Page 46 of Pretend You Love Me

“Elsie,” she says, already gesturing toward the chair across from her. “Thank you for coming in. You look tired.”

It’s not an insult or even a judgment, just a simple observation, delivered with the warmth that appears when someone is stating the obvious without making you feel bad about it. I sink into the chair carefully, wrapping both hands around the takeaway coffee I brought because I do not trust myself in this conversation without caffeine, and try to arrange my face in an expression that suggests “capable adult” rather than “woman who’s been crying in supermarket parking lots.”

“I am tired,” I say, the words coming out steadier than expected. “But I’m here. And I’m ready to hear whatever you’ve found out.”

Clara nods, accepting this without pushing for more, and turns to the file in front of her with the particular focus of someone who understands what’s at stake. “The divorce petition is ready to be submitted,” she says, her voice carrying the clipped, declarative quality that appears when she’s delivering important information. “The documentation is strong. but I still need to have a contact for Daniel’s representation.”

She doesn’t seem to need my response, already knowing that I have asked him already.

“There are two practical matters we need to address immediately,” Clara continues, already turning to a fresh page in her legal pad. “First, Daniel needs to retain his own solicitor. Because he has been dragging his feet on this, I’ve prepared a list of appropriate candidates, not friends of mine, or people who would see this as a personal favour, just competent professionals who specialize in family law.”

I nod, keeping my face arranged in pleasant neutrality. “And the second?”

“He needs to leave the home,” Clara says, the words coming out with the careful attention of someone who understands what they’re saying. “Now. We have given him adequate time to find housing and as you told him previously, the house was purchased with your inheritance deposit, and you have been making the repayments for a substantial amount of time.”

My hand tightens around the coffee cup, a small, involuntary grip I immediately cover by taking a sip.

“Now,” I repeat, the word feeling strange in my mouth.

“Now,” Clara confirms. “Today, if possible. Tomorrow at the absolute latest. It would be in the best interest for all of you to have space, legally and emotionally.”

It seems impossible to respond to without sounding shocked.

“He won’t want to,” I say finally, already seeing Daniel’s face, his expression full of anger. “He’ll say it’s his home too. That we should figure this out together. That I’m being unreasonable.”

“I’m sure he will,” Clara agrees, her tone even. “But that doesn’t change the reality of the situation. You remaining in the home with the twins is important. The longer Daniel stays, the more complicated the domestic arrangement becomes legally and emotionally. He doesn’t hold the power here. I will be able to negotiate a settlement amount with his lawyer for his contributions to the property when he retains council.”

She continues without softening herself.

“What if he refuses though?” I ask when she pauses. “What does ‘now’ mean in legal terms? What happens next?”

Clara answers each question without condescension.

“With the separation paperwork in place, I have submitted the findings over the property to a judge. I can get an order by this afternoon to force him out. I don’t want to go there yet, but it’s an option.”

“What if he tries to take the twins?” I ask, the words coming out slightly panicked. “What if he…“

“He won’t,” Clara says simply. “The documentation we have is too strong. The evidence is too clear. And even if he tried, the court would see immediately what’s happening.”

Our eyes meet across the desk, and I see it, she is full of conviction that soothes my fears slightly.

“Thank you,” I say, “I don’t think I could have done this without your help.”

She nods once, accepting this without pushing for more, and closes the file carefully. “I’ll email you the updated petition,” she says, already reaching for her pen. “And the list of solicitors for Daniel. We’re meeting again on Thursday to discuss his response and next steps.” I stand, already reaching for my bag, already moving toward the door.

“We will get there Elsie,” Clara says as I reach the door. “We just need the last push to get this divorce final.”

Such simple words. And I am truly thankful for her. She may seem slightly cold, but she is on my side. Thoughtful, and respectful.

She nods again, as though we are done, which I guess we are, and turns back to her desk.

I hold her confidence close to my chest when I make my way home. Hoping this conversation won’t escalate.

The house is quiet by nine-fifteen that evening, both twins down after a bath, two bottles, and what I internally catalogue as an unreasonable amount of emotional negotiation with people who cannot yet speak. I stand at the bottom of the stairs with a towel still draped over one shoulder and my hair in what Luca would call a “post-apocalyptic topknot,” listening to the silence that happens when two infants have simultaneously surrendered to sleep. It’s a miracle so rare it’s practically supernatural, and for a moment, just a moment, I allow myself to stand perfectly still and appreciate it.

From the living room, I can hear the low murmur of the television, some documentary about animals that Daniel has apparently been watching for the past forty minutes. The volume is turned down to a low level that means “I’m watching but still listening for the twins,” and I feel that brief pang of sadness at the thought of this ending once again. This is the right choice though. For all of us. I harden my resolve and straighten my shoulders.

Daniel is on the couch when I enter, one leg stretched across the coffee table, his attention focused entirely on his phone. He’s wearing the expression that appears when he’s scrolling without absorbing anything. His eyebrows slightly drawn, mouth a straight line, the look that means he’s physically present but mentally elsewhere. The domestic ordinariness of the scene, his socked feet on the coffee table, the low murmur of the television, the half-drunk glass of water on the side table, makes what I’m about to do feel surreal.