She didn’t storm over. She didn’t scream. She just sat there, watching the restaurant doors swing shut behind them. Her brain had simply shut down to protect her from the shock.
Eventually, the cold seeped through her coat. She stood up and walked the rest of the way home. It wasn’t until she closed the front door that she collapsed on the floor and sobbed. It was a guttural, ugly cry of a woman whose reality had just shattered.
The divorce was swift. Efficient. The lawyers handled the paperwork, the judge asked the standard questions, and she signed where the sticky notes told her to sign.
Oliver had tried to apologize, claiming it was a mistake, a lapse in judgment. But Valerie had already checked out. His words were just noise. She felt nothing but exhaustion and a deep need to be away from him.
She moved back to her hometown initially, cutting all ties. She changed her number, deleted her social media, and told mutual friends that Oliver’s name was not to be spoken.
Her parents’ old house was empty; her mother had passed away two years prior. The silence in the house was deafening, reminding her of a time when life was simpler.
She didn’t stay long. She sold the house and moved two states away to live near her aunt, a spinster with a big heart and a guest room. Her aunt gave her the space she needed to heal without asking prying questions.
Valerie bought a modest condo and started over. Nesting in that new place gave her something to focus on other than the grief.
She and Oliver had been high school sweethearts. Their history went back to the hallways of Lincoln High.
She had crushed on him since freshman year. He was the boy with the bright eyes and the messy hair who sat two rows ahead of her in homeroom.
Back then, he hadn’t noticed the quiet girl with the long braid. To him, she was just part of the background scenery.
By junior year, Valerie had cut her hair into a stylish bob. It highlighted her cheekbones and made her look older, more confident.
Other boys started to notice, but Valerie only had eyes for Oliver. Her notebooks were filled with doodles of his initials.
Her crush wasn’t exactly a state secret. High school kids notice everything, and Valerie wasn’t great at hiding her feelings.
The girls in her clique started calling her “Saint Valerie” because of her unwavering devotion to a guy who didn’t know she existed. It wasn’t mean-spirited, just a teasing acknowledgment of her innocence.
The nickname stuck. She didn’t mind. She wore it like a badge of honor.
She never expected him to look her way. They ran in different circles.
