I looked up at the courthouse.
Through the glass doors, I could see the lobby.
My lawyer was talking to someone near the elevator.
Nathan was probably still inside.
“I know,” I said.
“But I think I already know what I’m going to decide.”
Tessa looked at me.
“I’m not ready to say it out loud yet,” I said.
“But I think I know.”
She squeezed my hand once and let go.
I called my lawyer that evening.
“I want to pause the proceedings,” I said.
A brief silence.
“That’s your right,” he said.
“Are you sure?”
“Not entirely.
But I’m sure enough.”
He told me what pausing would look like practically.
Paperwork.
A window of time.
Options still open on both sides.
I thanked him and hung up.
Then I sat at my kitchen table for a long time without doing anything.
The house was quiet.
It had been quiet for months — Nathan had moved into a short-term rental in February, and I had gotten used to the particular silence of a space that used to hold two people.
The way sound moved differently.
The way the kitchen felt larger than it needed to be.
I picked up my phone and called Nathan.
