Page 4 of Big Girl Panties

The word mourn hit me like a revelation.

That was exactly what this felt like. I wasn't sad about losing Chris. I was mourning the death of my imagined future. The cozy Sunday mornings I'd planned, the kids we'd talked about, the best friend I thought I'd married, who turned out to be more like a stranger I'd been sharing a bed with.

"But don't you ever let him make you think you don't deserve better. Because honey, you deserve the whole damn fairytale."

I forced a smile that felt like wearing shoes that were too small.

"Are you sure you don't want me to come in with you?"

I shook my head. "No, I need to do this myself."

"I'll be here when you're done."

I smiled softly, almost sadly. "Thanks for being here."

"Where else would I be?" I had never been more thankful for Davina and her friendship. She was the only one who supported me and my decision to divorce Chris. My parents agreed with Chris that I wouldn't do any better than him. Chris's parents, too. Davina was the only support I had. Well, and Kali, my café manager.

I closed the car door and took the long walk under the hot Florida sun through the parking lot into the courthouse, dreading seeing Chris again. Even though he'd called and texted every day since the separation, to remind me why I was wrong, I hadn't seen him in person. I'd avoided him because I knew how the interaction would go. Today, there would be a judge and lawyers, so I hoped our interaction would be quick and minimal.

I just wanted to get this over with and start my new life, whatever it may look like.

I strolled through the entrance, the cool air hitting my face as I moved robotically through security, then across the first floor to the elevator. I pressed the arrow-up button and stood silently staring up at the changing digital floor numbers as the world continued around me. The doors chimed open, and I stepped in, spinning as I hit number twelve and waited for them to close.

Just as they started to close, a hand shot between them. The rubber bumpers bounced back. A familiar cologne hit me first. Then the polished shoes. The pressed pants. His favorite red tie.

No.

Chris stepped inside, and the doors sealed us in together.

"Hey, Brooke." Even though the elevator was spacious enough for a small dance party, he stood shoulder to shoulder with me like we were sharing a phone booth.

I didn't respond. I had nothing to say to him. I wanted to pretend this marriage never happened, like it was a really vivid dream about making terrible life choices.

"There's still time to stop this." Chris rocked forward on his polished shoes once we were in motion, his voice rising at the end like a game show host offering me a chance to change my final answer.

I rolled my eyes but didn't respond, focusing on the floor numbers.

"You know this is insane, right?"

Two. Three. I was counting floors like meditation.

His hand shot out. Before I could react, his palm slammed against the emergency stop button. The elevator lurched, then froze. The overhead lights flickered before settling into a slightly dimmer glow.

"What are you…" The words died in my throat. My chest constricted, each heartbeat a separate hammer strike against my ribs. The sudden stillness amplified everything: the faint hum of the halted machinery, the rasp of his breathing, the blood rushing in my ears.

He pivoted slowly, placing himself between me and the control panel. His shoulders, broader than I remembered, blocked my escape route completely.

"Brooke," he drew out my name like he was savoring it, "think about what you're doing." His voice was soft, reasonable. The tone he used in court when he was about to go for the kill.

This was exactly what I'd wanted to avoid. "Chris, move."

"Listen to me, Brooke. If you do this today, it's over. There's no going back. I'm moving on."

"That's literally the entire point of divorce, Chris. It's not supposed to be reversible like a jacket."

"When you're all alone in this world," his tone dropped to what I think he thought was intimidating, "you won't have me to run back to."

I sighed, feeling suddenly exhausted by the whole performance. "Okay."