Five Years Of Marriage And I Was A Name He’d Never Mentioned Chapter 07

One week later, I sent Brandon the divorce papers.

He didn’t sign them.

He started coming to my parents’ house every day to wait for me.

He brought the oatmeal I liked to eat. He brought white roses, which I’d once mentioned I liked. He brought that fountain pen—the one he’d given away and then somehow gotten back.

But I never went down to see him.

One evening, my mom pulled the curtain back and said quietly, “He’s here again.”

I walked over and looked.

Brandon stood under the streetlight, his suit jacket over his arm. He looked thinner.

The effortless composure he used to have was gone.

He just stood there quietly, like he was waiting for a forgiveness that would never come.

My mom sighed. “If only he’d known sooner.”

I didn’t say anything.

The next day, he finally caught me.

I was coming out of the office, and he was standing right there, his eyes bloodshot, like he hadn’t slept all night.

“Lauren, give me ten minutes.”

“Just ten minutes.”

I almost walked away, but then I stopped.

He looked at me, swallowed hard a few times, and finally spoke. “Ivy quit.

When she found out the truth, she wouldn’t even let me explain.”

“I didn’t go after her.”

“Because I suddenly realized—I wasn’t afraid of her leaving. I was afraid of you actually being done with me.”

I listened quietly.

As he spoke, the ranking above his head kept flickering.

Number one: Lauren Cole. Number two: Mom. Number three: blank.

It was insane. The number one spot I hadn’t gotten in five years—it showed up when I was walking out.

And all I felt was exhaustion.

Brandon’s voice cracked. “I used to think you wouldn’t leave.”

“You’re soft. Your heart’s soft. As long as I was good to you, as long as I came back and held you, you’d still be there waiting.”

“So I let myself be stupid. Greedy. Enjoying your love while trying on new feelings with someone else.”

“I’m the one who messed up.”

“Lauren, I lost you myself.”

I looked at him, and my nose stung.

He understood everything.

He knew I would hurt. He knew I would be sad.

He just counted on me not being able to let go. So he got comfortable.

I asked quietly, “Brandon. Did you ever love me?”

He broke down crying.

“Yes.”

“I still do.”

“But I know. It’s too late for anything I say.”

In that moment, something let go inside me.

The love was real.

The betrayal was real too.

Hearts can grow flowers and thorns at the same time.

But the person who got hurt by the thorns doesn’t have to forgive the blood just because the flowers were once beautiful.

I handed him the signed papers.

“Let’s go file them.”

He gripped those pages, his hands shaking badly.

In the end, he signed.

The day we went to the County Clerk’s Office, the sun was bright.

We sat side by side, like the day we got our marriage license five years ago.

Back then I was full of joy.

This time, I didn’t even look back.

When the stamp came down, Brandon’s voice broke. “Lauren.”

“If there’s a next life…”

I cut him off.

“Don’t talk about next lives.”

“People who couldn’t get it right in this one don’t get to talk about next lives.”

He fell completely silent.

Outside the office, he stood on the steps for a long time without moving.

I walked a few steps forward. Then I heard, very softly behind me—

“I’m sorry.”

I didn’t turn around.

Some apologies aren’t that I don’t want to hear them.

It’s that hearing them doesn’t take you back.