Updated Nov 23, 2025 • ~10 min read
Kimberly Fielding’s office smelled like leather and expensive coffee.
I sat across from her oak desk the next morning, watching my lawyer review documents with increasingly severe expressions.
“This is…” She paused. “Highly unusual.”
“That’s one way to put it.”
Kimberly looked up, her sharp brown eyes assessing. At forty-five, she was one of Chicago’s top divorce attorneys—which I’d thought was overkill five years ago.
Now I understood why Julie had insisted on the best.
“Your divorce papers were filed correctly,” Kimberly said, pointing to printouts. “Received by the county clerk, stamped, logged. But somewhere between filing and processing, they disappeared.”
“Disappeared.”
“Literally. The county has no record past intake. No judge’s signature, no final decree.” She pulled out another document. “Without those steps, the marriage remains valid.”
My stomach churned. “How does that happen?”
“Clerical error is possible. But…” She hesitated.
“But what?”
“In twenty years of practice, I’ve never seen properly filed papers just vanish. Usually there are traces—a misrouted file, something. This is just gone.”
“What are you saying?”
Kimberly set down her glasses. “Someone wanted this marriage to stay intact. Someone with resources.”
Jeremy.
“Can you prove it?”
“Not without an investigation costing more than it’s worth.” She leaned back. “Whether deliberate or accidental, you’re legally married to Jeremy Patterson. If you want a divorce, we file new paperwork and start over.”
“How long?”
“Standard Illinois divorce is six months minimum. Longer if he contests.”
Six months. My wedding was in seven weeks.
“He’ll contest,” I said. “He already said he won’t sign.”
“Then we go to court. Force cooperation.” Kimberly pulled out a legal pad. “But Roselyn, I need honesty. Is there any chance he could argue reconciliation?”
The dinner flashed through my mind. His hand on mine. The way he’d looked at me.
“Just dinner. Once. To discuss this.”
“Where?”
“Franco’s.”
Kimberly’s eyebrows rose. “That’s not a business restaurant. That’s special occasion.”
“He chose it—”
“Doesn’t matter to a judge.” She made notes. “We need boundaries. No more dinners. No private meetings. All communication through lawyers.”
“Agreed.”
“Good. I’ll file a motion to—” Her phone buzzed. “Yes?”
“There’s a Jeremy Patterson here to see Ms. Greenwood.”
My heart stopped.
Kimberly’s expression hardened. “Tell him Ms. Greenwood is in a meeting and all future communication should go through this office.”
“He says it’s urgent. About the marriage certificate.”
Kimberly looked at me. I shook my head.
“Send him away,” Kimberly said firmly.
Two minutes later, her assistant knocked and entered, looking flustered. “He won’t leave. Says he’ll wait in the lobby all day if necessary. He’s making other clients uncomfortable.”
Of course he was.
“Five minutes,” I said. “I’ll talk to him for five minutes.”
“Roselyn—”
“He’s not going to leave otherwise. You know it, I know it.”
Kimberly’s jaw tightened. “Fine. But I’m staying in the room.”
Jeremy entered like he owned the place, wearing another devastatingly expensive suit. His eyes found mine immediately.
“Roselyn.”
“Mr. Patterson,” Kimberly cut in. “This is highly inappropriate. All communication should go through legal channels.”
“I’m aware.” He didn’t look at her. “But I thought Roselyn should see this before we proceed.”
He set a document on the desk. A marriage certificate. Ours. Official, stamped, completely valid.
“I had it reissued,” Jeremy said. “Just to make sure there’s no question about its validity. Thought you might want a copy for your records.”
The audacity.
“Get out,” I said quietly.
“Roselyn—”
“Get out of this office before I call security.”
“We need to talk. Really talk. Not through lawyers or over dinner where you’re trying to maintain distance.” He stepped closer. “Give me one afternoon. No restaurants, no pressure. Just us, talking like adults about what happened and what happens next.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Then I’ll make this as difficult as possible.” His expression didn’t change, but his voice went cold. “I have lawyers who can drag this out for years. File motion after motion. Make your life a legal nightmare.”
“That’s extortion,” Kimberly snapped.
“That’s reality.” Jeremy finally looked at her. “I don’t want to be difficult. But I will be if she keeps running from this conversation.”
“She doesn’t owe you anything!”
“She owes me honesty.” His eyes returned to mine. “One afternoon. I’ll answer any question. You can scream at me, cry, whatever you need. But we clear the air. Then, if you still want the divorce, I’ll cooperate.”
It was manipulation. Obvious, blatant manipulation.
But it was also a way out.
“Saturday,” I heard myself say. “Two hours. Somewhere public.”
“My office. Conference room. Glass walls, security cameras, Lana at the front desk.” He pulled out another card. “Ten a.m.?”
“Fine.”
“Roselyn—” Kimberly protested.
“It’s fine. Two hours. Then this ends.”
Jeremy smiled. “Saturday then.”
He left, leaving behind the marriage certificate like a calling card.
Kimberly immediately rounded on me. “That was a mistake.”
“Maybe. But he’s right. We need to clear the air.”
“He’s playing you.”
“I know.” I stared at the certificate. Our names, forever bound in legal ink. “But I’m going anyway.”
After leaving Kimberly’s office, I went back to work in a daze. Tried to focus on Henderson, on color palettes, on anything except Saturday.
My phone buzzed. Charlie.
Dinner tonight. We need to talk about Bradford.
Bradford. Charlie’s father.
What about him?
He went to see your lawyer. Without telling me.
Oh God.
When?
This morning. Right after you left.
I called him. He answered on the first ring.
“You need to call him off,” I said.
“I’m trying! He won’t listen.” Charlie sounded exhausted. “He thinks Jeremy’s after money. Offered to pay him off.”
“Jeremy doesn’t need money. He’s worth—”
“I know what he’s worth. I Googled him. Read every article, every interview.” A pause. “Did you know he’s been single for five years?”
My stomach dropped. “Charlie—”
“Five years, Rose. No girlfriend in any photo. No plus-one at events. It’s like he’s been waiting.”
“You’re reading too much into—”
“Am I? Because he sure as hell isn’t acting like a man who’s moved on.” His voice cracked. “He’s acting like a man fighting for his wife.”
“I’m not his wife. Not really.”
“Legally you are. And that’s the problem.” He exhaled. “I love you. I want to marry you. But I need to know I’m not fighting a ghost.”
“You’re not.”
“Then prove it. Don’t go Saturday.”
“I have to. It’s the only way he’ll cooperate.”
“Or it’s exactly what he wants—you alone, in his space, talking about the past.” Charlie’s tone turned bitter. “How convenient.”
“Charlie, please—”
“I’ll be at your place at seven. We’ll talk then.”
He hung up.
I stood outside my office building, people streaming past, and felt completely trapped.
Jeremy on Saturday. Charlie tonight. Both demanding I choose, when I didn’t even know what I wanted anymore.
My phone buzzed again. Julie.
Lunch. Now. Don’t argue.
Twenty minutes later, we were at our usual spot—a tiny sandwich place that made the best paninis in Chicago.
“Talk,” Julie demanded.
I told her everything. The dinner, the lawyer’s office, Jeremy showing up with the marriage certificate, Saturday’s meeting.
She listened, eating methodically, her expression getting darker.
“He’s obsessed,” she finally said.
“He’s persistent.”
“Same thing.” She pointed her sandwich at me. “Rose, this man deliberately sabotaged your divorce. Kept tabs on you for five years. Shows up the second you get engaged. This isn’t romantic. This is stalking with better lawyers.”
“I know it looks bad—”
“It doesn’t just look bad. It IS bad.” Julie leaned forward. “I knew Jeremy. I watched him destroy you with his workaholism and emotional unavailability. You became a shell of yourself.”
“People change—”
“Do they? Or do they just get better at manipulation?” She grabbed my hand. “I’m not saying he’s evil. I’m saying he’s dangerous. To your peace, your relationship, your whole rebuilt life.”
“Then what do I do?”
“Don’t go Saturday. Tell your lawyer to handle everything. Block his number. Let the courts force him to sign.”
“That could take months!”
“So what? Charlie will wait. If he really loves you, he’ll wait.”
I wanted to believe that. But Bradford’s threat hung over everything—resolve it or lose Charlie.
“It’s not that simple.”
“It is, though.” Julie squeezed my hand. “You’re making it complicated because part of you wants to see him again. Part of you never got closure.”
She wasn’t wrong.
“What if I go and it’s awful? What if we just fight and nothing changes?”
“Then at least you’ll know. You’ll have tried.” She released my hand. “But Rose? Be careful. Because the man I saw drop you off at your office yesterday—the one watching you walk inside like you hung the moon—that man hasn’t let go. And he won’t without a fight.”
That night, Charlie came over with takeout and apologies.
“I’m sorry about my father. He had no right.”
“It’s okay.”
“It’s not. He thinks money solves everything.” Charlie set up the food. “But this isn’t about money. It’s about you and your ex and feelings I don’t understand.”
We ate in awkward silence.
“Tell me about him,” Charlie finally said.
“What?”
“Jeremy. Your marriage. What actually happened.”
I’d avoided this conversation for two years. But maybe he deserved the truth.
“We met at a tech conference. I was designing the event branding. He was giving a keynote.” The memory felt distant. “He was brilliant. Passionate. Talked about changing the world.”
“Sounds impressive.”
“It was. He was twenty-seven and already had investors interested.” I pushed food around my plate. “We dated for six months. Fast, intense. Then he proposed.”
“Were you happy?”
“At first. But then the company started growing. He worked eighteen-hour days. Missed dinners, anniversaries. I’d go to bed alone and wake up alone.”
“Sounds lonely.”
“It was. I felt invisible.” The pain was still there, dulled by time but present. “I asked him to slow down. He said he was building our future. I said I wanted a present. We fought constantly.”
“So you left.”
“So I left.” I met his eyes. “I filed for divorce. Thought he’d fight for me. He didn’t. Just let me walk away.”
“Until now.”
“Until now.”
Charlie reached across the table. “I’m not him, Rose. I come home. I prioritize you. Our relationship matters more than any job.”
“I know.”
“Then why do I feel like you’re pulling away?”
Because I was. Because Jeremy’s reappearance had stirred up everything I’d buried.
“I’m not pulling away. I’m just confused.”
“About what?”
About everything. About whether I’d truly moved on or just run away. About whether Charlie was my future or my safety net. About why Jeremy’s words still echoed in my head.
“About why he’s doing this now. Why wait five years?”
Charlie’s expression shuttered. “Maybe he was waiting for you to be happy. So he could ruin it.”
The thought chilled me.
“I don’t think—”
“You defended him. Just now.” Charlie stood. “You’re defending the man who’s trying to destroy our relationship.”
“That’s not what I’m doing!”
“Isn’t it?” He grabbed his jacket. “I need space. To think.”
“Charlie, please—”
“Saturday. After you meet with him. Call me. Tell me you still want this. Want us.” He paused at the door. “Because right now, I honestly don’t know.”
He left.
I sat in my empty apartment, surrounded by the remnants of our dinner, and let the tears come.
This was exactly what Jeremy wanted. The chaos. The doubt.
And I was playing right into his hands.
But come Saturday, I’d end it.
I’d hear him out, tell him it was over, and force him to sign.
Then I’d get my life back.
I had to.
Reader Reactions