The lawyer's office smelled like new carpet and money.
Declan was already there, standing by the window like he owned the glass.
The lawyer slid the papers across the desk. The severance page was on top. The number looked like a bribe.
Declan: Sign both. The money clears today.
I sat down and took the pen. My name came out slow and neat, like it belonged to someone else.
Then I pushed the severance page back across the desk.
Isla: I sign the divorce. I don't sign that.
The lawyer looked at Declan. Then at me. Then at the page I wouldn't touch.
The room got very quiet, the way rooms do when someone has just been called cheap.
I put my hands flat on the desk so they would stop.
They didn't stop.
Declan: Your hands are shaking.
Isla: Because I'm angry. Not because I'm poor.
Isla: Don't confuse the two.
Declan: Take the check. Walk out, and you get nothing. Not one fucking cent.
The lawyer's assistant stopped typing. My face went hot.
I stood up. The chair scraped hard on the new carpet.
Isla: I'm not a martyr. I'm a woman who won't sell six months of her life for a check.
Isla: Keep your money, Declan. It's the only thing you know how to offer.
Declan: You're embarrassing yourself.
He said it low, like he was doing me a favor by keeping it in the room.
Everyone in it still heard.
Isla: Good. Let me.
I picked up my bag and held it tight so my hands had something to do.
Declan: Take the check. It's the last time I ask.
He didn't raise his voice. That made it worse.
I wanted to ask why. Why he picked me. Why he never came home.
I didn't ask. He didn't deserve my questions.
At the door, I heard paper crinkle.
Declan's fingers had tightened on the check. Just once.
His face was still cold. His hand wasn't.
Declan: Isla.
Not a question. Not an apology. Just my name, like he was testing if it still worked.
I walked out without looking back. The door shut behind me.
It sounded final. Good. Final was what I wanted.