Signed, sealed and survived

Vince surprised me with a weekend away in my favorite town. Just the two of us, a quiet hotel, good food, a break from everything that had been weighing me down. I didn’t tell him, but before we left, I packed the updated divorce papers. Something in me must have known it was time.

Somewhere during the drive, I fell asleep. The hum of the tires on the road and the lull of Vince’s voice on the phone—soft, measured, speaking to Kay—faded into dreams. I always loved when he drove and smiled at his cheesy nickname – “Passenger Princess”. 

By the time we reached town, the sun was high. We were both starving, so we went straight to lunch at a diner I’d always loved. It smelled like coffee, homemade butter and comfort food. We had barely ordered when I saw him.

My husband.

He was talking to Officer Darnell Daniels—an old friend, one of the only good men I remembered from this town. Darnell spotted me first. His expression shifted instantly from casual to alert. Then my husband turned.

His eyes met mine. His whole body stiffened.

“Is that him?” Vince asked quietly.

I nodded.

Darnell walked over, calm but firm. “You here to see your husband?”

“Yes,” I said, rising to my feet, letting Darnell bring me over

My husband turned like he was going to bolt, but Darnell was faster. He caught him by the elbow, forced him back toward a table.

I followed and slammed down the divorce papers and a pen in front of him. The sound echoed like a challenge.

“Sign them,” I said.

He blinked at me, disoriented, and probably for the first time, completely powerless.

Kay appeared then, walking toward us with her notary seal in hand. She didn’t say a word until she reached the table. Then she simply said, “Let’s make this legal.”

My husband hesitated.

Darnell stepped in. “You’re not leaving until it’s done.”

He signed.

Kay stamped the papers without flinching. “I’ll get this to the local judge. You’re free to leave my best friend alone. Stay in town. You don’t want to mess with the local judges – but you already have that experience.”

Darnell looked my husband dead in the eye. “Stay in town until my department gets a copy of the decree. Don’t test me.”

My husband left without another word. Vince reached for my hand.

“You okay?”

“I will be,” I said.

We thanked Darnell. He nodded once, already turning to go.

“Take care of yourself,” he said.

Back at the suite at the hotel, the crash hit. Everything—the years I spent pretending, holding it in, shrinking myself—caught up to me all at once. I sat on the edge of the bed, then folded forward, sobbing into my hands. The kind of sobbing that caused me to stop breathing and I began to hyperventilate.

Then the wheezing started.

I reached for my rescue inhaler. Nothing. Again. Still nothing.

Vince was beside me in seconds, trying to calm me. “It’s okay, baby. I’ve got you. Just breathe, come on.” He called local emergency services with his free hand.

The EMTs wouldn’t let Vince ride with me as he wasn’t  family. He  ended up following behind in his car.

At the hospital, they hooked me up to oxygen and gave me a nebulizer treatment. My lungs began to ease. The pain in my chest dulled. I could breathe again. Slowly. Carefully.

An hour or so later, I was discharged. Vince met me at the curb like he’d never been more relieved to see anyone in his life; he’d brought his car around. We returned to the hotel. I crawled into bed, exhausted, barely conscious. But before I slipped under, I heard his voice outside the bedroom, low and warm.

“She was incredible. Just slammed the divorce papers down like a movie scene. Yeah, can we push our reservation? Maybe an hour?”

I fell asleep to the sound of him taking care of me.

He woke me gently. “Dinner’s in an hour. You want to go?”

I nodded, but still groggy. “Yeah. Just give me a second.”

We showered in silence. When I came out, towel wrapped around me, he was holding a dress. It looked like an updated version of the one I wore when I got married. My stomach twisted.

“Why would you pick that?” I asked.

“I thought it might be symbolic,” he said. “But maybe it was stupid.”

He immediately reached for his phone. “Kay? Come back. Please.”

A few minutes later, Kay was at the door holding a soft blue dress—simple, elegant, familiar. It was a modern version of the blue dress that I wore on my first “official” date with Vince so many years ago. This dress was more revealing than the original.

“This is more you,” she said. “First-date version of you.”

As Vince was ready, he waited outside of the suite in the hallway. Kay helped me into the dress, brushed some shimmer on my cheekbones, and handed me my lipstick. I was finally ready. I grabbed my purse and threw an extra inhaler to toss in there. When I stepped into the hallway, Vince looked up at me and froze.

“You’re absolutely... breathtaking,” he said. “My god. How did I get so lucky to be with you.”

Kay smiled and gave me a quick hug before sneaking off with the wedding-dress lookalike in her hands. I saw her toss it in the dumpster through the window before she vanished.

The restaurant was warm and glowing, tucked behind ivy-covered walls. I’d always wanted to go, but the timing—or the money—had never been right.

Inside, I stopped short.  Bob, parents, Donna and Joe and Pastor Dan and his wife Sheila. They were all standing nearby ready to make a toast.

Kay smiled at me, already raising her glass. “To fresh starts,” she said. “None of you knew she was married but I did. I only have the limited information that Deppgrl shared with me – it was spontaneous and it felt right. However, he cheated on her and broke her heart; she’s tried to divorce him but no old would tell her where to find him but she did earlier. And today, she ended it with style.”

Everyone turned to look at me—stunned, but smiling. No judgment.

“It was a real marriage,” I said slowly, “but it never felt like one - not really, anways.”

Pastor Dan lifted his glass. “To choosing joy.”

“To choosing yourself,” Kay added.

We clinked glasses. Sparkling apple cider, warm hands, relief. For a few quiet minutes, I felt weightless. After chatting together for a bit, they left us behind to finish the night alone, leaving us in the capable hands of the owner.

The restaurant reset the table just for us, candles burning low. They brought course after course—pasta dishes, chicken dishes, wine pairings, desserts that tasted like forgiveness.

Vince reached across the table and held my hand. “I don’t know if I’ve ever seen you this calm.”

“I don’t know if I’ve ever been this calm,” I said.

When Vince asked for the check, the owners waved their hands. “It’s on us,” one of them said. “You’ve been through enough. This one’s for the restart.”

We stood to leave, grateful and full.

That’s when the doors burst open.

Darnell.

“He’s close,” he said. “Your husband is here. He’s drunk. Armed.”

Vince reached for me. “Don’t go. Please. Let the police handle it.”

I kissed him softly. “I love you,” I said. “Always have.” Then I turned toward the door.

Behind me, I heard him whisper, “Please don’t leave me.”

After the door closed, I heard a bang then followed by pain. The bullet tore through the air and I heard movement from Darnell.  I remember the impact; my body lifting and my head striking something hard. Then everything went black.

The first thing I heard was the steady beep of machines, air moving in and out causing a hissing sound. I felt a dull, burning ache everywhere.

Vince’s voice, quiet, cracking.

“Please come back. Please, baby. Please.”

I squeezed his hand.

He gasped. He then screamed: “She’s awake!”

Suddenly the room was full—nurses, voices, movement. I couldn’t keep up.

CT scan. X-rays. Blood tests.

Nothing life-threatening. A mild concussion, some bruises, scrapes and a goose egg at my hairline with a big bruise. My body ached like it had fought a war.

When the room calmed, I asked, “Darnell?”

A nurse looked up. “He’s out of surgery. Shot in the bicep. He took the bullet for you.”

An hour of being medically cleared and discharged, I found his widowed mother—strong, quiet, tired—waiting outside recovery. Darnell told me years before that he lost his dad at a young age. He, too, was a police officer. I cannot imagine the trauma Mrs. Daniels went through losing her husband nor picturing losing your only child doing the same job

“I’m so sorry Mama Daniels,” I said as I hugged her. “He got hurt protecting me.”

She didn’t hesitate. “You’re both alive. That’s all I care about.”

We were let into his room; he was groggy, drugged, pale—but alive.

“Thank you,” I whispered as I gently squeezed his hand, tears slipping down my cheeks.

Darnell gave me a lopsided smile and squeezed my hand. “You now owe me coffee.”

“It’s a date but I owe you more than that,” I said. “Keep me updated with your recovery, friend. Thank you again for saving my life.”

I found Vince and Kay asleep on two gurneys tucked away in a corner. I woke them gently and called a rideshare car. As we rode back to the hotel, I texted Kay’s husband to tell him she was safe and shouldn’t be driving due to her exhaustion. He thanked me then asked me how I was feeling. I told him that I felt like I got hit by a truck rather than a friend saving my life.

The hotel staff welcomed us back like old friends. They gave Kay a private room next to us at no cost plus room service, refunded Vince for everything, and offered us another stay—free—whenever we were ready.

Vince and I collapsed onto the bed, the gravity of everything just beginning to settle in.

“We’re not coming back here for a while,” he said into the darkness.

“Not until he’s behind bars,” I agreed.

Before I drifted off, he asked, “Back at the restaurant—did you mean it? That you love me?”

“I meant every word.”

The next morning, the front desk had a message waiting.

I left  early. Judges are looped in—for the divorce and the shooting. I’ll stay on it. Stop scaring me almost to death, Deppgrl. I don’t know how many more gray hairs I can get from all theses scares. Love  you both. — Kay

We spent the rest of the weekend in the quietest way we could. Limited noise and limited people; we had a few picnics, did some sightseeing in the corners of town. I took the prescribed pain medication for my concussion - the headaches still came in waves.

Before leaving town, we went back to the restaurant to say thank you again. The owners hugged us, relieved that we were okay. They told us there was a small chip in the concrete where the bullet hit. They were filing with the insurance company just in case; they didn’t want to risk the small chance of structural damage

I offered to help pay for any of the repairs that the insurance company wouldn’t pay for. They refused. “You’ve done enough,” one of them said. “You risked your life for not only yourself and your boyfriend but now that your husband is in jail, we’re hoping that he gets the time in prison that he deserves…he’s caused so much crime here in town.”

They sent us home with bags of food packed on ice—enough to feed a small village. We hugged them and thanked them for the third time for their hospitality.

Vince drove us back to my place and when we arrived, we unpacked everything, showered, and started laundry. I finally saw myself in the mirror under good light—bruised, swollen, scraped, stitched, and healing.

No wonder people looked at Vince like he was the one that was a criminal instead of my husband. No wonder they looked at me like I’d been the victim that went through hell.

We got into bed and slept. Deep and dreamless.

For the first time in too long, I felt safe. Protected. Loved.