Chapter 8

The divorce was finalized four months later.

It went smoothly — surprisingly smoothly, given everything. Paul had signed the separation agreement, and he didn't fight it. The court accepted the documents, and the judge granted the dissolution in a quiet courtroom on a Tuesday morning, with my father beside me and Kira sitting in the back row.

Kira had stayed in touch. We'd talked on the phone a few times in those first weeks — halting conversations, both of us unsure of what we owed each other, both of us slowly learning that we were more alike than we'd ever expected.

"He's gone," Kira had said, the week after. "He called me, actually. Tried to explain."

"Did you listen?"

"I listened," she said. "Then I told him to stop calling."

"There's a good word," I said.

"There's a good word," she agreed.

We never became friends, exactly. But we'd been through something together — something that would have separated most people, but had drawn us closer. We'd both been lied to by the same man. We'd both believed his story. And we'd both walked away.