Chapter 8

Adaline checked her watch for the third time that morning—8:15 AM. She had sent Michael a terse text the night before: "Courtroom 3B. 9:00 AM tomorrow. Be there." No pleasantries, no explanations needed.

Justin had arranged for his driver to take her, as promised. Martin, a tall man with kind eyes and a quiet demeanor, had arrived precisely at 7:30, giving her ample time to prepare herself mentally for what lay ahead.

"We're early, Ms. Adaline," Martin said as they pulled into the courthouse parking lot, the imposing stone building looming before them. "Would you like to wait in the car a bit longer?"

Adaline shook her head, clutching her leather portfolio containing the divorce papers. "No, thank you. I'd rather be inside." The sooner this was over, the sooner she could begin rebuilding her life from the ruins Michael had left it in.

"Very well," Martin replied, opening her door. "Would you like me to accompany you inside?"

"That won't be necessary," Adaline said, smoothing down her navy suit jacket. "But thank you for offering, Martin. This is something I need to face alone."

He nodded respectfully. "I understand. I'll be right here when you're finished."

The courtroom was still being prepared when she arrived, the morning sunlight streaming through tall windows, casting long shadows across polished wooden benches. Adaline sat alone, back straight, eyes fixed forward, rehearsing what she would say in her head over and over.

A court officer approached. "Mrs. Anderson? Your attorney called. He's running about fifteen minutes late due to traffic."

Adaline nodded, her stomach knotting. "Thank you. I'll be fine waiting."

At precisely 8:55, the doors opened again. Michael strode in, immaculately dressed in a tailored suit that probably cost more than most people made in a month. His attorney followed closely behind, along with—Adaline's stomach tightened—her mother.

Michael's face arranged itself into a practiced expression of contrition as he approached. "Adaline, darling," he began, his voice deliberately lowered to sound intimate. "We don't need to do this. I've made mistakes, terrible mistakes, but—"

"Sign the papers, Michael," Adaline cut him off, sliding the divorce agreement across the table.

"Can we at least talk privately for a moment?" Michael asked, glancing around. "Two years of marriage deserves at least five minutes of conversation."

"We've had plenty of conversations," Adaline replied coldly. "I particularly remember the one where you told me I was 'defective' because I couldn't get pregnant."

His mask of remorse cracked slightly, revealing the cold calculation beneath. "That was taken out of context. I was upset, you know how important family is to me. I won't sign this. You're my wife."

"A wife you betrayed with my best friend," she replied, her voice steady despite the anger churning inside her. "A best friend who's now carrying your child. Sign the papers."

Michael's jaw tightened. "That was a mistake. Evelyn means nothing—"

"Like I mean nothing?" Adaline interjected. "You have a strange way of treating people who 'mean nothing' to you, Michael."

Her mother stepped forward then, her face a perfect mask of concerned disapproval. "Adaline, dear, you're making a spectacle of yourself," she whispered harshly. "Marriage has its difficulties. Your father and I weathered many storms—"

"Don't you dare bring Dad into this," Adaline hissed. "He would have been disgusted by what you're doing right now."

"I'm trying to save your marriage," her mother replied, affronted. "Michael has promised to end things with Evelyn. Haven't you, Michael?"

Michael nodded solemnly. "Completely over. I've already told her."

Adaline laughed bitterly. "That's interesting, considering she texted me your dinner plans for tomorrow night. Still planning to take her to Chez Maurice at eight?"

Michael's face flushed with anger just as the bailiff called the courtroom to order.

"Your Honor," Michael's attorney interrupted as the judge entered, "my client wishes to contest this divorce on grounds that the marriage can still be salvaged."

What followed was a nightmare of accusations and revelations. Michael, when pressed by the judge, finally dropped his facade.

"Yes, I had an affair," he admitted, his tone suddenly clinical. "But Adaline has failed to fulfill her duties as a wife. Two years of marriage and she's given me no children. No heir." He straightened his tie. "I'm launching Anderson Industries next quarter. I need a son to carry on my legacy."

"And that justifies infidelity?" the judge asked pointedly.

"I made mistakes," Michael replied smoothly. "But I was driven to them by frustration and disappointment."

Adaline's mother nodded approvingly from behind him, her eyes cold when they met her daughter's. The betrayal shouldn't have stung after all these years, but somehow, it still did.

"Mother," Adaline called across the courtroom. "Do you really support him after what he's done?"