What if second chances come a second time?
Long ago, Hannah and Jonah called it quits. Long ago, Hannah stopped trying to make things work, and Jonah let her go. Long ago, Jonah mailed back all of Hannah's stuff from his apartment, and Hannah blocke...
We're sat at the dining table, facing each other in silence. I can't hear anything other than the sound of my own breaths, and my heart pounding in my chest. Maybe, faintly, I can hear his too, if I try hard enough. Slightly slower than mine. Calmer. Steadier. Somewhat heavier, now that I'm actively observing it.
I don't know what I'll see when I finally look at his face. Will I see the familiar, warm grin on his face? His eyes sparkling with his usual mirth? Will the look on his face be the reassurance I need? Or will I see devastation that will force me to take everything back?
I bring my face up, away from the papers, to meet his gaze, and I see neither. His lips are flat and even, not giving anything away. His eyes neutrally hold my gaze, telling me nothing. His breaths are still steady. Inhale. Unconsciously, I mimic the pattern of his breaths. Exhale.
I play with the ring on my hand, thumb twisting the diamond-encrusted band around my finger. My other hand reaches for the glass of red wine on the table. I take a sip. Put the glass back down. And then I reach for his hand.
Only when I squeeze his fingers do I see the corners of his mouth lift in a smile. When he smiles, he smiles warmly. He smiles with his whole heart. Openly, lovingly, happily. It's one of the things I've always known I adore about him. I knew, signing up for it, that I would have loved to wake up to this smile every day. The way the corners of his eyes crease. The smile that makes me feel calm.
Something steady. Something safe. Something I thought I'd get to hold on to for the rest of my life.
I squeeze his hand back before letting go. My palms are clammy and cold. I wipe them down on my pants, take in a shaky breath. And then I let it out as I look back down at the papers sitting on the table that separates us.
I read over the typed letters one more time. Another inhale. Another exhale. I hear him murmur my name, but I don't look up. Before the tears start to cloud my eyes, I quickly jot down my signature.
He heaves out an exhale. It rattles, and I'm left with a sense that he's not as steady as he's pretending to be.
But I can't take it back now. I've signed the papers.
I'm officially divorcing my husband.
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