I signed the divorce papers and walked away while my ex, his mother, his sister, and the woman carrying his child headed to an ultrasound certain they had won. One sentence from the doctor cracked that future open — and before nightfall, a second call had already turned their victory into something else.
When I signed the divorce papers in that downtown Chicago mediation office, the wall clock above the framed certificates read 10:03 in the morning, and the strangest part was that I felt almost nothing. Not relief. Not grief. Not rage. Just a clean, exhausted stillness, like the part of me that had spent months bracing…
