He Left Me at the Altar, Now He Begs

Three years into my career as a divorce lawyer, Clark Sanchez forced his way into my office. The closed-circuit monitor overhead was still running the news—Harbor City's richest man had just jilted his bride at the altar—and now he sat across from me on the other side of a black desk, head bowed low, the wedding band on his left ring finger catching the light.

Clark tapped the desk. His voice came out low and rough.

“I need a divorce agreement drawn up, and an asset transfer agreement.”

“The divorce agreement is for my wife—we signed the papers, but she never moved in. Her name is Rachel Summers.”

“The asset transfer agreement gives everything I own to a woman named Vera Fernandez.”

Vera Fernandez was me. He hadn't recognized me.

Three years since the breakup. Three years he'd turned this city upside down looking for me.

I checked my mask without thinking, then tugged the brim of my cap a little lower.

I flipped the reception placard on my desk around to face him.

“Service declined.”

Clark froze. He lifted his head, and his eyes locked onto mine.

In that moment, his whole body trembled.

……

“Vera!”

He shot to his feet, voice breaking. This was a man who prided himself on control and restraint, and he was coming apart.

I hadn't said a word.

Then he sank back down on his own, expression darkening, and muttered almost to himself.

“No. It can't be her. My mistake—I got the wrong person.”

“You couldn't be her.”

“She's been with me since middle school. If she were still in my city, she wouldn't hide from me for three years……”

I stayed silent. The only giveaway was my hand on the mouse, shaking and shaking.

Clark Sanchez.

That name ran through almost every memory I had of my school years.

The name behind every romantic thing anyone had ever done for me.

For a long time, I was certain the man I'd spend the rest of my life with would be him.

Even after we ended, I assumed that when we met again I'd be the one to lose composure first. Instead I was startlingly calm.

He was the one falling apart.

I tapped the placard again, then pointed at the sign by the door: “Private law firm. No appointment, no entry.”

He didn't waste words. He pulled a gold-embossed check from his pocket.

His name was on it. The amount was blank. He slid it across the desk.

“Name your price. Just get it done.”

“You saw the news. I walked out on my own wedding. My fiancée is looking for me right now. I need this marriage terminated fast.”

I glanced at the screen, where the scene was still chaos, then pitched my voice low and asked.

“Why did you walk out?”

Clark's expression drifted somewhere far away. He was quiet for a long time before he spoke.

“I'm willing to give up everything to win someone back. Someone I'll never get back.”

He trailed off, lost in thought, his face full of grief.

Whatever last ripple of feeling I had left froze solid into ice.

What kept flooding back was one night a year ago: his birthday, me coming home with a cake and gifts.

I opened the door and found him on top of Rachel Summers, the student I'd been sponsoring.

Facing my hurt and my anger, he laughed.

“Honestly, these seven years? You've been so boring in bed.”

“Rachel's pretty good at it. Maybe find the time to learn from her—how to please a man.”

“Vera, don't look at me like that. If you can't handle it, leave.”

“Three days. Give it three days and you'll come crawling back to me.”

What Clark Sanchez never counted on was this: once I made up my mind to walk, I never looked back.

So I didn't disappear for three days. I disappeared for three years.

I shook my head and pushed the check back across the desk.

“Go out, turn right. The divorce lawyer next door is better than me.”

Clark frowned.

“I've done my research. Highest win rate on divorce cases in all of Harbor City, and nobody gets it done cleaner than you.”