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From: HMCTS Divorce Services Subject: Your divorce is now complete Dear Ms. Anna Humphries,

Your decree absolute has been granted and you are now divorced. You can find your certificate of decree absolute attached. This is the final document proving you are now divorced. You will need to show this certificate if you get married again, or should you wish to change your name.

Divorce Services, UK Government

A sudden wave of nausea hits me, and I hold on to the washbasin to steady myself. My legs feel as though they might buckle. Twelve years of marriage dissolved in an email. An email? What did I expect, a scroll delivered on horseback, a town crier? A reverse wedding ceremony where we solemnly retract our vows? I know we live in a digital age, but an e-mail just feels so callous, so cold, so...so woefully inadequate. Did Dan get this e-mail too? How did he feel when he opened it? Relieved? Upset? A confusing combination of the two?

My chin begins to tremble and my eyes start to water. Oh no, please, not now. I've held it together this far, I can't fall apart now, at my son's school. I knew this was coming, of course I did, but I didn't expect it to happen like this. I'll need to change my name, apply for a new passport, I'll have to tick a different box on forms now...No, no, don't let your mind spiral, Anna. Just go back to the classroom, finish reading the stupid book, then you can go home and digest this in private.

Below the e-mail from the government is a new message from Dan. Maybe he got the same communication and feels strange about it too. Clicking it open, I see it's just one line: Can you show these to the kids so they can see what I'm up to? D. He's currently on holiday in South America, climbing Machu Picchu, the "trip of a lifetime." He's attached  photos of  himself looking tanned and happy, standing beneath bright blue skies with the Incan citadel in the background. So no, he's not feeling sick about the divorce email, he's having a lovely time enjoying his newfound freedom. I always wanted to see Machu Picchu. It's number three on my bucket list, it wasn't even in Dan's top ten.

Looking at the photo of my ex, I am hit with a sudden pang of nostalgia for the Dan I used to know. The Dan I fell in love with at university, who held my hand beneath the table at a pub quiz, who liked me wearing his rugby shirts so they'd smell of me, who first kissed me in the rain outside a lecture theater at nine in the morning, then as I walked away up the steps called after me, "Anna Appleby, I'm going to marry you one day." Pushing my phone to the bottom of my bag, I splash my face with cold water and head back to the clamor of the classroom.

The vomit has been cleaned up, Jason sent to the school nurse, and Mrs. Hollybush is full of apologies. But I can't hear what she's saying, because a ringing has started in my ears. My head is pounding, my skin feels clammy and hot. A child thrusts the storybook back into my hands, the teacher claps the children into zipped-up silence, I let out a long, slow exhale through pursed lips. But as I look down, the words swim in front of my eyes. " 'The prince carried the fair maiden out of the enchanted castle, and they rode off into the sunset. They were married in a beautiful wedding and lived happily'...happily..." I pause; my throat feels parched. I can't finish the sentence.

"Happily ever after?" little Isla suggests as the room begins to sway.

"Maybe," I mutter beneath my breath. Looking down at the illustration of the fairy-tale wedding, a mental corset pings open. "Or maybe there's no such thing as happily ever after. Maybe they had a good few years of being happy, then they slowly drifted apart, argued about who left crisp packets in the carriage and dirty washing all over the turret floor. Maybe the prince got really into triathlon training and left the princess at home with the kids every weekend. Then one day they realized they were lonely in each other's company and that they didn't love each other anymore." The children look up at me in confusion, and Mrs. Hollybush—eye twitching faster—lets out a burst of nervous laughter. I stand up from my tiny chair and hold the book aloft. "Maybe these kinds of stories are perpetuating a damaging narrative of a woman needing to be rescued by a man, telling little girls that getting married is the goal, that life will make sense once they're in love. But it's a lie, because everything ends, even the greatest love stories." Then I start ripping the pages out of the book, throwing them like confetti around the classroom. "Maybe the maiden was happy with her dragon, maybe she didn't want to leave her nice, safe turret. Maybe the prince was a jerk!" The children squeal with delight and shock, and Mrs. Hollybush claps her hands, attempting to restore order, but this time it doesn't work. They leap around the room trying to catch the torn pages.

"Smash the patriarchy!" I cry.

"Smash the patriarchy!" the children repeat, wild with glee.