Five Minutes After
The air was thick with the sharp scent of printer ink and freshly signed papers. I could still feel the slight dampness of the ink beneath my fingertips when Diego answered his phone. Just five minutes after signing the divorce papers, I stood in the courthouse hallway, still processing the finality of what had just transpired. Three feet away from me, Diego’s back was turned, his phone cradled between his ear and shoulder as he beamed, a bright and carefree smile spreading across his face like sunlight breaking through clouds.
“Yeah, it’s done,” he said, his voice soft and warm in a way I hadn’t heard in years. “I’m heading over now. Today’s the big scan, right? Can’t wait to see our boy.”
Our boy.
Not my boy. Not our two children we had raised together for eight years. Just his.
