Page 49 of Pretend You Love Me

“It is,” Clara confirms. “The custody arrangement is official. The house settlement is complete. The asset division is recorded. All that’s left is the thirty-day waiting period for the decree to become absolute, but that’s procedural. The marriage is legally dissolved.”

We talk for four more minutes and then Clara says, “You did well,” and hangs up.

I stand in the quiet office with the phone in my hand and wait for something to happen. A collapse. A breakdown. The kind of crying that makes your entire chest ache. But there’s nothing. Just the hollowness that comes after you’ve carried something for so long you’ve forgotten what it’s like to stand without it.

I step back into the café and stand behind the counter holding my phone at my side while the room continues around me, Luca steaming milk, a regular asking about the new display table, Milo banging a plastic cup against the table from Noah’s lap. The moment feels simultaneously enormous and completely ordinary, as if the universe can’t quite decide whether this is the moment everything changes or just another Tuesday.

“I’m divorced.” I blurt out. Maybe slightly in shock.

Luca looks at my face and sets a large flat white in front of me and says, “Congratulations on legally removing the human equivalent of a damp sock from your life.”

I laugh and then, almost immediately, my eyes fill. Not dramatically, just tears that sneak up on you when you least expect it.

“Fuck,” I say, already reaching for a napkin. “I’m fine. I’m completely fine.”

“I know,” Luca says, already reaching for my hand. “I know you are.”

Harper materializes from somewhere near the biography section with a packet of tissues like she has been waiting for this exact moment, which she probably has. “Here,” she says, already pressing them into my hand. “I keep them in my bag because Leo cries at the exact emotional pitch that makes supermarket cashiers hand you free cookies.”

I accept the tissues, blow my nose inelegantly, and tell them both I am fine, which fools nobody. Luca hugs me from behind the counter in a way that is mostly just him pressing his face into my hair and saying nothing, which is somehow right.

“It’s done,” I tell them, the words coming out steadier than expected. “It’s actually done.”

“You’re free,” Luca says, the words carrying a weight that makes my chest ache. “God, Els. You’re really free.”

Harper squeezes my hand once, hard enough to ground me, and says, “I’m proud of you,” with the warmth that appears when she means it completely.

From across the café, Noah looks up from his manuscript, his expression concerned, and Luca makes a small gesture that I can’t quite interpret but seems to reassure him. The moment passes, a regular approaches the counter with a question about the loyalty program, Milo begins a dramatic monologue about the tragedy of not being allowed to eat chalk, and I move through the familiar motions of opening the till and answering questions and refilling coffee cups with the particular steadiness that comes from being where I am needed.

Daniel’s text arrives while I’m restocking the romance shelf, careful and subdued, the type of message someone writes and rewrites before sending: “I know it’s short notice, but I was wondering if I could have the twins tonight. Mum keeps asking about them. I miss them.” I read it twice, standing between the shelves with a stack of paperbacks under one arm, the words swimming slightly as I try to process what he’s asking.

The afternoon has mellowed into that perfect pocket between lunch and the dinner rush, two regulars at the window table, Harper at the counter working through proofs with a red pen, Luca pretending to be deeply offended by said proofs.

My thumb hovers over the keyboard for a moment, suddenly unsure what to say. This is the first time Daniel has asked for the twins since he moved out three weeks ago. Not for a visit or a few hours or even a meal, he has done that since he left. But for the night. A complete handoff. The way he worded his message, careful and hesitant, missing the easy confidence he used to carry, makes something complicated stir in my chest.

“Yes,” I type finally. “That’s fine. What time?”

The response comes almost immediately: “Would 5 work? I could bring them back in the morning.”

I agree, and the agreement costs me something I don’t have a name for yet. Not fear or any of the dramatic emotions people expect divorced mothers to feel. Just the awareness that this is what happens now, the slow, necessary process of learning to let go.

I meet Daniel at the house forty minutes later, he is quieter than he used to be, no easy charm or casual confidence, just a man who looks like he hasn’t been sleeping well. His hair is standing slightly on end, his shirt is rumpled in a way that suggests he’s been wearing it since the morning, and there’s a particular quality to his movements that makes me think of a houseplant that’s been deprived of adequate nutrition.

“Hey,” he says, already reaching for the diaper bag. “Thanks for letting me take them. I really appreciate it.”

I nod, keeping my expression neutral. “They’ve had dinner. Bottles are in the thermal bag. Their pyjamas are in the blue bag. Maisie likes the bear ones, not the stars, and Milo will fight you about the sleeper with feet because he likes his toes out.”

Daniel smiles slightly, the expression not quite reaching his eyes. “Noted,” he says. “Any other instructions?”

From his position on the living room floor, Milo spots Daniel across the room and launches himself toward his father with full-body enthusiasm. Daniel catches him and holds him close in a way that looks genuinely desperate, one hand coming up to support the back of Milo’s head with unconscious care.

“Hi, buddy,” he says, his voice carrying true warmth.. “God, you’ve gotten so big. Have you been eating houses when I’m not looking?”

Milo responds with babbling, his tiny face animated with the drama he reserves for important topics. Daniel nods with serious attention, already moving toward the living room with Milo balanced on his hip.

Meanwhile, Maisie has launched herself into a full-body cling, her arms wrapped around my neck, her face pressed against my shoulder in the arrangement that means “I am watching everything and I do not approve.” Daniel notices and doesn’t push, just offers her a small wave from across the room.

“Hey, Mais,” he says, his voice gentle. “I’ve missed you too.”