"Why are you still that?" she asked, her finger resting on my last name. It was the first question she'd asked in over four years that even broached upon the subject of my divorce.
"That's who I am," I said simply, then paused. "I wasn't the same person, and couldn't go back to that name that represented someone else."
"You just don't like us anymore," she half-laughed, doing that "I'm-pretending-to-joke-so-the-truth-doesn't-hurt-so-bad" thing.
"No," I answered, (though this was only a partial, very complicated truth). "It's just that...that girl is gone. She is not here anymore. This name is who I am."
"Oh, well, most women go back to their maiden names, unless they have children."
And then, the conversation fizzled out as we both pretended to look for the information in Box D.
Sigh. Four years. One question. Zero closure. But who's counting...