I stood by the glass holding a warm cup of chamomile tea, feeling the steady, rhythmic pulse of my baby daughter breathing against my shoulder.
Cora was half a year old now. Her bright blue eyes—so full of wonder—looked up at me, completely untouched by the storm that had surrounded her arrival into the world. When I looked at her, I didn’t feel the sharp, tearing grief that used to consume me in the hospital room. I felt only a profound, unshakeable calm.
Behind me, the soft chime of my tablet announced the arrival of the morning’s legal briefing from Evelyn. I set my cup down on the marble island and opened the file.
The divorce was officially final. Signed, sealed, and entered into public record.
