Chapter 440: The Divorce

Susan dialed Manuel's number. It had been two weeks. He hadn't called, not even a friendly greeting. They hadn't met. She felt a man like Manuel should die alone.

The phone connected. "Susan," a familiar voice said.

"Let's get divorced tomorrow," Susan said, her voice calm and cold.

"Okay," Manuel replied, without hesitation.

"What time are you free?" Susan asked.

Manuel considered. He had rehabilitation in the morning and a two-hour video conference at 2 p.m. for his small company. "I can be at the registry at 4:30 p.m.," he said.

"I'll be there at 4:30 p.m.," Susan responded.

"Okay."

Susan hung up. Manuel stared at the phone. He'd expected the call sooner, but two weeks was almost beyond his expectations. Still, it was over. Ending it sooner was best; he wouldn't harbor expectations anymore.

It was 4:30 p.m. the next day. Manuel arrived precisely on time, walking more steadily on his crutches. Susan, watching from the doorway, guessed his full recovery wouldn't take long. He approached calmly, his expression matching hers.

"Let's go in," Manuel said.

Susan, usually late, was surprisingly prompt. "Sure," she replied.

They entered. Two windows served marriage and divorce; they joined the divorce queue. Who knew so many people divorced at 4:30 p.m.? More were divorcing than marrying; afternoon appointments seemed to be a favored time for ending relationships – a sort of twilight of love.

They waited twenty minutes before being called. Susan sat; Manuel took longer to settle, his legs still unsteady. Susan watched coldly. The clerk couldn't help but remark, "No wonder you're divorcing. You lack even basic spousal consideration. It's pointless to stay together."

Susan's expression flickered. Divorce officers usually tried reconciliation. This clerk was exacerbating the situation, seemingly targeting her. Damn it! She had no feelings for Manuel. Why should she care about his discomfort? Did he appreciate her kindness?

Watching his slow movements, she almost reached out to help, then withdrew her hand. She'd sworn never to humiliate herself before him again.

"ID card, household registration book, marriage certificate, and divorce agreement," the staff member said indifferently.

Susan produced her documents. She’d forgotten the agreement. Before she could ask, Manuel produced one, politely asking, "May I borrow your pen?"

"Of course," the clerk replied kindly, seemingly fond of Manuel. Susan had to admit his good looks often charmed older women.

"Thank you," Manuel said, handing the pen to Susan. "There's no property division or children; it's simple. Review it. If it's acceptable, sign here and add your fingerprint."

Susan looked up at Manuel. Suddenly, she remembered him tutoring her as children. Her poor grades meant extra lessons, leaving her late for dinner. Manuel, unable to bear the family waiting, helped her – though she suspected it was for his own sake as much as hers.

She recalled the night before a crucial exam. He'd entered her room with an exercise book, saying, "I've guessed eighty percent of the exam questions and circled them. Finish these tonight; you should pass."

Doubtful, but spurred by loneliness and counseling, she worked through them. Manuel sat with her. She finished them, only to discover none were correct. He reviewed her answers patiently.

His voice had always been pleasing. Even through puberty, it remained so. Tutoring her, he was serious and attentive, his long lashes constantly fluttering. Had someone asked then if she was attracted to him, she couldn't have denied it.

"Susan," Manuel said, noticing her distraction. "Is something wrong with the agreement?"

She jolted back to reality. What was I thinking about?

She signed and added her fingerprint. They submitted their documents. The clerk stamped their divorce certificates.

Susan stared at hers. The process was astonishingly simple, and that was it. Nothing remained between them.

Manuel watched her. He recalled how she hadn't even wanted to look at their marriage certificate. This marriage had been a farce for both; now it ended.

He picked up his crutch and left silently, afraid to speak lest he cry.