'Three days... and no possible clients had shown up...' Bethel thought, rousing herself from an afternoon nap, her head imprinted with the faint lines of the legal books she'd used as a pillow.
'I might as well have better luck with divorcing livestock!' The thought, absurd as it was, mirrored the spiraling frustration that had become far too common.
Every morning, she waited, but by afternoon, the empty waiting room, the unlit oil lamp on her desk – 'There was no need for evening appointments if there were no daytime ones!' – and Lydia's quiet, almost mournful efficiency chipped away at her optimism.
Her venture, born of such conviction, seemed doomed to be a whispered scandal, a fleeting curiosity, rather than the beacon of freedom she desperately intended. The silence in the office, once reserved for contemplation, now mocked her with its emptiness.
"What was the point of passing the royal legal exam if I can't put what I've studied to use?"
Just as the sun climbed high enough to paint the office's large window with pale light, a timid knock echoed through the quiet space.
"Hmm?" What was that sound? Bethel wasn't used to hearing her door knock. She knew Lydia had stepped out on an errand to purchase dinner ingredients.
'Must be coming from outside my window,' she mused, laying her head back down. She wrote off the unfamiliar sound, believing it was the usual hustle and bustle from the street below.
The timid knock grew louder, needing to be heard. "H-Hello? Is a-anyone in th-here?" A trembling voice, thick with hesitation, reached Bethel's ears. It caused her to snap back to a sitting position, scrambling out of the chair and knocking the books she'd used as a pillow to the floor.
She undid the door latch, immediately pulling it open once it was free of its restraints. Standing before her was a petite young woman wearing a simple, humble dress, the kind mostly worn by commoners. Her face was pale, her eyes trembled in fear.
"Is t-this the office fo-for ending m-m-marriages?" she whispered, her voice barely audible, ducking her head back down once meeting Bethel's eyes.
Bethel stood in shock as she couldn't believe who was standing before her.
A client! She quickly put on a business smile, radiating kindness and dependability.
"Yes, please, come in, have a seat!" Bethel gestured towards the comfortable, if sparse, seating area, her voice regaining its professional warmth.
The young woman shuffled in, her movements as hesitant as her voice. She clasped her hands tightly in her lap as she perched on the edge of the sofa, clearly overwhelmed by the situation.
She seemed frazzled... I should brew a cup of tea to settle her nerves.
Bethel left her first actual client alone as she entered a side room. It was a space with a single oil burner for heating water, and a cabinet containing different types of teas beside it. Chamomile with a bit of honey and sugar might be a good choice.
With that in mind, she finished setting up two teacups, placing one in front of the nervous woman.
"T-Thank you." Taking a sip, her loose sleeves slipped down, showing purplish bruising against her wrists. Bethel's eyes zeroed in on them, catching the client's attention. Quickly fixed her sleeves to hide them.
Domestic abuse?
Bethel moved to sit in the armchair opposite her, adopting an open and reassuring posture.
"My name is Bethel Green," she began, her voice soft but clear, designed to instill confidence. "And you are?"
"J-Josephine," the woman whispered, her gaze still fixed on her clasped hands.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Josephine," Bethel replied, her business smile unwavering. "How may I help you?" She picked up a fresh sheet of parchment and a quill, poised to begin.
Josephine took a deep, shuddering breath, finally lifted her eyes, and the sheer depth of sorrow in them made Bethel's trained composure falter for a fleeting moment. This was the raw, desperate pain Elara had spoken of, the kind that made one seek out a scandalous remedy.
"I… I need to leave my husband," Josephine began, her voice barely above a rustle.
"H-He's not the s-same man I-I-I... married..." Tears left her exhausted eyes.
Bethel watched as her tears fell into the teacup, adding salt to sweetness... She placed her quill down.
Before they could continue further, Bethel needed to point out what would happen next, a risk in scaring the client back into keeping her marriage as is.
This will be the first divorce in history; everyone will be watching. They might even throw more than words of cruelty at her. Glancing at Josephine's weak and thin frame, Bethel thought, If Miss Josephine had the resolve to come here and even knock twice, she may already find herself standing on a cliff edge.
Knowing what she needed to tell Josephine didn't make it easier. Hardening her resolve, Bethel tried to keep her voice stable, her gaze steady as she looked into Josephine's watery eyes.
"Miss Josephine," she began, her tone somber, yet filled with a quiet strength.
"What we are about to embark on… it will not be easy." She leaned forward slightly.
"This divorce won't be as simple as getting married. During a wedding, both parties signed their names down in a dual registry for both the church and government, just to be recognized as a new family."
Bethel rubbed her temples, a brief flicker of weariness crossing her face. "Since divorce is unheard of, the existing laws for such possibilities are ancient and largely overlooked. If your husband doesn't want a divorce, this can, and likely will, be taken to court."
Her voice dropped to a grave whisper, her eyes fixed on Josephine's. "If that happens... can you be ready to strip yourself bare as everyone watches and criticizes? It's easier to throw dirty water on others than to come to an understanding of one's pain. Your entire life, your character, your mindset... it will be scrutinized by the entire kingdom."
Josephine faltered at Bethel's words; suddenly the thought of being a target for even strangers to point at... She had always been a shy one, never voicing out her displeasure, keeping the peace, not being noticed enough for anyone to find fault in her. I-I can't do this... maybe... maybe... my husband will change back if I endure a little longer...
Bethel could practically see what Josephine was considering from her changing expressions alone: wandering eyes looking for a way out. I knew this was going to happen...
"Miss Josephine, feel free to think it over as this can be a life-changing situation. My door is always open, but first can I ask which area you live in? There's no need to answer unless you want to." Bethel knew she couldn't force someone. That's why laying out what would happen would give her clients a better understanding before making a final decision.
Of course, that doesn't stop her from giving them an open invitation. A reminder, a door had been barely opened, Bethel will keep it jammed in place until they were ready.
Josephine stared at the door for a long moment, the quiet invitation hanging in the air. Her gaze shifted back to Bethel, a flicker of raw yearning battling with deep-seated fear. Then, with a barely perceptible shake of her head, she slowly rose from the sofa.
"Thank you, L-L-Lady Green, also, I live in a residential district near where the capital g-guards are s-s-stationed..." she whispered, her voice still trembling. Without another word, Josephine turned and shuffled out, disappearing into the bustling street.
The quiet click of the door as it swung shut was a resounding echo of a decision made, or perhaps, postponed.
Bethel remained still, her gaze fixed on the closed door. Her first client. Gone. A bitter sigh escaped her lips. Back to divorcing livestock, then, she thought, the earlier frustration now tinged with a familiar, weary disappointment.
The silence of the office no longer mocked her. It hardened her.
___________
Josephine emerged from the shadowy lane into the bustling thoroughfare, the sounds and smells of the capital assaulting her senses. What was I thinking? Clearly, I had been tired lately, nor would I ever have stepped into such a blasphemous place!
It was difficult to wrap her head around. One minute she was dropping off a package; the next, she found herself wandering towards Bethel's office...
Hours earlier, Josephine went to deliver an order for a finished tailor's outfit she had made herself—a way to earn extra income since her husband had been given shorter shifts lately. She was self-conscious of her bruised wrists, consistently pulling her sleeves down to hide them.
She rested beside a fountain within Market Square where stall vendors sold their wares and materials, watching people go about their day as Josephine wondered if any of them were in the same situation as her...
"Ha..." a self-deprecating laugh passed her lips. "If they were, they're doing a better job at hiding it..."
As she sat there, listening to her surroundings with no thoughts to block them out, she suddenly asked herself, "Is there a way out?"
"Have you heard about that strange place? The one being talked about in the taverns, Cleaved Knot, I believe it was called?"
A pair of middle-aged women spoke among themselves. A common occurrence in daily life, not caring if anyone overheard their conversation.
"You heard about it too! That was my first time even hearing the word 'Divorce,' and I'm already over fifty!" the louder one spoke, catching Josephine's attention.
"Madam Elara has been the main source of spreading its existence to every listening ear. But to end a marriage blessed by the goddess, is that even possible?" the soft-spoken one questioned.
"Hmm... probably. During our departed grandparents' time, marriages were solely handled by the church. But that changed when a commoner took the Queen's seat, making nobles upset to the point of taking half of the church's power in marriages away, turning it into a part of the government for control."
"So now couples sign dual registries to be acknowledged as a unity. As the saying goes these days, one can't exist without the other. Maybe this divorce lawyer will lessen the amount of funerals that have been going on lately."
The louder woman's words made sense, revealing a rare wisdom not usually found among older people trapped by traditional ways. Josephine could feel a bit of strength within her legs as she continued to eavesdrop on them.
"I remember Madam Elara mentioning the office is located on Peony Lane nearby. If such a service is made possible, the church wouldn't stand still for long..." the woman whispered to her friend in concern, worried about any Goddess devotee hearing them now.
"That's why I'm waiting for those publications to release favorable news for me to throw my voice in agreement. Imagine our children or even grandchildren being in horrible marriages; wouldn't this save them? A way out is what they're going to need far more than enduring."
Those last words felt as warm as a kind, reassuring hand on Josephine's shoulders. Enough for tears to form at the corner of her eyes. Wiping them away, she went to the place they talked about.
Her initial burst of dazed uncertainty, fueled by desperation, had dwindled to a cold knot of dread. The words of Lady Green, about being stripped bare and having her life scrutinized by the entire kingdom, echoed in her mind, amplifying every one of her deeply ingrained fears.
She hurried through the familiar streets, head bowed, clutching her simple shawl tighter around her thin frame. Each passerby felt like a judging eye, each whispered conversation a condemnation.
Her own shadow seemed to stretch behind her, a monstrous shape in the fading light, mocking her attempt at boldness. The bruises on her wrists, though hidden, throbbed with a phantom ache, a grim reminder of the alternative to public shame.
The residential district, usually a comforting sight of familiar homes, felt particularly oppressive tonight. As she approached her small, tidy house, fear clenched her stomach. The lamplight spilling from its windows usually promised warmth; today, it felt like a spotlight on her perceived failure.
She pushed open the wooden door, the familiar creak loud in the sudden quiet. The aroma of stale ale and pipe smoke hung heavy in the air, a potent welcome. In the dim light of the main room, her husband, Thomas, sat at the worn table, a half-empty tankard before him, his broad back to her. His shoulders were hunched, a familiar, unsettling posture.
"You're late," his voice rumbled, low and flat, without turning. It was a tone that sent a shiver down Josephine's spine, far colder than any chill from outside.