Page 2 of Resisting the Fall

“You should never have signed the contract before verifying the status of your passport.”

“I now realize that. And I’m sorry. But I will be there,” I said, absolutely determined. I’d waited for a chance like this for years—to take part in recording a major film score. Not to mention spending three months in Prague followed by three months in London. It was a dream, and a huge resume builder. And the timing couldn’t be better. Not that I didn’t love New York in the fall, but when your very-recent ex-boyfriend moved in the same social circles as you, a six-month hiatus seemed a beneficial thing for everyone.

“Well, I sure hope so, but if not, please let me know immediately, as other arrangements will need to be made.”

It was difficult to draw a breath after his implication. I’d stopped booking events, told the theater manager I wouldn’t be available to play in the pit orchestra for the next show, and subleased my apartment for the time I’d be gone. Not to mention my new luggage was all but packed with the clothing I’d been swiftly acquiring for my time abroad. I refused to let this not work out. “I’m going to be there,” I said again, sliding into the elevator just before the doors closed.

“What floor?” an older gentleman asked once I’d ended my call.

I forced a smile to my lips. “The basement, please.”

Thankfully, when I arrived in the small lobby of 103B, there were only a handful of people waiting. Within ten minutes, I was handing my request for an official divorce decree to a middle-aged record agent with a name badge that read Lilian, along with my driver’s license and a pre-written check for the fee.

She smiled, clearly appreciative of my preparation. “Your former spouse’s name is…”

“Ben,” I said before realizing she meant his full legal name. “Bennett Thomas Walker.”

The clacking of keys filled the silence. “Maven Grace Price v. Bennett Thomas Walker?”

“That’s it.” My smile was stiff, but I managed one. Which was a win. This unexpected detour down memory lane was not a pleasant one. For so many reasons.

She squinted at the screen, scrolling with her mouse. “Huh.”

More scrolling. More squinting. More humming.

“What is it?” I asked, hoping that whatever issue was causing the lines between her eyebrows to deepen so intensely wouldn’t make me late for my passport appointment.

Her gaze met mine. “This case is marked as dismissed.”

“Dismissed meaning…?”

Her apologetic grimace was far from reassuring. “Meaning your divorce was never finalized.”

It took me another few seconds of blankly staring at her to accept that she wasn’t kidding. The edges of my vision darkened, and a distinct ringing began pulsing in my ears. “Ben and I are still married?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“How is that even possible?” My voice echoed through my head.

“Unfortunately, this sort of thing does happen. More than you’d think, actually. Most of the time, it’s that the judge requested further information from one or both parties that was never provided. If the court doesn’t receive the documents after a year and no one follows up, the system automatically marks the case as dismissed.”

“The judge didn’t request any further information. I received the final judgment in the mail. It was signed.”

“Did you submit it?”

I gave a hard swallow. “What do you mean? Like I said, it was already signed.”

She pressed her lips together. “In the state of New York, the Judgment of Divorce needs to be submitted to the court clerk to be recorded. Until it is, the judgment isn’t finalized.”

I covered my mouth with my hand, feeling like I was going to throw up. Or pass out. Or hyperventilate. Or possibly all three simultaneously.

Concern pulled at Lilian’s features. “You can submit a motion to reopen.”

“How long would that take? Typically?”

“If I had to guess… four to six months.”

My heart sank further. “That’s how long it would take if we started the whole process over again.”