The pottery class became dangerous in a way financial documents never had.
Documents made decisions easier.
Numbers created edges.
A forged signature was wrong.
A hidden debt existed.
An email had a date.
But laughter had no clean evidentiary value.
Neither did missing someone.
Neither did the sight of Mark concentrating on wet clay with his tongue pressed against one corner of his mouth exactly as he had when assembling furniture years earlier.
Affection blurred boundaries that facts had sharpened.
I reminded myself of that repeatedly.
Sunday morning, I woke thinking about his stupid bowl.
By noon, I was angry at myself.
By evening, I gave up pretending the feeling did not exist.
I missed being around him.
That did not mean the divorce was wrong.
Two truths.
I was becoming skilled at holding them.
Monday, I met Helen.
She had a proposed final settlement.
Nothing surprising.
No claim to the condo.
No spousal support requested by either side.
Each retained personal property.
Wedding gifts already divided.
Remaining joint cash split.
Mark retained responsibility for his business-related obligations.
I retained mine.
Clean.
Almost sterile.
“Any concerns?” Helen asked.
“No.”
“Do you want more time?”
“No.”
That surprised me.
Helen noticed.
“You sound certain.”
“I’m certain about the financial settlement.”
“Different from the emotional outcome.”
“Yes.”
She nodded.
“Good distinction.”
I signed the settlement.
Final hearing would be scheduled later.
The divorce continued.
That evening, Mark emailed.
Not text.
Subject:
Pottery class
I opened it.
Evan signed me up for next Saturday too. I didn’t know he had booked a four-week series. You may be in the same group if Rachel did the same thing. I will switch sessions if you prefer.
I laughed aloud.
Rachel.
I called her.
“You signed me up for four weeks?”
She groaned.
“I forgot.”
“How do you forget four consecutive Saturdays?”
“I was drinking when I booked it.”
“You’re a lawyer.”
“Not on weekends.”
I hung up and replied to Mark.
Stay in the session. We are adults.
His response:
Debatable, based on my bowl.
I smiled.
Saturday arrived.
This time we knew.
That changed the room.
We chose wheels far apart.
Then the instructor reassigned seats because a sink leaked.
Mark ended up beside me.
Of course.
We made mugs.
Mine looked acceptable.
His handle fell off.
“You’re getting worse.”
“I’m experiencing creative freedom.”
“You’re making debris.”
He smiled.
Afterward, we walked toward the subway.
Not planned.
Same direction.
“I heard the settlement is final,” he said.
“The agreement.”
“Right.”
“You signed?”
“Yes.”
“How did it feel?”
“Terrible.”
“Same.”
We walked quietly.
Then Mark said, “I had a good week.”
“At work?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me.”
He did.
His CEO rejected one proposal, accepted another, and asked him to lead an operational restructuring project.
He sounded proud.
Not because he controlled the company.
Because someone trusted him with responsibility inside limits.
That difference mattered.
“How’s the debt?”
“Paying it.”
“Exciting.”
“Extremely.”
“How much left?”
“One-forty-six.”
“Down fourteen?”
“Sold some things.”
“What?”
“More watches.”
“How many watches did you own?”
“Please respect my grief.”
I laughed.
Then asked, “Diane?”
“Gallery job going surprisingly well.”
“Richard?”
“Coffee twice.”
“Voluntarily?”
“Yes.”
“That sounds serious.”
“It is.”
He looked ahead.
“I told him I don’t forgive him yet.”
“What did he say?”
“That he didn’t ask me to.”
“Good.”
“He’s also seeing someone for gambling recovery again.”
“Good.”
“Mom is seeing a therapist.”
“That may be the biggest twist in this entire situation.”
Mark laughed.
“She blames you.”
“Of course.”
“She says Sophie destroyed this family.”
My smile disappeared.
Mark immediately corrected.
“Not seriously. She said that was the old version of what she would have said.”
I breathed out.
“And now?”
“She says you exposed the family.”
“That sounds slightly healthier.”
“She means it as a compliment.”
“I’ll take it.”
We reached the subway entrance.
Neither of us moved down.
Mark looked at me.
“Can I tell you something?”
“Yes.”
“I’m having a hard time with the divorce.”
My chest tightened.
“I assumed.”
“I don’t want you thinking because I’m respecting it, I’m okay.”
“I don’t.”
“Good.”
He looked relieved.
“I cry a lot.”
“That also sounds healthy.”
“Very masculine of me.”
“Your father refinances. You cry.”
He laughed.
Then became serious.
“I don’t want to make you responsible for that.”
“Thank you.”
“But I also don’t want honesty to become pretending I’m not hurting.”
“That’s fair.”
He looked down at his hands.
“I still want us.”
I breathed slowly.
“I know.”
“I’m not asking.”
“I know.”
“I’m trying to learn the difference between saying what I want and making you responsible for satisfying it.”
“That’s important.”
“Therapist says desire is not entitlement.”
“I really do like him.”
“He charges enough.”
We smiled.
Then Mark said, “What do you want?”
The question frightened me.
Not because I did not know.
Because part of me did.
“I want the divorce to continue.”
He nodded.
Pain flashed.
He did not hide it.
“And?”
I looked at him.
“I want to keep seeing you sometimes.”
His eyes widened slightly.
I raised a hand.
“Do not build a future from that.”
“I’m trying not to.”
“I mean it.”
“I know.”
“Sometimes means sometimes.”
“Yes.”
“Not dating necessarily.”
“Yes.”
“Not reconciliation.”
“Yes.”
“Not exclusivity.”
That one hurt him.
I saw it.
“Yes.”
“You can date someone else.”
He gave me a look.
“I’m not remotely ready.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“I know.”
“And I could.”
He swallowed.
“Yes.”
“How does that feel?”
“Terrible.”
“Good.”
He laughed through the pain.
“Cruel.”
“Honest.”
“Yes.”
I continued.
“I don’t want to become your unofficial wife after divorcing you.”
“No.”
“I don’t want us acting married while avoiding the legal commitment.”
“Agreed.”
“And I don’t want friendship to become a waiting room where you sit until I change my mind.”
That landed hard.
“I don’t know if I can promise I won’t hope.”
“I’m not asking you not to hope.”
“Then what?”
“Live anyway.”
He looked away.
“I can try.”
“That’s all.”
We parted.
No kiss.
I wanted one.
That mattered too.
I chose not to.
Not because kissing would be immoral.
Because I knew what it would do to me that day.
Consent applied inward too.
Not every desire required action.
The next week, an unexpected thing happened.
I had dinner with someone else.
Not a date.
At least not initially.
His name was Andrew.
We had worked together years earlier and remained loosely connected.
He was in town.
We had dinner.
Halfway through, I realized he was flirting.
Then he realized I had realized.
“This is awkward.”
I laughed.
“A little.”
“Should I stop?”
I thought.
“No.”
That surprised me.
Andrew was kind.
Funny.
Divorced.
No immediate drama.
He knew nothing about my financial nightmare.
For two hours, I experienced what it felt like to be seen by someone who had not built a spreadsheet around my property.
At the end, he asked if I wanted to have dinner again.
I said, “Maybe.”
He smiled.
“Fair.”
That word hit me unexpectedly.
Fair enough.
Mark’s old message after I said no to leveraging the condo.
I went home sad.
Not because Andrew had done anything wrong.
Because ordinary courtship exposed how abnormal my final months with Mark had become.
The next Saturday, pottery class felt different.
Mark noticed.
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
He looked at me.
Then stopped.
No interrogation.
Good.
After class, he asked if I wanted coffee.
I said yes.
At the café, he talked about work.
I talked about a project.
Then, without planning to, I said, “I had dinner with someone.”
Mark froze.
The reaction was immediate.
His face changed.
Not anger.
Pain.
“Okay.”
I watched him.
“Do you want details?”
“No.”
The answer came too fast.
Then he corrected.
“I mean, you can tell me if you want.”
“I don’t.”
“Okay.”
He stared at his coffee.
For several seconds, silence.
Then he asked, “Was it a date?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Did you want it to be?”
“That’s not your question to answer.”
“I know.”
He rubbed his forehead.
“I’m doing badly.”
“You’re allowed.”
“I want to ask a hundred things.”
“I know.”
“I want to tell you it’s too soon.”
“I know.”
“I want to remind you we’re still legally married.”
“That one worries me.”
He looked up immediately.
“I know.”
“Do you think I’m doing something wrong?”
He struggled.
“No.”
“Honestly.”
“Emotionally, it feels wrong.”
“That’s different.”
“Yes.”
“Can you tolerate that?”
He breathed slowly.
“I have to.”
That was the test.
Not money.
Not Diane.
Jealousy.
Loss of control over my emotional life.
I watched him wrestle with it in real time.
Then he said, “I don’t want to know more.”
“Okay.”
“Not because you owe me secrecy.”
“I understand.”
“Because I need to manage what I can handle.”
That was healthy.
I nodded.
He stood.
“I think I should go.”
“Are you punishing me?”
He stopped.
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
He thought.
“Yes.”
“Why leave?”
“Because I’m getting angry and I don’t want to say something that makes the anger your problem.”
My chest tightened.
“Okay.”
He paid for his coffee.
Then stopped.
“I’m glad you told me.”
“I wasn’t trying to test you.”
“I know.”
He left.
I sat alone.
For almost an hour.
Then my phone buzzed.
Not Mark.
Rachel.
Everything okay?
I replied:
Yes.
Then another message arrived.
Mark.
I almost did not open it.
Finally:
I’m sorry I left abruptly. I’m not sorry I left. I needed space before I turned hurt into pressure. I’ll see you at class next week if that still feels okay.
I stared at the message.
That was exactly what change looked like.
Not never feeling controlling impulses.
Recognizing them before acting.
I replied:
That feels okay.
He sent:
Thank you.
Nothing else.
Then, three days later, Helen called.
“The final hearing has been scheduled.”
My stomach tightened.
“When?”
“Three weeks.”
The divorce was no longer an abstract process.
It had an ending date.
Three weeks.
I looked at the calendar.
Three pottery classes remained.
Two Saturdays before the hearing.
One after.
Time suddenly felt sharp again.
Click here to continue reading: PART 36: The Final Divorce Date Put an Ending on the Calendar, and Mark Asked for Nothing Except the Chance to Say Goodbye Properly
Three Months Before My Wedding, Mom Asked One Question About My Condo That I Couldn’t Stop Hearing
Part 35 of 44
