As soon as the final verdict was declared, my lawyer, Peter, rose from his seat, taking my hand into his with a small smile.

"You made it." He said quietly, proudly. I nodded in response.

Only if he, or anyone knew what it was to finally make it.

Five years of marriage couldn't just be over with six months of separation and judicial interference. But I was glad that at least for the world, it was over.

Over.

The word left a bitter taste in my mouth as I tried to concentrate on anything but him. My eyes remained on the divorce papers in Peter's hands, and felt the unmoving stare from my left side, boring into my skull. My head hurt. I didn't want to look up, not into his eyes. Those eyes that once bewitched me into anything. But I couldn't ignore it when I sensed movement in my peripheral vision.

Michael walked up to me, a copy of the divorce papers folded between his thin pale fingers. I slightly turned my head towards him, eyes casted on his black patent leather shoes.

"Maeve," His gravely calm voice called, and I couldn't help it. I looked up, obediently, as if I still had to act like that with him. He was staring at me, blankly.

"Michael," I replied, my voice faint and cold.

I couldn't recognize this man.

The stillness of those hooded grey eyes, or the impassive expression covering that beautiful face. He had grown a little stubble around his jaws. So unlikely of him. But even now, when he looked at me with that stone face, I knew the exact emotions flooding behind the closed gates of his heart. But for a fact, I knew he'd argue otherwise.

"Mr. Black," His lawyer interrupted, breaking off our little, probably last, moment together.

Michael didn't take his eyes off me. Neither did he acknowledge the lawyer. Looking like caught in a trance between reality and a shared past. Our shared past.

The lawyer cleared his throat again. But Michael made no move to look away, so with much difficulty, I looked away first.

He said something to Michael again, and he finally unfroze from his spot, and turned to him.

I let out a quiet, shaky breath of relief, feeling less tensed without his eyes hovering over me. And then, almost immediately, clenched my fist in a stirring irritation.

He was still affecting me. Six months of dissolution, and still, I could hardly stop my urges. A little part of me told me to throw my hands around his neck. Kiss him on the lips and tell him that it wasn't over. Not a signature on a paper could end what we had for five years.

At least on my behalf.

But the other, more sensible part of me, suggested I turn away from him, from the not-so-pleasant past I shared with him, and walk away. To maybe even smack him across the face. Only once. For all the times he made me feel neglected, even if that wasn't his intentions.

Before I decided what part of me was going to win over my actions, Michael, and his lawyer walked away.

My eyes flickered up, watching through the corners of my eyes a silhouette of the man I love or loved walking away.

"You okay?" Peter stopped before me, handing me a copy of the divorce papers.

Reluctantly, I curled my fingers around it, and took it from him. I didn't answer his question, and he didn't push me further.

For all the times he had asked me that, and not got any response, he knew better than to repeat the question again.

After a couple of minutes, we exited through the same door through where Michael had left, with me closely following behind Peter.

I had a faint feeling, almost kind of a vision, that Michael would be standing outside the door, begging me to go back with him. Another, more impulsive vision suggested he'd man-handle me, pushing me against a wall, locking me in the confinement of his arms. A hand would slide down between us and the wonders it would do.

"You sure about the alimony, right?" Peter asked, breaking off my trail of thoughts.

"Yes." I said, my voice lacking conviction.

"And what are you going to do with no alimony? At least until you can get comfortable, let me help you."

We walked down the, disappointedly empty stairs of the hallway, and the sunlight greeted me warmly, seeping in from the wall-high windows, and through the thin fabric of my dress, setting my skin on fire.

"I am fine, Peter. If I needed money so desperately, I would've taken it form my beloved hus—" Peter shot me a side glance as I bit my tongue in my mouth. "From him."

"Okay. You don't need any other sort of help? That hotel room seems..." He started as we walked out the main entrance, and down the short flight of stairs, into the fresh October breeze. "Uncomfortable."

"I'm fine. Thanks."

"You received your stuff from his place?"

I sighed. "Yes."

"And you know what you have to do?"

"I do know what I'm doing, Peter. And please, quit the interrogation. We are out of the court." I pulled out my shades from the purse and slid it on. But before the tints darkened my vision, I saw a familiar car, parked right outside the court, across the road. I had seen that car several times outside the mansion.

Who was it again?

My narrowed eyes left the car, and searched from behind the shield of my shades, for the owner of the car. And it was not long before my eyes settled on him. A familiar figure, standing tall and gorgeous in a navy suit. A gasp unconsciously slipped through my lips.

Ian.

I whisked around right when he leaned forward on the gate, curiously eyeing in my direction.

Did he see me? Did he recognize me?

I nibbled on my lower lip as reality clicked in place, and a subtle moment of relief washed over me.

He had never seen me. Well, never properly seen me. There was no way he knew who I was.

"Well, I hope you have a good day then, and a good life." Peter said, genuinely smiling at me.

I nodded, eyes tracing the divorce paper in my hand, along the scribbled signature above Michael's name. And felt a pair of eyes on me. I knew he was watching me from there, through the grills of the gate, those beautiful blue eyes—

I shifted my weight from one leg to the other. Could I go and greet him maybe? For the first time?

I mean it could be an official meet, as normal individuals this time. He might not recognize me, but I could pretend this was our first meet. New beginnings.

I turned around, purposefully, to crawl out of my shell and finally talk to him. But a strong breeze stopped my movements and blew most of my hair across my face. And through the shades, by what I could see, Ian was really staring at me. His eyes still, and fingers wrapped around the iron grill. I tensed again.

Can I really do it?

I let the breeze blow my hair, and shield my unnecessary expressions from him as I adjusted my eyes down on the papers again and right then, I heard a voice.

"Thanks," Michael said to his lawyer as he bid him goodbye and walked towards us.

Peter stood tall beside me. As if letting Michael know that I wasn't alone. But I knew something he didn't. A little secret I kept to myself.

That even if Michael asked me right now, to go home with him, if he held my hand and said that he needed me, if he kissed me so possessively, like every time I dreamed he did, I would go with him. Without blinking an eye.

Part of me still craved his touches, the way he looked at me and only me. I remembered the one night, a very drunk Michael confessing how he needed me, how he didn't want any other women like he wanted me.

I wanted to hear it again. And I could have it right now, if I wanted, but I wouldn't. It took every speck of courage left in me, to leave him and move on, or at least try to move on.

And I was not going back. Hopefully.

Shooting a quick glance towards Ian, I casted my eyes down.

"Maeve," Michael’s voice filled my ears, as he stopped right in front of me.

I closed my eyes, knowing very well that he couldn't see it under the tinted glasses. Couldn't see the way my brows knit together, couldn't feel how my stomach coiled in delight at the mere utterance of my name from his lips.

Picking up the last strand of sanity from the pit of my conscience, I raised my head to look at him. I raised it high and stayed still, urging him to talk. Giving him one last chance to undo what he fucked up.

But Michael, being himself, still held that expressionless face, a pair of eyes that seemed lifeless, and mouth set into a thin line, like he didn’t want to talk. Like he didn't care that I was leaving him.

An ache clawed at my chest and crawled upward, strangling me off breath.

He didn't care. He still didn't care.

Very well.

"Take care, Michael." I said, looking up at him from behind my shades, taking in his features for one last time."I hope we never meet again." I squared my shoulders and turned on my heels, ignoring the burning at the corner of my eyes, and walked away from him. That's it.

I'm free now.

I looked up, and Ian was walking toward...me? No, toward Michael. His eyes traced his own footsteps, and I grabbed the opportunity to eye him up.

I took in the look of his messy, ruffled dark hair, and broad shoulders rigid under the blazer. He looked as good as he did years ago, if not hotter and better.

I moved past him, walking across the road, and Peter leaped forward to open the door for me. I slid in, rolling the tinted windows up, and finally took off the shades. Sweat formed around my eyes where the rim of the glasses rested on my skin. But the air-conditioner took care of it moments later. As the car pulled away, I peered out through the tinted window. At the two men.

One who was a part of my past which I partially enjoyed, and regretted the most. And the other…someone I wished knew me, but didn’t remember me.