Disclaimer: The characters, and the premise upon which they are based, do not belong to me. I am merely writing for the entertainment of others, not profit.
I have no agenda other than to see other people happy, so I simply use this medium as a distraction from my own demons and a gift to others.
Author's Note: Prompt word for letter C - Courtroom. This particular story is just a possibility of something that could have happened before the show, specifically during Oscar's life prior to Angie. Some may call it AU, I have no idea what to call it.
When he comes home to find her waiting by the front door, the majority of their belongings packed into her father's old sedan, he sighs in resignation at the inevitable. Silently following her to their bedroom, Oscar remains quiet from his seat on the edge of the bed as he tracks her movements while she finishes filling the last of the boxes with her remaining personal effects.
Empty hangers litter their closet like skeletons, and he can hear the echo of them rattling against one another as she removes her own clothing. Flushed cheeks and eyes bright with unshed tears, she hugs herself tightly as she stares at the envelope resting on his pillow. Known for his tendency to guard his words and emotions carefully, she decides it is better for both of them if she doesn't force the issue as she lets the paperwork do the talking as she departs.
The bedside lamp's muted fluorescent glow defends the bedroom against the intrusion of dark blues and violets of dusk creeping in through the curtains some time later as he hesitantly reaches for the stamped envelope with trembling fingers. Hours of sitting in the same position has caused his back to knot in tension, and soon the knot in his stomach is just as painful as he reveals the contents within; a separation agreement.
She wants to sever all ties as if he's never shared a life with her at all, which seems to hurt worse than he expected, noting that the contract is designed specifically for amicable dissolution of marriage. The petition reads like a finance report, straightforward with its summary of the terms of separation, including the mandatory period apart that is necessary for legally terminating the life they shared. If his marriage had lived and breathed, then he had killed it with his own two hands.
It was one thing to be a ghost in someone's past, but another altogether painful experience to be erased. There were no disgraceful slurs, nor any open-handed bruises; there were no clandestine meetings, nor any momentary lapses in judgment. "He was abusive", or maybe even "she had a tawdry affair"; at this point, any excuse sounds better than the simple fact that it just didn't work. The fact that they won't even need to step foot into a courtroom is startling because he feels like he should at least fight for her.
The truth is that a marriage doesn't end overnight, but unfortunately, he can't make this go away by proclaiming that he still loves her; or, how a part of him swears that he always will, so he dons the responsibility like a well-tailored suit. The paradox, he decides, of losing a loved one, is how the severity of your suffering is directly dependent upon the intensity and extent of your affection.
Canting off the edge of mattress as he crumples towards the floor, he blinks through exhaustion and can barely make out the silhouettes of the sparse remnants of furniture arranged throughout the room. Without her beside him, his emotions finally release as he is rattled by the thought of how the uninhabited space now their - no, his - Pacific Northwest home is barren like the Sahara Desert; a tangible reminder that she's really gone.