PART 6: THE HOME I CHOSE
The divorce took seven months.
There was no single dramatic courtroom victory.
Real endings were slower than that.
They arrived through documents, meetings, signatures, inventories, and decisions repeated until they became permanent.
Grant resisted selling the condominium.
He claimed it represented stability for the children, although neither child needed heated floors or a skyline view.
Eventually, he agreed to buy out my share.
I collected my remaining belongings while he was away.
The pink slippers were gone.
So were Aubrey’s storage bins and the cream-colored sheets.
My wedding photograph still lay facedown on the dresser.
I placed it in a box, not because I wanted to preserve the marriage but because I refused to let Grant decide which parts of my life deserved to exist.
The woman smiling in that photograph had been naïve.
She had also been sincere.
I would not punish her for believing a promise.
Marjorie waited in the living room while the movers worked.
Grant had not invited her.
