By the time Ellie realized her hands were shaking, the pen had already carved an angry line straight through her name.
The divorce papers lay spread across the dining table of their small California townhouse, white pages glowing under the harsh Los Angeles afternoon sun. On the wall above them hung a framed photo from better days—her and Ben on Santa Monica Pier, arms slung around each other, the Pacific at their backs, the future still unwritten.
Now the only thing written between them was a stack of legal jargon and a lie printed in neat black ink.
“We, the undersigned, mutually agree to dissolve this marriage…”
“For the love of—will you just sign the papers, Ellie?” Ben snapped, looming on the other side of the table.
“No,” she said, her voice steady even though everything inside her was not.
“Why?” he demanded. “You know why we’re doing this. Stop playing games and just sign.”
“I know exactly why we’re doing this,” she shot back. “That’s the problem. These papers don’t say any of it. They pretend we just woke up one day and mutually decided to throw away twenty years.”
She jabbed a finger at the paragraph that mocked her.
“These papers are far from the truth. They say we both agreed. But that’s not what happened. You cheated on me, Ben. You blew this up. And now you want the court record to say we just… drifted apart?”
He rolled his eyes. “We’re getting divorced because of you.”
She actually laughed at that, a sharp, disbelieving sound.
“Because of me?” she asked. “Who cleaned this home while you ‘worked late’? Who washed your dirty clothes? Who had dinner hot and ready for you every night? Who raised your daughter while you were out acting like a single man in a married ring?”
Her chest tightened.
“Who tucked Olive into bed,” she finished softly, “when you didn’t even bother to come home?”
He winced. For a second, the mask slipped, and she saw the boy from high school who hadn’t had a dad and swore he’d be different. Then it hardened again.
“You want to know why I cheated?” he said, shrugging, like they were talking about a parking ticket. “Because Natalie doesn’t complain.”
Ellie stared at him.
“That’s your justification?” She felt something deep inside her go strangely calm. “You threw away your marriage because your girlfriend laughs at your jokes.”
“Give me a break,” he muttered, rubbing his face. “I’m done with this pointless conversation.”
He reached for the papers.
“We’re not done,” she said, stepping back. “Don’t touch me.”
He froze, hand hovering over the table.
“Then sign the papers,” he said, jaw tight.
“I already told you,” she replied. “I’m not signing anything until my lawyer looks at them. You don’t get to rewrite history just because it makes you feel better.”
Her voice dropped.
“You don’t get to erase what you did to us with one clean sentence.”
His eyes narrowed. “You just want to take everything away from me,” he said. “You think I don’t see that? You’re going to bleed me dry. The house, the savings—”
“The house?” she cut in. “Who was home in this house, Ben? Who made sure the mortgage got paid while you were out dropping money at bars? Who built Olive’s life around these walls while you treated it like a motel?”
He had no answer for that.
Ellie inhaled, steadying herself.
“Leave,” she said. “I have to start dinner for your daughter. Or were you planning to cook something for her tonight?”
He looked away.
“That’s what I thought,” she said quietly. “You were never there for her. I’ve been her mother and her father for years. Don’t pretend to care now that there are lawyers involved.”
He stepped closer, eyes dark.
“You’re going to sign those papers one way or another,” he said. “Mark my words, Ellie.”
She met his gaze head-on.
“And I’ll still be the one who tucks Olive in tonight,” she replied.
He grabbed his keys off the counter, slammed the front door a little harder than necessary, and was gone.
The house was suddenly quiet enough that she could hear the clock ticking on the wall. She stood there for a long moment, breathing, then slid the papers back into the envelope and shoved them into the junk drawer, next to expired coupons and old keys.
Some things belonged in the trash more than on a judge’s desk.
Downtown, Ben drove with the windows down, letting the warm Southern California air cool the heat in his face. His phone buzzed in the cup holder.
Natalie.
He pulled into a strip mall parking lot near a Starbucks, killed the engine, and answered.
“Hey, love,” he said, forcing a smile into his voice. “Just calling to see how it’s going with your wife?”
“She’s being difficult,” he said. “She’s not signing them.”
“Still?” Natalie’s irritation crackled through the line. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah,” Ben said. “But I’ll get her to sign. I promise.”
“I’m scared she’s going to get her way,” Natalie said. “If she drags this out, you’re stuck. I am not playing step-girlfriend forever.”
“She won’t,” he said quickly. “I won’t let her. I promise, babe.”
There was a pause.
“How about we talk about this in person?” she said. “Name the time and place and I’m there, Ben.”
He looked across the parking lot at the green mermaid logo.
“Coffee shop by your place,” he said. “Be there at four.”
“You got it,” she said. “Don’t be late.”
Ellie woke up to the sound of her own name.
“Mom.”
She snapped upright on the couch, heart hammering. For a second, she couldn’t remember how she’d ended up there. Then she saw the divorce envelope on the coffee table and everything rushed back.
Olive stood in the doorway, backpack hanging from one shoulder, messy bun listing to one side, eyes full of worry.
“I’m right here, honey,” Ellie said, pushing herself up. “Sorry. I was just… taking a nap. I’m exhausted.”
Everything hurt: her back from the couch, her eyes from crying, her chest from everything else.
“Everything okay?” Olive asked.
“Yeah,” Ellie lied. “I made you dinner. It’s in the microwave if you’re hungry. Just hit start.”
“Mom,” Olive said softly. “What’s going on? You seem more stressed than usual.”
Ellie sighed and rubbed her temples.
“Nothing you need to worry about,” she started.
“Mom.”
The word was soft, but firm. Olive had inherited her mother’s eyes and her father’s stubborn streak, an infuriating and wonderful combination.
“Your father came over again,” Ellie admitted. “He wanted me to sign the divorce papers. Again.”
“I thought you told him your lawyer needs to advise you,” Olive said. “That you’re not signing anything until you’ve talked to her.”
“I did,” Ellie replied. “He keeps insisting. And to be honest…” She swallowed. “There are moments I just want to get it over with. To be done. So we can move on.”
“You can’t give in,” Olive said, coming to sit beside her. “This divorce is his fault, not yours. You told me yourself cheating is never okay. He blew up our family. He doesn’t get to walk away clean on paper.”
“I know,” Ellie said. “It’s just… part of me is tired of fighting.”
“Then let your lawyer fight,” Olive said. “Promise me you won’t sign anything without legal advice.”
Ellie looked at her daughter, at the seriousness in her sixteen-year-old face. It hadn’t been fair, any of it—not the late nights, the arguments, the slamming doors. But Olive had seen more than Ellie had ever wanted her to see, and somehow she’d come out of it with more clarity than either of her parents.
“I promise,” Ellie said. “I won’t sign a thing until my lawyer looks at it.”
Olive nodded. “Good,” she said. “Because I’m going to be here for you, Mom. Just like you’ve always been there for me.”
Ellie pulled her into a hug, breathing in the scent of shampoo and teenage girl. For a moment, the world narrowed to that: the weight of her daughter’s head on her shoulder, the reminder that she wasn’t entirely alone in this mess.
The coffee shop near Natalie’s apartment in Pasadena tried very hard to look like it belonged in New York. Exposed brick, Edison bulbs, people on laptops pretending to write screenplays. Ben pushed through the glass door right as the clock above the counter hit 4:04 p.m.
“Hey, babe,” he said, spotting Natalie in the corner.
She wore a white blouse that somehow looked expensive and effortless at the same time. Her lipstick was the same deep red that had smeared his collar the night everything started to fall apart.
“Sorry I’m late,” he added, sliding into the seat across from her. “Traffic on the 210 was a nightmare. I got your favorite.” He slid a drink toward her. “Caramel macchiato, extra shot.”
“Thank you,” she said, giving him a quick kiss. “How are you holding up?”
“Doing good,” he lied. “Just glad we could talk in person.”
“So,” she said, stirring her drink. “Update me. What’s the plan with the stubborn wife?”
“I’m thinking,” he said. “Trying to find a way to get her to sign. I swear, she’s being impossible.”
“If I’m honest,” Natalie said, leaning back, “I don’t think you’re trying as hard as you could be.”
He frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It feels like you’re holding back,” she said. “Dragging your feet. Why?”
“Because she’s stubborn,” he snapped. “You’ve never lived with her. She fights everything. She’ll drag this through every court in California if she can. That’s who she is.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about,” Natalie replied, eyes narrowing. “I’m talking about you. I’m starting to feel like you still love her. Like part of you would rather be with her than with me.”
Ben shook his head, reaching for her hand.
“Of course not,” he said. “You are the love of my life.”
“Then prove it,” she said, pulling her hand back. “Get her signature. You know her better than anyone. You know how she thinks, what she cares about. Find her weakness and exploit it. That’s what people do in divorce court out here—whoever plays smarter wins.”
“That’s exactly what I’m doing,” he said. “I just need time.”
“Well, my patience is running short,” she replied. “I’m not going to wait forever while you and your wife play tug-of-war. I suggest you get it done sooner rather than later.”
Ben stared at her, something ugly and desperate rising in his chest.
And then it hit him.
He didn’t need Ellie to willingly sign the divorce papers.
He just needed her signature.
“Wait,” he said slowly. “I don’t need her to sign the papers. Not really. I just need… her signature.”
Natalie’s eyes flicked up, interest sharpening. “Now that,” she said, “sounds like you’re finally trying.”
He checked the time, heart already racing.
“I gotta go,” he said, standing. “I know I just got here, but I have to get that signature. I’ll call you tonight.”
She smiled, satisfied. “That’s my man,” she said. “Don’t disappoint me.”
The doorbell rang just as Ellie was rinsing dishes in the sink. Olive peeked through the front curtains.
“It’s Dad,” she called. “He’s probably here to annoy you about signing those papers again.”
Ellie wiped her hands on a towel, took a breath, and opened the door.
Ben stood on the porch, looking oddly nervous, a white envelope in his hand.
“Hey, sweetie,” he said to Olive. “How’s my little girl been?”
“I’m not your little girl,” Olive said flatly. “Mom’s not signing those stupid papers. You’re wasting your time.”
Ben’s jaw flexed, but he forced a smile.
“Can I come in for a minute?” he asked Ellie.
She studied him. “Two minutes,” she said. “I don’t want a scene.”
He stepped inside, eyes flicking around the living room like he no longer belonged there, which, Ellie supposed, was now true.
“She still hates me, huh?” he said, nodding toward the hallway where Olive had disappeared.
“What were you expecting?” Ellie replied. “You were never there for her. Not really.”
He blew out a breath.
“Look,” he said. “That’s actually why I’m here.”
She lifted an eyebrow.
“I thought about what you said,” he went on. “About being a father. And you were right. I’ve been… a terrible one.”
Her arms folded on instinct.
“I want to start being the dad I promised myself I’d be,” he said. “Regardless of what happens between us.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a thick wad of bills, then held it out.
“What’s this?” she asked.
“Five hundred,” he said. “Cash.”
Ellie stared at the money.
“I know I’m not required to pay child support until the court orders it,” he said. “But I want Olive to know that no matter what happens, she’s always going to be my little girl. I want to help. For once.”
She narrowed her eyes. “What’s the catch?”
“There’s no catch,” he said quickly. “I’m not asking you to sign the divorce papers. I get it—you want your lawyer to look them over. That’s fine.”
He held up the envelope.
“I just need you to sign this,” he said.
“What is it?” she asked, not taking it.
“Just a receipt,” he said. “A note saying I provided you and Olive with five hundred dollars. My lawyer thinks it’s smart to keep a record. So the court can see I’m willing to be cooperative. That I’m not a deadbeat.”
“And there it is,” she said. “Your angle. This isn’t about Olive. It’s about how you look on paper. It’s always about you, Ben.”
He flinched. “Do you want the money or not?” he asked, frustration creeping in. “Read the paper. It’s just a receipt.”
She hesitated.
Olive needed new shoes. The car needed a tune-up. The rent had gone up again because nothing in California ever went down.
Ellie took the envelope, slipped the single page out, and scanned it.
I, Ben Wallace, provided Ellie Wallace with $500 in support for our daughter, Olive.
It really did look like a simple receipt. Nothing about divorce, nothing about waiving rights.
She picked up a pen and signed at the bottom, careful, her cursive looping the same way it always did when she wrote checks at the grocery store.
She handed him the page and the pen back.
“Thank you,” he said, relief flashing across his face.
He placed the cash on the entryway table and tucked the signed page back into his envelope like it was something precious.
“I’ll see you around,” he said, turning for the door.
She watched him go, unease swirling in her stomach. She told herself it was just old habit.
Later that night, in his one-bedroom apartment in Glendale, Ben spread the receipt on the kitchen table and stared at the neat curves of Ellie’s signature.
He picked up a blank sheet of paper and a pen.
“Okay,” he muttered. “Here goes nothing.”
He tried to copy it once.
Too stiff.
He tried again.
Too slanted.
“Come on,” he hissed under his breath, shoulders tight. “It’s just ink.”
CRUMPLE.
Next sheet.
Try again.
Again.
The kitchen table around him turned into a graveyard of failed attempts, white balls of paper dotting the floor like snow.
“This is tougher than I thought,” he admitted, wiping sweat from his forehead.
He slowed down, tracing the lines of her signature in the air, then on the page.
E… loop, curve. Double “l” with that slight upward flick. The “ie” almost like a small wave. The last name half-legible, like she’d been in a hurry the day she signed their marriage certificate.
He tried again.
Looked at the page.
For the first time, his version looked almost identical.
“Got it,” he breathed.
He pulled the divorce packet from his briefcase, flipped to the signature line marked “Respondent,” and carefully, painstakingly, replicated Ellie’s name next to his own.
“I know you’ll never sign these,” he said to the empty room. “You’re stubborn as they come. So since you won’t…”
He set the pen down with a little flourish.
“I’ll just have to sign them for you.”
Sixty days later, the clerk at the Los Angeles County courthouse stamped the packet “Final Decree – Dissolution Granted” and slid it into the outgoing tray.
Ben walked out into the California sunshine with his copy in hand and a giddy, weightless feeling in his chest.
He called Natalie from the steps.
“Hey,” she answered. “What’s the surprise?”
“Divorce papers are signed,” he said, grinning. “Finalized. It’s done.”
“No way,” she gasped. “Already?”
“Yup,” he said. “I did what you said. I exploited her biggest weakness—Olive. Got the signature, filed it as uncontested. Judge signed off. I’m officially a free man.”
“Now that’s what I call doing what it takes,” Natalie purred. “So now we can get married.”
“We… could,” he said. The speed of it all suddenly made his head spin.
“Let’s get married today,” she said.
“Today?” he repeated. “Babe, there’s probably some process, right? Maybe a waiting period? I just got the decree.”
“Well then,” she said, “let’s go turn them in and find out. It’s an uncontested divorce. I’m sure the process is fast.”
“I hope so,” he said.
“Meet me at the courthouse chapel in an hour,” she ordered. “Don’t keep your future wife waiting.”
“You got it,” he said.
The next afternoon, in a cheap strip-mall chapel in Burbank with fake flowers and a minister who pronounced his last name wrong, Ben said “I do” again.
Natalie’s dress was white and tight and glittered under the fluorescent lights. Her kiss tasted like champagne and victory.
That night in his new condo—bought on credit he really shouldn’t have used—she curled against him, laughs still stuck in her throat.
“You are amazing, babe,” he murmured.
“I get that a lot,” she said, smirking.
“I love you,” he said, because that’s what you said after vows and cake, right?
She glanced at the window, where the Hollywood Hills flickered in the distance.
“Time for me to go,” she said, sitting up.
“Go?” he repeated. “Where? Tomorrow we’re going apartment hunting, remember? I scheduled tours for us in West Hollywood.”
“Yeah, about that,” she said, standing and smoothing her skirt. “I don’t think that’s going to happen.”
A cold feeling slid down his spine.
“What do you mean?” he asked. “Is everything okay?”
She looked at him like he was something she’d stepped in.
“Look, Benny—can I call you Benny? Who cares,” she said. “This was never going to work between us.”
His mouth went dry.
“What are you talking about?” he whispered. “We just got married.”
“The only reason I married you,” she said, picking up her bag, “was so I’d be legally entitled to half of everything you own. California’s a community property state, sweetheart. I saw those nice things, the new car, the 401(k). I found a clever way to make some of those things mine.”
“You’re joking,” he said. “Right? Tell me you’re joking.”
“Nope,” she said, popping the “p.” “This is the last time we’ll ever see each other. I got what I wanted. I gave you what you wanted. You’re welcome.”
“So you married me just so you could get half my stuff,” he said, the words tasting like dust.
“Now that you’re up to speed,” she said, slinging the bag over her shoulder, “I’ll be on my way. I’ll have the divorce papers sent to you this week. Please sign them as soon as possible. Courts move faster when nobody fights.”
He stared at her, stunned.
“Why would you do this?” he asked. “How could you be this—”
“Do you really want me to answer?” she asked, pausing at the door. “Because you’re stupid, Ben. That’s why. It wasn’t hard.”
The door clicked shut behind her.
He sat on the edge of the bed in his brand-new condo, divorce decree on one nightstand, cheap chapel marriage certificate on the other, and finally understood what it felt like to be really, truly alone.
Two days later, his knock on Ellie’s door had none of the swagger it used to.
She opened it and blinked.
He looked like he’d aged ten years in a weekend. His shoulders sagged. There were dark circles under his eyes. His shirt was wrinkled.
“Wow,” she said before she could stop herself. “You look like a mess.”
“I feel like one,” he said. “Can I… come in? Please?”
She hesitated, then stepped aside.
“Five minutes,” she said. “And if Olive comes out, you watch your words.”
He nodded and stepped inside, hands empty.
They sat at opposite ends of the couch like strangers in a waiting room.
“I want to start by saying,” he said, voice hoarse, “I’ve been such a fool.”
She said nothing.
“Natalie turned out to be a con,” he said. “The only thing she wanted from me was my money. She’s filing for divorce already. She told me that to my face. I was just… a way to cash out.”
“I’m not surprised,” Ellie said. “I’m sorry you’re hurt. But I’m not surprised.”
“She played me,” he said. “She pushed me. She encouraged me to do everything possible to get you to sign those papers. To exploit your weakness. To use Olive. To—”
“Yeah,” Ellie said quietly. “I know, Ben.”
He blinked. “You… know?”
“I’m not a stupid woman,” she said. “My lawyer was going over the divorce papers you served me. You remember, the ones you calmly notified me about in a letter instead of a conversation?”
He swallowed.
“She called me and said, ‘Good news, Ellie. According to this, you’re already single.’” Ellie continued. “Apparently, my signature is on a decree I never saw. Judge approved it sixty days after filing. You forged my name on those papers and married Natalie the moment the ink was dry.”
He closed his eyes.
“I was being manipulated,” he said. “She—”
“Nobody forced you to do what you did,” Ellie cut in, her voice like glass. “You picked up the pen yourself.”
“You’re right,” he said, tears gathering in his eyes. “Nobody forced me. I forged your name. I lied to you. I lied to the court. And I am so, so sorry.”
“Sorry doesn’t un-sign the papers,” she said. “Sorry doesn’t un-break Olive’s heart.”
“I feel so much shame,” he whispered. “I’ve been walking around with it like a weight I can’t put down. I need you and Olive, Ellie. I am nothing without you both. Please. Can you forgive me? Can we… start again? Somehow?”
She stared at him for a long moment.
Then she stood.
“We’re beyond that, Ben,” she said. “There’s no going back to before. And there are some lines you crossed that don’t just scar feelings. They break laws.”
He frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“The only place you’ll be going now,” she said, voice steady, “is jail.”
“Jail?” he repeated, at the exact moment there was a knock at the still-open door.
Two uniformed LAPD officers stepped into the doorway, hands resting near their belts.
“Benjamin Wallace?” the taller one asked.
Ben’s stomach dropped.
“What’s going on?” he asked, looking between them and Ellie.
“Don’t move,” the officer said. “You’re under arrest. Turn around, place your hands behind your back.”
“For what?” Ben asked, panic rising. “What is this?”
“You’re being arrested for forgery and filing falsified court documents,” the officer said, already pulling out the handcuffs. “Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. Do you understand your rights?”
Ben swallowed hard. “Yes, sir,” he whispered.
The cold metal closed around his wrists.
“Is there anything you’d like to say at this time?” the officer asked.
Ben looked at Ellie.
Her arms were folded, but her eyes shone.
“No, sir,” Ben said. “Nothing that matters.”
“I called them right after you called me to meet,” Ellie said quietly. “You had me believing, for half a second, that you were ready to be the good father you used to talk about. That you wanted to fix something, not just for you, but for Olive.”
“I do,” he said, voice breaking. “I swear, I—”
“You had every chance,” she said. “You chose the shortcut every time. This isn’t me doing something to you, Ben. This is me finally choosing to protect myself and our daughter from the chaos you keep dragging through our door.”
“Ellie, please,” he said as the officers guided him toward the door. “Don’t do this. Don’t let them—”
“I don’t have any other choice,” she said softly. “Not anymore.”
The taller officer paused. “We all good here, ma’am?” he asked.
Ellie nodded.
“You can take him,” she said.
As they led him down the front walk, neighbors peeked through blinds, the afternoon sun glinting off the cruiser’s windshield. Somewhere down the street, a dog barked. A lawnmower droned two houses over. Life, indifferent, went on.
“Goodbye, Ben,” Ellie said from the doorway.
Olive appeared beside her, silent, face unreadable.
He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. The car door closed, and the sound cut off whatever last apology he’d been about to offer.
Inside the house, Ellie let out a breath she felt like she’d been holding for years.
She turned to Olive.
“You okay?” she asked.
Olive’s eyes were bright, but clear. “Are you?” she countered.
Ellie looked at the dining table, at the empty spot where the papers had been, at the framed photo of happier times.
“I will be,” she said. “We will be.”
She walked over and took down the picture of her and Ben on the Pier. For a moment, she held it, thumb brushing the glass.
Then she opened a drawer, slid it inside, and closed it gently.
No dramatic smashing. No fire.
Just a quiet, deliberate choice to put the past where it belonged—and to leave room on the wall for something new.
