We'll separate finances. I'll get my things. You and Marcus can decide what your relationship is without me occupying the middle.” Emily shook her head.
“It isn't that simple.” “No. It is not simple.
It is still over.” For the first time since he came home, Emily looked angry rather than devastated. “You get to decide that in forty-eight hours?” Nathan almost laughed.
“You decided it over two years. I'm just catching up.” The anger left her face as quickly as it came. He stood.
“I need one more thing from you.” “Anything.” “I want a timeline.
Written. Dates as close as you can remember. Pregnancy, birth, major decisions, who knew. Not because I want to torture myself.
Because I am done discovering pieces by accident.” Emily nodded. “I'll do it.” “And I want Marcus to answer questions separately.
I don't want the two of you coordinating language.” She looked hurt by the implication, then seemed to understand she no longer had standing to object. “Okay.” Nathan left again without going upstairs.
The next week became a sequence of practical severances. He hired a civilian attorney. Emily hired her own. The joint credit card was frozen except for household expenses already scheduled.
Nathan removed his name from several shared subscriptions and changed emergency contacts. The actions felt petty in isolation and monumental together. Marriage, he learned, was built from hundreds of administrative threads as well as affection. Divorce began by cutting them one at a time.
He also met Marcus. They chose a coffee shop thirty minutes away because Nathan did not want the conversation near either house. Marcus arrived early and selected a table in the back. When Nathan entered, he saw the other man stand automatically, then sit again when it became clear there would be no handshake.
Marcus looked tired. Nathan felt no sympathy. “I have questions,” Nathan said. Marcus nodded.