Chapter 9
I took a step back. “What… what are you
doing here?”
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He chuckled, almost disbelieving. “I could ask
you the same thing. You’re the one dressed
as a bride in the middle of Finland.”
I laughed, stunned. “I— I was just–long story.
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Let’s Divorce, My Husband
What about you?”
“I’m here for work. Decided to take some
photos for fun.” He gestured to his suit.
“Didn’t expect to run into my childhood
bride.”
Childhood bride. That made me smile.
When we were kids, I swore I’d marry Mateo
someday. He was my best friend, my crush,
my secret safe place. But he moved away,
vanished before I could even say goodbye.
Life swept us in different directions.
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Now, standing here in a wedding dress in
Finland, it felt like fate was laughing gently in
the background.
The photographer clapped his hands. “So…
how about it? Fake wedding shoot for the
two people who almost had one for real?”
Mateo grinned. “Only if the bride agrees.”
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I looked at him. And for the first time in so
long, I smiled—not out of politeness, not to
cover pain, but because something inside me
fluttered.
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Let’s Divorce, My Husband
“Let’s do it,” I said.
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And as the camera clicked and the snow kept
falling, I felt something.shift.
The photographer beamed as he guided us
into poses–some staged, some natural. I
stood beside Mateo, our shoulders brushing.
Every now and then, I caught him sneaking
glances at me, the corners of his mouth
curling up when our eyes met.
“Alright,” the photographer said, “look at each
other like you’re actually in love.”
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Let’s Divorce, My Husband
Mateo chuckled. “That should be easy.”
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I playfully narrowed my eyes at him. “Is that a
line, Mateo?”
He gave a slow shrug. “Maybe. You’ve always
been a tough one to impress.”
“And yet you never stopped trying.”
“Still not giving up,” he said with a wink.
I laughed, this time freely. The photographer
kept snapping photos as we stood in the soft
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Let’s Divorce, My Husband
snow, the sky a pale watercolor of clouds.
Everything around us felt like it had been
frozen in time–just the two of us, lost in this
strange, serendipitous moment.
We moved closer for the next shot. His hand
found my waist–hesitant at first, but warm. I
looked up at him, and suddenly I was fifteen
again, staring at the boy who used to climb
trees just to drop notes into my window.
“I can’t believe it’s really you,” I murmured.
“I’ve missed this face,” he said, brushing a
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snowflake from my cheek. “You’ve changed,
but you’re still you.”
Once the shoot wrapped up, we found a little
café nearby–one of those cozy, firelit places
that smelled of cinnamon and pine. We sat by
the window with hot chocolate in hand, the
photo previews displayed on his phone
between us.
“Look at this one,” I said, laughing. “I look like
I’m about to fall.”
“You do,” he agreed. “Straight into my arms,
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Let’s Divorce, My Husband
obviously.”
I rolled my eyes. “Still cheesy.”
“And still charming, admit it.”
“Hmm. You’ve gotten better with age.”
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He smirked. “I always knew I would. But you…
you’re stunning, Trina. Seriously.”
I looked away, trying to ignore the heat rising
in my cheeks. “Stop. You’re just saying that
because I’m wearing tulle and a tiara.”
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Let’s Divorce, My Husband
“No,” he said, voice gentler now. “I mean it.
You look… happy. Whole.”
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My smile faltered, and I stared down at the
mug in my hands. “It took a while to get here.”
He picked up on my shift in tone. “Do you
want to talk about it?”
I hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “I was
married. Until recently.”
Mateo blinked. “Was?”
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Let’s Divorce, My Husband
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I nodded again. “He wasn’t who I thought he
was. At first, everything seemed perfect. He
was sweet, charming, full of promises. But the
more I loved him, the more I lost myself. He
put me second to everyone else, made me
feel small. I gave up everything—my family,
my future—for him. And in the end… I was just
a maid in my own home.”
There was a long pause.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “You didn’t
deserve that.”
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Let’s Divorce, My Husband
I shrugged, though my throat tightened. “It’s
over now. I walked away. Left him, left
everything. Started over.”
He reached across the table and gently took
my hand. “Good. I’m proud of you.”
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We sat like that for a moment–no words, just
shared warmth.
“And you?” I asked, my voice lighter now.
“Still charming. Still cheesy. Still single?”
He chuckled. “Surprisingly, yes. I had
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Let’s Divorce, My Husband
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relationships, sure, but none that ever stuck.
And you know what I always told myself?”
“What?”
“That I was just waiting for someone.
I tilted my head, amused. “Oh? Who?”
He looked me straight in the eye. “You.”
I laughed. “You’re terrible.”
He shrugged with a grin. “I’m honest.”
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“Mateo,” I said, still smiling, “we haven’t seen
each other in over a decade.”
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“And yet here we are,” he said softly. “In
Finland. In a wedding dress and suit. Taking
fake wedding pictures like we were meant to.”
“I used to imagine what our wedding would
look like,” I confessed, surprising myself.
“Back when I was a silly little girl with a
hopeless crush.”
“And now?”
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“Now… I guess I’m learning to imagine again. For myself. Not for anyone else.”
“I like this version of you,” he said. “She’s
strong. Radiant.”
“She had to be,” I whispered.
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The café lights flickered warmly as the
snowfall thickened outside. Mateo pulled out
a small paper bag and handed it to me.
“What’s this?” I asked.
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Let’s Divorce, My Husband
“Just a little something. Saw it earlier today
and thought of you.”
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I opened it. Inside was a silver charm shaped
like a compass.
“Symbolic,” he said. “For finding your way
back. To yourself. Or maybe… to me.
I stared at it, heart tugging. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He leaned back, his smile
softer now, more vulnerable. “So, what
happens next for you?”
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Let’s Divorce, My Husband
“I take over my father’s business. He’s been
waiting for me to return. I think… I think I’m
ready now.”.
“Do you think you’ll stay here for good?”
“I don’t know yet. But I won’t go back to
anything that makes me feel small.”
“Good.”
We finished our drinks, and the streets had
darkened into that ethereal blue of northern
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evenings. Lights twinkled. Snow danced. I he
aurora flickered faintly above.
He offered me his arm as we stepped out of
the café. “One last walk, Mrs. Almost–Was?”
“Of course, Mr. Never–Was,” I teased.
We walked slowly, just like we used to when
we were young–no hurry, no destination.
Just being.
At one point, we paused beneath a lit
archway, where the photographer we’d
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worked with earlier happened to pass by.
“Still looking like newlyweds,” he said with a
wink, then moved on.
Mateo looked at me. His expression had
changed again–deeper, more serious. He
studied me for a moment, then said,
“What do you think… we make this wedding
real?”
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Let’s Divorce, My Husband
