Lost Me, Gained Regret (Jane and Bryant Ferguson) novel Chapter 282

Standing outside the city hall, I felt a sense of liberation like never before.

Christine had wanted to stay with me, but I insisted she go on ahead.

After all, I had embarked on this journey alone; it was only fitting I face its conclusion solo as well.

Watching the traffic flow by, observing couples either entering gleefully to tie the knot or exiting with faces devoid of emotion, signaling their union's end, it was easy to tell apart those getting married from those getting divorced.

The breakdown of a relationship is seldom graceful.

Thankfully, Bryant and I didn't have that problem. He was as indifferent to me as I had mistakenly been in love with him for eight years.

What I hadn’t expected was for Bryant not to show up alone. He stepped out from a shiny black Mercedes, followed by Dorothy.

He acted as cold and distant as always, like nothing was wrong, just throwing it out there, "Let's go in," with the nonchalance of someone about to grab a burger rather than finalize a divorce.

His habitual indifference was on full display.

"Sure," I murmured, lowering my eyes in agreement.

When Dorothy made to follow us in, Bryant’s lips curled into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, his voice dropping a degree colder, “What, afraid I’ll trick you with a fake divorce certificate?”

“How could you think that of me! It’s just... I want to marry you that much!”

Dorothy retorted, before settling back into the car, “Fine then, I’ll wait here for you.”

The paperwork went smoother than I had anticipated.

Seeing those fresh divorce certificates made me feel truly unburdened, lighter.

I didn't want to linger, extending my hand to ask for my copy, “Hand me mine, please.”

Bryant flipped one open, his thumb lightly grazing over my photo, his gaze deepening, “You’re doing alright?”

“I’m fine.”

His hand caught my arm, his voice low, “I won’t marry her. Believe me.”

“It doesn’t matter!”

I didn’t look back, shaking off his grasp, only to see Dorothy approaching.

She strutted past me in her high heels, rushing to Bryant's side, cooing, “Bryant, you couldn’t possibly have feelings for her, right? You know I couldn’t bear that…”

"Three years have passed and the thought of us having a child never even crossed my mind." Bryant interrupted with a scoff, his coldness piercing, “What do you think?”

Dorothy seemed more than satisfied with his response, clinging to his arm, “Ms. Webster hasn’t even left yet. Aren’t you worried she’ll be heartbroken hearing this?”

...

It wasn't until I was in the cab that I noticed the crescent marks my nails had left in my palms.