing inside me. It’s strange to know that even though Adam has been absent most of my pregnancy, he’s still attached to this child on paper. This feels like another step that solidifies my identity as a single mother exactly one week before what would have been Adam and my second wedding anniversary.

“The court hereby dissolves the marriage between Callie Graham and Adam Graham,” the judge announces, her voice cutting through my thoughts. “In addition, the petitioner, Callie Graham is awarded custody of Sara Graham, with every other weekend visitation awarded to Adam Graham. Custody of the unborn child will be determined six weeks after the child is born. For now, the petitioner will retain full responsibility.”

It’s done. Just like that, the life I once knew is officially over. I should be happy, relieved, something… but all I feel is a quiet emptiness, a strange detachment as the judge speaks a few more formalities that barely register in my mind.

The judge gives me a small nod, and my attorney gathers the documents. I stand, my legs a little unsteady as I force myself to move. My heart pounds in my chest, and I can feel the weight of everything pressing down on me, but there’s also a lightness, a tiny flicker of hope, that maybe—just maybe—this is the first step toward something better.

As I walk out of the courtroom, I don’t look back. There’s nothing left for me there. Through the window, I see the sun shining as if the world is oblivious to the monumental shiftthat just occurred. I pause for a moment and take a deep breath. It’s over.

I push open the courthouse doors, stepping into the bright August sunlight. The sudden warmth feels almost jarring after the cool, sterile air inside. I pause at the top of the steps, my eyes squinting against the glare as I take in the world around me. Everything seems surreal, like I’m watching a scene unfold from someone else’s life. The hum of passing cars and the chatter of people on the sidewalk feel distant, muted, like they’re happening on the other side of a glass wall.

I run my fingers through my hair, feeling the soft breeze brush against my skin, and let out a long, shaky breath. It’s done. The papers are signed, the words have been spoken, and the life I had with Adam is officially behind me. A part of me feels like I should be crying, or at least feel something more profound than this numbness that’s settled in my chest. But instead, there’s just this strange, quiet calm—a sense of closure that I wasn’t sure I’d ever find.

I pull my phone out of my bag, my fingers trembling slightly as I swipe through my contacts. Owen’s name stares back at me, and for a moment, I just stare at it, letting the familiar comfort of his name ground me. I tap the screen, bringing the phone to my ear as I descend the courthouse steps. It rings once, twice, and then his voice fills the silence.

“Hey, Dollface,” Owen says, his voice warm and familiar. “How did it go?”

The sound of his voice feels like a lifeline, something solid to hold onto. I close my eyes, letting the relief wash over me. “It’s done,” I say, my voice steadier than I expected. “Adam didn’t show up, so they went ahead without him.”

There’s a brief pause, not of hesitation but of Owen letting me set the pace. “And how do you feel?”

I stop at the bottom of the steps, looking out at the worldthat continues to spin, completely unaware of the monumental shift that just took place in my life. I think about his question, letting it sit with me for a moment. “I feel… free,” I finally say, the word tasting both strange and wonderful on my tongue. “It’s weird and kind of sad, but mostly I just feel like I can finally breathe again,” I tell him. It’s as if I’ve been holding my breath for years, and now, with one simple act, the tension is starting to unwind.

I can hear the smile in his voice when he responds. “That’s good, Callie. You deserve that.”

I bite my lip, blinking back the sudden sting of tears. There’s so much I want to say, so many emotions swirling inside me, but the words get tangled up in the quiet. Instead, I let the silence stretch, hoping he understands the gratitude that’s too big to fit into a sentence. He’s been my constant, my support when everything else felt unsteady, and I’m not sure I would’ve gotten through this without him.

“So, what’s next?” Owen asks gently, as if sensing my thoughts.

“I’m going to pick up Sara from my mom’s, and then I’m heading to Taylor’s for a girls' night,” I tell him, my voice softening at the thought of my daughter. Just the idea of seeing her, holding her close, feels like the final piece of this puzzle I’ve been trying to solve. “I need to see her, you know? Remind myself why I did all this.” She’s my why, the heartbeat of every difficult decision I’ve made.

“I get it,” Owen says quietly. “And hey, if you need anything, just call me. I’m here.”

“I know you are,” I whisper, my heart swelling with the simple truth of it. Owen has been my constant through all of this, the steady presence I didn’t know I needed until he was there.

“I love you, Callie,” Owen says suddenly, his voice firm andsure, cutting through the noise like a beacon. “I just wanted you to know that.”

I’m taken aback, not because I didn’t expect him to say it, but because of how genuine it sounds and how deeply it resonates with me now. The words mean so much more to me now than they ever did in my marriage that is now over. “I love you too, Owen Klein. Thank you so much for being here for me through all of this.”

“Anytime, Doll. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” he says.

“You know, I usually hate it when people say ‘I love you’ as they’re hanging up,” I admit, a small laugh escaping despite myself. “It always feels so obligatory, like something you say out of habit. But with you, it doesn’t feel that way.”

“I’m glad,” he replies. “Now go enjoy your girls’ night. You’ve earned it.”

“Will do,” I say, feeling lighter than I have in a long time. “Talk to you later.”

“Later,” he echoes, and with that, the call ends.

I tuck my phone back into my bag, taking one last look at the courthouse before turning toward my car. The weight that’s been pressing down on me for so long feels like it’s finally starting to lift. The path ahead might still be uncertain, but I know I’m moving in the right direction now.

A few months ago, while I was working a shift at the coffee shop, Taylor and Brooke came up with the idea of having a divorce party. They even wanted to do one of those “burn the dress” celebrations. However, they were sad to hear that I’d already thrown the dress and wedding album in a dumpsterone day in a fit of rage when I still lived at the apartment. So, we settled on a girls’ night at Taylor’s house instead.

When I open the front door of my sister’s house, I am met with the aroma of popcorn, nail polish, and baked goods I can only assume were made by my best friend, Brooke. The comforting scents pull me out of my post-courthouse haze and into my friends’ warm, chaotic embrace. The living room is a colorful mess of snacks, a massive bowl of fruit punch with floating strawberries, and an impressive array of face masks laid out like war paint. It's the perfect setting for the kind of night where nothing matters but laughter and letting go.

“Welcome to the first official meeting of the Divorcees Who Hate Their Exes Club!” Taylor declares as I walk in, raising a cup of fruit punch in a mock toast. She’s wearing a face mask that’s supposed to be soothing green tea but has hardened into a shade of murky green that makes her look like she’s trying to audition for a low-budget sci-fi movie.

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