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VICTOR

“ I don’t know what man in the sky you pray to, Victor”—Lawrence pushed a document across his desk to me—“but whoever it is, they came through for you.”

Superior Court of the State of California in and for the County of Los Angeles

Final Judgment of Divorce

My name, right there in black and white. My freedom, sealed by ink and bureaucracy.

I fingered the page like a crisp million-dollar bill.

“It’s done,” I said softly—partly a question, partly to make myself believe it.

“It is. In all my years practicing law, I’ve never seen a divorce go through the courts so fast. Who did you… You know what, never mind. I don’t want to know.”

“Barbara is free to move forward with her divorce now, right?”

Lawrence leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking like old bones. “Yes…” he answered tentatively.

“But…”

“But just because she can move forward doesn’t mean it will be as smooth for her as it was for you. Victor, you had every advantage—a willing spouse, the best representation money can buy, and a very ‘amenable’ judge. Barbara’s situation is different.”

“Her husband had a change of heart. He’s on board now.”

Lawrence glared at me over the rim of his glasses. “Did he now?”

I shook my head. “No, no, nothing like that. Barbara says he’s found himself a girlfriend, so he’s willing to move forward with the divorce.”

He let out a relieved sigh. “Oh good, I was afraid I’d have yet another pot of boiling water to save you from.”

Lawrence had saved my skin more times than I could count. As much as I valued his counsel, I needed him to understand the urgency.

“I’m serious, Larry. I want to marry her as soon as humanly possible. What will it take?”

Lawrence studied me, his gray eyes sharp behind his gold-rimmed glasses.

“Victor, you realize that even with Dorothy out of the picture, you’re still looking at a waiting period before you can remarry.

Twelve months is the law. And if it’s Barbara you’re set on marrying, that’s twelve months from the date of her divorce.

” He exhaled, rubbing his thumb along the edge of the desk.

“I’m sorry, friend, but there’s nothing quick about this, and there’s no favor I can call in to speed it along. ”

I started to protest, but the look on his face told me he wasn’t finished. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

“That’s the law in California ,” he reiterated with a knowing look.

I could play ball. “But not somewhere else. Like Mexico, for instance.”

Lawrence sat forward, elbows on the desk, fingers steepled. “Victor, be very careful here. I’m your lawyer, and I have to advise you within the bounds of the law.”

I waved a hand dismissively. “Hypothetically speaking, of course.”

“Hypothetically, if one were to seek a quicker resolution, they might look into how things are handled in other jurisdictions. But remember, whatever you hypothetically do outside of California may not hold up here.”

I held up the divorce decree, letting it sway between my fingers. “This will hold up, though. It’s legitimate.”

“It’s as legitimate as it gets,” Lawrence confirmed.

I set the paper back on his desk with exaggerated care. “Frank suggested they get a Mexican divorce. Said it would be quicker for everyone involved.”

“Frank sounds like a man who’s done his research,” he said dryly.

“So if they did that,” I pressed, “would it count? Would the time start ticking here?”

Lawrence removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Victor, a Mexican divorce can be risky. Sometimes they’re recognized here; sometimes they’re not. It depends on how the documents are filed and whether they meet California’s legal standards. Even then, it can be challenged.”

“But it’s possible,” I insisted. “It’s an option.”

He put his glasses back on and met my gaze. “Yes, it’s possible. But understand that it’s also a gamble. If you want my honest advice?—”

“I always do. You’re one of the few men on this earth who actually tells me the truth.”

“The safest course is to have Barbara file here in California and go through the proper channels. Then you wait out your twelve months and happily walk down the aisle. That way, everything is aboveboard, and there are no unwelcome surprises down the line.”

I nodded. “I appreciate that, Larry. I do. But you and I both know I can’t wait that long.”

“What’s the rush, Victor? Is there a bun in the oven I don’t know about?”

I scoffed. “Nothing like that.”

I turned to the window, the Los Angeles skyline shimmering in the afternoon sun. The glass panels of the high-rises looked like stacked gold bars, glittering in the heat. When I turned back to Lawrence, I was calmer but no less certain.

“I love her, Larry. And not in some storybook way. Before her, I’m not sure I even knew what love was. She fills a void in me. I’m a better man because of her. I want to spend every godforsaken moment I have left on this earth with her.”

Lawrence leaned back again, the creaking leather now a familiar refrain. The stern edge to his face softened, his lined features settling into something more reflective.

“Victor,” he began slowly.

I braced myself for the lecture—the one about patience and making wise choices. Instead, Lawrence surprised me.

“I understand more than you think,” he said. “Do you remember when I came back from the war? How distant and cold I was?”

I nodded. “It was a rough time for you. We were all worried.”

“It wasn’t just rough,” he continued. “It was hell. Coming home to Emily and the kids should have been the happiest moment of my life, but I felt like a stranger in my own house. I couldn’t connect.

I was lost.” He paused, his jaw tightening.

“The only thing that got me through was knowing they were waiting for me no matter what, that we would eventually find our way back to each other. And we did. Love is what sustained me, Victor. The kind of love you’re talking about now.

So believe me when I say, I get it.” He blew out a slow breath, then continued slowly, choosing his words with care.

“As your friend, I understand the urgency—the need to seize happiness while you can. Life is short and unpredictable. The war taught us that if nothing else.”

I said nothing, letting him work through whatever internal conflict held him back.

“So here’s what I think,” he said at last. “If you’re determined to take the quickest route, then yes—have Barbara and Frank get their divorce in Mexico.

But for heaven’s sake, make sure it’s done properly.

” He drummed his fingers against the desk.

“Yucatán or Juárez would be their best bet. The residency requirement is only one day. But they both have to go in person. No mail-order divorce quacks.”

I nodded, absorbing every word.

“Then you and Barbara marry in Nevada. They’ll honor a Mexican divorce, and there’s no waiting period.”

“And that’ll hold up here?”

Lawrence shrugged, a slow, deliberate motion. “It should. California honors a Nevada marriage certificate. But like I said, it’s still a gamble.”

I stood and extended a hand across the desk. “Thank you, Larry. For everything.”

Lawrence took it, his grip warm and steady. “Just be careful,” he said, not letting go immediately. “And send me a wedding invitation. I think I’ve earned that much.”

“Pour us something, and make it sparkling, darling.” I greeted Barbara at her door with two dozen roses in one hand and freedom in the other.

She pressed her hand lightly against her chest, searching my face. “Does that mean what I think it does?”

“You are looking at a bona fide free man.”

She took the roses and kissed me softly. “Well, you’d better come inside before some pretty girl snaps you up.”

Barbara’s house smelled of vanilla and fresh linen. She wore a periwinkle dress that swayed with her as she glided to the kitchen, shimmering like a morning lake. I followed and placed a silver gift box on the counter. She peeked inside, and her eyes sparkled.

“Crystal flutes? You think of everything.”

She retrieved chilled champagne from the fridge, the bottle sweating in her delicate hands. With a practiced twist, she sent the cork flying, its pop ricocheting through the house like a joyous gunshot. Bubbles spilled over the rim as she poured.

I took my glass and held it aloft. “To freedom.”

Her lips curved into a knowing yet wistful smile as she clinked her glass against mine, the crystalline note lingering in the air.

We sipped, and the champagne’s effervescence played a symphony on my tongue—light, airy, with an undercurrent of apple and pear that breathed life into my veins.

“I’m so happy for you,” Barbara said. Her voice was warm, but her eyes held something else—hesitation, maybe hope. “This means we’re one step closer.”

“Closer,” I echoed, rolling the word over in my mouth with another sip of champagne. I thought of Lawrence’s warnings, the road still ahead, and the possible complications lurking beneath the surface. “Speaking of which, any news?”

Barbara swirled the champagne in her glass, watching the bubbles rise like tiny desperate swimmers. “Frank still insists on Mexico. He says his lawyer is handling everything.”

I let that sink in as I took another slow sip, the cool liquid settling the uneasy feeling in my gut. “That makes things easier, then,” I said, offering optimism I wasn’t sure I believed.

She shrugged and moved to the sink to fill a vase with water.

The rushing tap and the quiet clink of rose stems against glass cut through the room’s fragile silence.

“Easier, maybe. Quicker, definitely…” She turned back to me, one hand brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

She started to speak but hesitated, lips parting, then pressing together again.

I set my glass on the counter with a muted thud against the Formica. “What’s on your mind, sweetheart?”

She shook her head. “Honestly, I’m just waiting for the shoe to drop. For him to change his mind, back out, or…”

“Or what?”

She glanced at the refrigerator, where a bright tangle of crayon strokes on manila paper clung to the door with a single magnet. “I’m worried about custody arrangements if we handle it out of the country.”

I pulled her close and held her head against my chest. “You need your own representation,” I said gently, pressing a slow kiss into her hair. “I don’t trust Frank’s lawyer to handle this fairly. Let me set you up with Lawrence. He’s sharp, and I trust him with my life.”

She nodded, curling her fingers into the fabric of my jacket.

“Don’t you worry, my darling. We’ll make everything right.”

I expected her posture to soften, but it didn’t. Barbara’s eyes flicked to the side. I followed her gaze to an unopened letter on the counter—crisp, white, official. The return address belonged to a prominent Los Angeles law firm. She caught my gaze.

“It’s from my mother’s estate attorney,” she said, her voice flat. “I don’t want to open it.”

“Why not?”

Barbara bit her lip. “Because I’m afraid of what it will say. Mother and I weren’t on the best terms. I imagine she cut me out. But I still don’t want to read it.”

I released her and picked up the letter, weighing it in my hand. It was light—probably no more than a page or two. “Would it help if I opened it?”

She hesitated, her eyes locked on the letter as if it were poison. After a long beat, she nodded.

I slid a finger under the flap and tore it with deliberate care. The paper inside was thick and expensive—the kind rich people used for weddings and funerals. I unfolded it and scanned the first few lines.

“It’s not what you think,” I said, reading further.

“What do you mean?”

I exhaled slowly. “This isn’t a legal document. It’s a personal note from Agatha.”

Barbara’s hand went to her mouth. “From Mother? But how…”

“To be delivered upon her death,” I said, my eyes tracing the precise, practiced handwriting.

Barbara took a step back and folded her arms tightly across her chest. “What does it say?”

I scanned down the letter, my eyes moving faster than my mind could process. A knot coiled in my stomach as I reached the bottom. I set the letter in front of Barbara, but she kept her eyes fixed on me.

“Read it,” she said, her voice brittle. “I don’t care how bad it is—I just can’t.”

“Barbara, maybe you should?—“

“No.” She shook her head, sharp and final. “Just tell me. Please.”

I took a deep breath and picked up the letter, the expensive paper rustling in my hands. The words swam before me, and for a moment, I hoped they would dissolve like sugar in hot tea and take their meaning with them. I closed my eyes, then opened them slowly, bracing myself.

“Dear Barbara,” I read, trying to capture the cold formality of Agatha’s voice. “If you are reading this, then you know I have left this world behind. There are things I wished to say to you while I was still alive, but time and circumstance never deemed it appropriate.”

I glanced at Barbara. Her face was a mask, unreadable.

“I know you always believed that I did not understand you—that I was unsupportive and unfeeling. The truth is, I did understand, perhaps more than you ever realized. I had the same desires and ambitions when I was your age.”

I checked Barbara’s face for any sign of emotion—anger, sorrow, relief—but she remained a statue, her eyes unblinking and distant.

“None of this is easy for me to admit,” I continued to read, “but you need to know the truth. Unfortunately, I was never able to be the warm, nurturing presence that you needed. The kind of motherly love you deserved was something beyond my reach.”

The words hung in the air like lingering smoke. Barbara gripped the edge of the counter so tightly that her knuckles turned white. Still, she gave no other outward reaction to the words I read.

“I am sorry for that, truly. And for all the rest, though I imagine that comes as a small consolation at this late hour. There are certain truths that I promised to take to my grave, and rest assured, I’ve kept those promises. But just because I’m gone does not mean you’re left without answers.”

I shifted my weight, uneasy with what came next.

“Speak to Edith,” I read slowly, each word a deliberate, slow drag of a scalpel. “She can tell you what I never could.” A beat of silence. “Signed, Mother.”