Ethan Caldwell had already decided how the story would end.
A quick hearing.
A neat signature.
One suitcase.
And Lily would fade out of his life like a chapter he regretted writing.
He practiced his lines in the mirror that morning.
“It’s mutual.”
“It’s for the best.”
“It’s clean.”
The lies slid off his tongue smoothly.
The courthouse in downtown Richmond smelled like dust and burnt coffee. Couples stood in corners whispering over paperwork, as if holding the pages tight enough could stop their lives from unraveling.
Ethan stood tall in a tailored coat, scrolling through his phone, grinning at a message from Madison 💋.
Across the hallway stood Lily.
Seven months pregnant.
Her coat wouldn’t zip over her stomach. Her cheeks were tear-streaked. Her hands shook as she held the divorce papers like they might dissolve if she gripped them too tightly.
“You didn’t have to do this,” she said softly.
Her voice sounded worn thin, like it had been scraped against too many sleepless nights.
Ethan barely looked up.
“Do what? Be efficient?”
The word felt cold in the air between them.
Lily swallowed and looked down at the forms.
“I just want peace.”
For a flicker of a second, Ethan’s eyes dropped to her belly.
Then he looked away.
The baby didn’t fit the new life he was constructing. Madison’s laughter. Madison’s certainty. Madison’s belief that he was “unstoppable.”
Lily stepped up to the clerk’s counter.
The clerk pushed a pen toward her without meeting her eyes.
Lily picked it up.
Her signature wavered across the page, ink trembling like a pulse under strain.
The stamp came down hard.
THUNK.
The sound echoed through the hallway like something breaking.
Ethan’s lips curled into a satisfied half-smile.
He was already crafting the narrative in his head. Lily was emotional. Lily was unstable. He had tried so hard to make it work. He had been patient.
People always believed the polished man in the expensive coat.
Then the black car pulled up outside.
Long. Gleaming. Out of place among rusted sedans.
Two men in dark suits stepped out first, scanning the sidewalk with deliberate precision.
Not police.
Not courthouse security.
Inside, the glass doors slid open.
The energy shifted.
The clerk glanced up—and froze.
One of the suited men presented an ID.
Her face drained of color.
“Oh—” she stammered. “Sir, I… I wasn’t informed…”
Whispers stopped mid-sentence.
Even the bailiff straightened.
Then the older man entered.
Silver hair. Composed expression. Authority that didn’t need to announce itself.
The hallway fell completely silent.
Because everyone recognized him.
And Ethan’s smirk began to collapse.
The older man’s gaze moved past the crowd.
Past the clerk.
Past Ethan.
And settled directly on Lily.
