Chapter 17 - Mercer Again

The divorce hearing lasted twenty-three minutes.

I had spent three years becoming Mrs. Prescott.

It took less than half an hour to stop.

The judge reviewed the agreement.

“Both parties entered voluntarily?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Yes,” Aaron said.

“Both represented by counsel?”

Nathan answered for me.

Lillian answered for Aaron.

The judge looked over the property schedule.

“Premarital assets remain separate. Joint assets divided pursuant to agreement. No spousal support. No children.”

The last two words landed strangely.

No children.

As if absence belonged in a checkbox.

Aaron glanced at me.

I looked forward.

The judge continued.

“Ms. Prescott, you have requested restoration of your prior legal name?”

“Yes.”

“Claire Elizabeth Mercer?”

“Yes.”

Aaron’s hand tightened around his pen.

The judge signed.

“That order is granted.”

A few minutes later, it was done.

No music.

No final argument.

No cinematic speech.

Just paper.

Before leaving the courthouse, Priya called with one final financial update.

“The house transfer cleared,” she said. “Joint-card reimbursements are balanced, investment accounts divided, and there are no outstanding tracing issues.”

“So the spreadsheets are finished?”

“For this marriage, yes.”

I looked at Nathan.

He mouthed, Miracle.

Priya continued.

“Your separate-property schedule closes exactly where it started. Nothing from Mercer Vale entered the marital pool.”

“Thank you.”

“You did the hard part by keeping records.”

“No. My grandfather did the hard part by being suspicious of everyone.”

Priya laughed.

“Then thank him retroactively.”

When the call ended, I realized the divorce had no financial mystery left either. Every dollar had a category. Every transfer had a date. The only things that could not be traced were the years we had spent assuming love would explain itself.

Outside the courtroom, Nathan handed me a certified copy.

“Congratulations feels inappropriate.”

“It does.”

“My condolences sounds worse.”

“Much.”

He nodded toward the elevators.

“Coffee?”

“In a minute.”

Aaron stood down the hall with Lillian.

She said something to him, touched his arm, then left.

He walked toward me.

Nathan looked at me.

“I can stay.”

“I’m okay.”

“I’ll be by the elevators.”

Aaron stopped a few feet away.

“Claire Mercer.”

I swallowed.

“That’s me.”

He smiled sadly.

“It suits you.”

“It always did.”

“I know.”

We stood in the courthouse corridor like strangers who knew too much.

“I signed the house buyout transfer yesterday,” he said.

“I received confirmation.”

“Your funds should clear tomorrow.”

“Thank you.”

“Marblehead deed is untouched.”

“I know.”

“Mercer Vale confidentiality survives the decree.”

“Nathan made me read that clause six times.”

Aaron laughed.

“Lillian made me read it seven.”

The silence after the joke was harder.

He looked at the certified order in my hand.

“So this is it.”

“Yes.”

“I thought I’d have something better to say.”

“You don’t need a speech.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’ve said that.”

“I know.”

He took a breath.

“I’m sorry without expecting it to change anything.”

That was different.

I nodded.

“Thank you.”

He looked toward the windows.

“I sold the Boston house.”

I blinked.

“You just bought me out.”

“I had to complete the settlement first.”

“Why sell it?”

“I couldn’t stay there.”

“Where are you going?”

“Cambridge. Smaller place.”

“Near your therapist?”

He smiled.

“Walking distance. Apparently that is what responsible adulthood looks like.”

I almost laughed.

“What will you do?”

“Nothing for a while.”

“You?”

“Nothing.”

“Impossible.”

“Exactly why I’m trying.”

We both smiled.

Then he reached into his coat pocket.

“I found this.”

He held out a small digital recorder.

My recorder.

I stared.

“You still had it?”

“It was in the drawer beside the bed.”

I took it.

I had used it for consulting interviews years earlier.

The screen was scratched.

“I thought I lost this.”

“I know.”

He hesitated.

“There’s a file on it.”

“What file?”

“You recorded us once.”

My chest tightened.

“When?”

“Our first apartment. We were cooking.”

I remembered.

We had been testing the recorder before an interview.

Aaron had been making sauce.

I had asked him ridiculous questions.

“What is your greatest professional weakness?”

“Marrying an intimidating consultant.”

I could almost hear it.

“I didn’t listen,” he said.

“Why?”

“It felt like stealing.”

I closed my hand around the recorder.

“Thank you.”

He nodded.

At the elevator, he stopped.

“Claire?”

“Yes?”

“I hope you find someone who comes home.”

My throat tightened.

“So do I.”

He smiled once.

“I mean that.”

“I know.”

The elevator doors opened.

Nathan stood inside.

Aaron looked at him.

“Take care of her.”

Nathan’s face went flat.

“She takes care of herself.”

I looked at Nathan.

Aaron did too.

Then, unexpectedly, Aaron nodded.

“You’re right.”

The doors closed between us.

In the lobby, Nathan handed me a coffee.

“No sugar.”

“You remembered.”

“I have a disturbing memory for beverage grievances.”

We stepped outside.

The sky was gray, the city noisy and ordinary.

I was divorced.

I expected to feel lighter.

Instead, I felt exact.

There was grief.

Relief.

Anger.

Tenderness.

Embarrassment.

Pride.

All of it belonged.

At home that evening, I put the recorder on my kitchen table.

I did not play the old file.

Not yet.

I opened my laptop instead and changed the name on my email signature.

Claire Mercer.

No explanation.

No announcement.

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No revenge.

Just my own name returning to the bottom of the page.