PART 19 – When I Finally Put Away the Divorce Papers, I Realized I Had Been Waiting for Permission to Begin Again

The weather started getting colder.

The trees near the diner were losing their leaves.

I bought a small pumpkin for the kitchen table.

It wasn't much.

Just something cheerful.

I placed it beside the old recipe box.

One evening, I opened the cabinet where Faron had kept some of his things.

There were a few old fishing magazines.

A broken flashlight.

A small tackle box.

I took everything out.

I didn't throw it away.

I put it into a cardboard box and labeled it with his name.

Then I moved it to the spare room.

I wanted the kitchen to feel like mine.

The next day, I called my lawyer.

I asked whether there was anything else I needed to do concerning the accounts.

He reviewed the information.

He confirmed that the accounts had remained in my name and that the authorized-user arrangements had ended.

I thanked him.

Then I asked about keeping the records.

He advised me to retain the statements and account confirmations.

So I did.

I placed everything in one folder.

The same folder that held the folded paper with the eighty-thousand-dollar estimate.

I didn't know whether I would ever need it.

But I wasn't going to throw it away.

On Saturday, Peg asked whether I could help with a small family gathering at the diner.

She wanted to serve pierogi.

I agreed.

I prepared the filling at home.

I used my mother's recipe.

When I arrived, Peg had already arranged the tables.

We worked together.

Customers came in.

Some recognized the dish from previous years.

One older man told me his mother used to make them the same way.

I smiled.

"Then your mother knew what she was doing."

He laughed.

It was a good afternoon.

After closing, Peg handed me an envelope.

I looked inside.

It was extra pay for the event.

"You didn't have to do that," I said.

She shrugged.

"You worked for it."

I put the envelope in my purse.

That sentence stayed with me.

You worked for it.

I had worked for so much over the years.

I had worked for every dollar that went into those credit card payments.

I had worked for the house.

I had worked for the food.

I had worked to keep the marriage going.

But I had never received much appreciation for it.

I drove home slowly.

At the kitchen table, I placed the envelope beside my budget notebook.

I decided to put some of the money toward a small emergency fund.

The rest would go toward replacing an old kitchen appliance.

Nothing exciting.

Just practical.

A few days later, I saw Earline at the grocery store.

She was standing near the produce section.

I almost walked in the other direction.

But she saw me.

"Angela."

I stopped.

"Hello, Earline."

She looked at my shopping basket.

Then she looked at me.

"How are you?"

"I'm fine."

She nodded.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Then she asked whether I had heard from Faron.

I said no.

She told me he was still struggling.

I listened.

Then she said he had been talking about the old days.

I looked at her.

"What about them?"

She shrugged.

"He says things were better when you were together."

I didn't know what to say.

I remembered the truck.

The radio.

The coconut cream pie.

I remembered those things too.

But I also remembered the bills.

The threats.

The courthouse steps.

The rejected card.

"Some things were good," I said.

Earline nodded.

Then she looked down at her basket.

"I suppose."

I wished her a good day.

Then I walked toward the checkout.

I didn't feel victorious.

I didn't feel cruel.

I felt finished.

That evening, I took the divorce papers out of the drawer.

I read the final page once more.

Then I placed them in a labeled envelope.

I put the envelope beside the bank folder.

The paperwork was no longer something I needed to keep checking.

It was simply part of my history.

I closed the drawer.

And for the first time, I didn't feel the need to open it again.

Click here to continue reading: PART 20: Eleven Years of Paying for Two People Ended With One Decision, and I Finally Learned What It Meant to Keep Something for Myself