Chapter 7

Elena’s pov

I woke to the sound of the old coffee maker in the kitchen and the low scrape of a chair against the floor. For a few seconds I didn’t remember where I was. 

The ceiling was the wrong color. 

The mattress felt too narrow. Then the night before came back in one clean, heavy piece and I turned my face into the pillow.

I was in my old bedroom at Mom’s apartment.

I had left the hotel just after first light. I couldn’t stay in that impersonal room any longer. I had called her from the sidewalk, voice flat, and she had only said, “Come home.” She didn’t ask questions on the phone. She just stayed on the line until I got into a cab.

Now the morning was fully here, and so was the reality I had been trying not to look at.

I sat up slowly. My body felt sore in a way that had nothing to do with sleep. 

The jeans and sweater from last night were still on me. I hadn’t bothered changing again.

A soft knock sounded at the door.

“Elena?” Mom’s voice was quiet. “I’m coming in.”

She opened the door and stood there with two mugs. She looked like she hadn’t slept much either. She crossed the room, set one mug on the nightstand, and sat on the edge of the bed the way she used to when I was younger.

“Drink some,” she said.

I took the mug. The heat against my palms felt like the only solid thing in the room.

“I don’t know what to say first,” I told her.

“You don’t have to say anything yet.”

“He told me to leave. On our wedding night. He had papers. A folder. He said I lied about never being with anyone. He wouldn’t listen. He just… decided.”

Mom’s jaw tightened, but her voice stayed steady. “I know. You told me that much last night. You don’t need to go through every word again if you’re not ready.”

“I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready.” I stared down at the coffee. “A few hours before that he was calling me his wife and talking about ordinary mornings. 

Then someone handed him a folder and everything was over.”

She reached over and covered my hand with hers. “Did he show you what was in it?”

“No. He just told me what he believed it proved. Hotel footage. Some clinics form. Messages. I kept saying it wasn’t true. That I’ve never been with anyone. 

He looked at me like I was already finished explaining.”

Mom was quiet for a moment. “And then he told you to leave.”

“Yes. He said the marriage was over. That the lawyers would handle it in the morning. He had a car waiting downstairs.”

I heard the small sound she made in the back of her throat, the one she made when she was holding back something sharper.

“I took the rings off before I left,” I said. “I left them on the dresser. I couldn’t keep them on.”

“That was the right thing,” she said. “You don’t owe those rings anything.”

We sat in silence for a while. The apartment felt the same as it always had, small, familiar, a little worn, but I felt like a different person sitting inside it. 

The version of me who had walked down the aisle yesterday morning seemed far away.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand. I flinched before I could stop myself. Mom glanced at the screen.

“It’s not him,” she said. “It’s an email. Looks like a law firm.”

I picked up the phone. The subject line was short and formal. Something about the dissolution of marriage and next steps. 

The timestamp was from early this morning. He hadn’t wasted any time.

I set the phone back down without opening it.

“They’re already moving,” I said.

“I see that.”

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do next.”

Mom took a slow breath. “Right now you drink the coffee. Then you shower. Then you eat something even if you don’t want it. 

After that we can look at the email together if you want. Or we can ignore it for another hour. You’re allowed to take this in pieces.”

I nodded, but the motion felt disconnected from the rest of me.

“I keep replaying the part where he told me I had humiliated myself by lying,” I said. “I didn’t lie. I need someone to believe that.”

“I believe you.” Her voice was firm. “I’ve always believed you. That doesn’t change because a man with money and a folder decided otherwise.”

The words landed somewhere deep and sore. I blinked hard and looked away.

“I don’t know how to be this person,” I said. “The one who got married and divorced the same night. It doesn’t feel real.”

“It doesn’t have to feel real yet,” Mom said. “It just has to be gotten through. One hour at a time if that’s all you can manage.”

I set the mug down and pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes. The pressure helped a little.

“I’m going to shower,” I said finally.

“I’ll be in the kitchen.” She stood, then paused at the door. “Elena. You’re still you. He doesn’t get to take that.”

I didn’t answer. I wasn’t sure I believed her yet.

After she left I stayed on the bed a little longer, staring at the email notification still lighting up my phone. The legal machinery was already turning. 

The marriage that had started the day before was already being taken apart.

I stood up, gathered clean clothes from the drawer I still kept here, and walked toward the bathroom. 

The apartment was quiet except for the distant sound of Mom moving around the kitchen. 

I closed the bathroom door and leaned against it for a moment, eyes shut.

Yesterday I was a bride.

This morning I was sitting in my childhood bedroom while lawyers prepared papers to undo it.