Once We’re Divorced, I’ll Take His Last Name

It might be my only option

Claire Franky
5 min readFeb 29, 2024


Photo by ErnAn Solozábal on Unsplash

My hand moved quickly, tapping my pen on the table as I stared at the paper in front of me. The empty boxes waiting to be filled screamed at me with impatience.

Across the room, my phone buzzed. Welcoming the distraction, I stood and walked over to the hospital bed. My phone lay between the sheets. It must have shifted when I got up to greet the clerk who handed me the paperwork.

“Congratulations!!” The text read. “She’s beautiful! Mommy and Daddy must be so excited!”

Another text plastered across my phone screen. “Baby makes three! Congrats!”

I inhaled as my eyes danced over the words, held my breath for a few seconds, and then exhaled as I threw my phone back onto the bed. Raising my hands to my face, I rubbed my cheeks and forehead, hiding myself behind my fingers. As they fell away, I turned and looked at my one-day-old sleeping daughter in her hospital bassinet.

She looked so peaceful and content. I smiled as I placed my hand on her belly and hoped she would always feel that way.

I knew what I needed to do. I walked back to the table, picked up my pen, and began writing in the boxes.