loose thread.

I arrived alone.
We sat on a bench, separated by three others, never looking at each other as we awaited our turn.
They called our name and we entered the courtroom.
It felt so matter-of-fact. So wrongly routine. So clinical.
Bits and pieces of our file were read. Custody arrangements. Child support.
I focused hard on a loose thread, wrapping it tightly around my finger as the names and birth dates of our three daughters were read.
Fourteen years ended in about twelve minutes.
While we waited in the clerk's office for the judgment of divorce, another couple waited for their marriage license.
And then, I walked back to work.