The next morning.
The parking lot outside the Ashford Civil Affairs Bureau.
Nathaniel Cole sat behind the wheel of his black sedan, one finger tapping an idle rhythm against it.
“Nathaniel, you and Eliana have been married a full year now.
It’s time you gave us a grandchild.” His grandmother’s voice crackled through the phone speaker.
His expression eased into something almost gentle patient, if a little worn down.
“Grandma, there’s no rush.
We’re still young.
What matters right now is you and Grandpa staying healthy”
“No rush?” the old woman cut in.
“Your grandfather’s doing better, yes, but we’re not getting any younger.
Either of us could go any day now.”
“Grandma”
“Don’t change the subject on me.
I’ve heard the talk going around.
Don’t you dare mistreat Eliana.”
He went quiet for three full seconds.
“Did you hear me?” she pressed.
He pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Yes, Grandma.
I heard you.”
A few more pleasantries, and the call ended.
His finger kept tapping the wheel without him noticing, his eyes drifting toward the registry office ahead.
His jaw was set tight.
He pulled up his messages, scrolled past a contact saved under a florist’s photo labeled “The One I Love,” and opened his thread with Eliana instead.
His last message to her had been the time and place to meet this morning to finalize the divorce paperwork.
She still hadn’t shown up.
He frowned and typed: Where are you?
A knock on the window a moment later.
Eliana’s face outside, paler than usual.
She climbed into the passenger seat and glanced at him still wearing yesterday’s outfit, the one she’d picked out for him to see her in.
Every piece of clothing he owned, in fact cufflinks, cologne, custom shirts, tailored suits she’d chosen and cared for, down to the last detail, for years.
“You’re late,” he said.
She looked out the window instead of at him.
“I’m not late.”
I’m just not the girl anymore who waits breathless for whatever you decide to say.
His finger stilled on the wheel.
He studied her more closely; she looked drawn, worn thin.
Probably hadn’t slept, after what he’d told her the night before.
Not that it mattered much.
“Grandma called this morning,” he said, looking away.
“Don’t mention the divorce to her.
She’s too old for that kind of shock.”
“What did she want?” Eliana asked instead of responding.
“She’s pushing us to have a child.” A flash of irritation crossed his eyes.
Silence stretched between them.
After a while, Eliana let out a short, quiet laugh.
His left hand curled into a fist on his knee.
He looked out at the parking lot and said nothing.
He’d pictured it before what a child of theirs might look like, when it might come.
Late at night, hand resting over her stomach, he used to murmur, Eliana, when are you going to give me a baby?
Except she never got pregnant.
No matter.
They’d remarry in six months.
Plenty of time after that.
Vivian only had six months left to live.
People drifted past the car outside.
Three seconds ticked by.
“Last chance, Nathaniel,” Eliana said.
“Are you sure about this divorce?”
“Trying to back out now?” Real anger sparked in his voice this time.
Vivian was waiting for him.
He couldn’t afford delays.
Eliana didn’t answer that either, she pulled out a folded document and handed it to him without a word.
He scanned it, frowning.
A property division agreement.
“If we’re doing this,” she said, “let’s do it cleanly.”
“I’m taking only what’s legally mine from the Cole family assets.
During the separation period, whatever either of us earns stays our own.”
She set a pen beside the papers.
“Sign it, if you don’t see a problem.”
The longer he read, the deeper his frown got.
It was a clean, standard contract; she genuinely wasn’t taking anything extra.
Her signature already sat waiting in her column.
He couldn’t figure out her angle.
If this divorce was just for show, why bother with a contract at all?
Vivian had six months.
He intended to stay by her side until the end, the way he always had, under his grandparents’ unknowing gaze.
In his mind, Eliana had never once been capable of walking away from him.
Her limits were low; he’d tested them for years.
He used to push her, deliberately, into situations designed to strip away her pride, just to see how far she’d bend.
She never once refused him.
She’d come back afterward, sometimes, holding up whatever he’d asked of her, smiling wide: Look, Nathaniel I did it.
Aren’t I amazing?
She was the most obedient partner a man could ask for.
Seven years had proven that beyond doubt.
If Vivian had never entered the picture, this marriage might have coasted on just fine.
But then Vivian’s face rose up in his mind, pale, defiant, blood on her lips and something in his chest tightened until it hurt to breathe.
He glanced sideways.
In the car window’s reflection, Eliana’s face showed nothing at all.
No grief.
No triumph.
Was this blackmail?
She’d already tried to use those fabricated messages to smear Vivian’s name once.
She hated Vivian.
That much was obvious.
Fine, then.
He took the pen and signed his name.
No one blackmailed Nathaniel Cole.
Not even her.
Two copies, signed.
Eliana took her half.
They stepped out of the car.
Pulled a numbered ticket.
Filed the paperwork.
Filled out the divorce application form.
Each kept a receipt after the mandatory cooling-off period, they’d return to collect the final certificate.
Once the process was done, they walked out of the building together.
The sun sat high overhead, warm on their shoulders.
Nathaniel watched the crowd moving past it was easy, he thought, to tell the newlyweds from the newly divorced just by looking at their faces.
A couple walked by hand in hand, the woman glowing.
He remembered, distantly, that Eliana had worn that same smile the day they’d registered their own marriage, a year ago.
He glanced at her now.
Nothing on her face at all.
“I’ll keep transferring money to your card during the separation,” he said.
“Don’t say anything to Grandpa and Grandma.”
He walked off without waiting for a reply.
She watched his car round the corner and vanish.
Then her taxi pulled up.
The two cars drove off in opposite directions.
One pulled up outside Vivian Blake’s flower studio.
The other pulled up outside Ashford General Hospital.
Nathaniel walked into the studio, and Vivian looked up and smiled the moment she saw him.
He handed her the receipt.
“It’s done.
She didn’t put up much of a fight.”
Meanwhile, Eliana walked into the gynecology department, ticket in hand, and took a seat across from the doctor.
The doctor drew the privacy curtain closed.
“Eliana.
Are you really sure about this?” Dr.
Chloe Bennett, her doctor, and her closest friend asked, worry creasing her forehead.
“You’ve wanted this baby for so long.
You came to me for help conceiving, remember?”
Eliana set the appointment slip down on the table between them.
“It’s fine,” she said, voice steady.
“Let’s just get it done.
I don’t want it anymore.”