It had been a few years since my divorce from Tom, and life had settled into a rhythm. I had remarried, started a new chapter with my children, and moved on. That was until I received a call from Tom’s fiancée, Rachel. I had never met her in person, but I knew of her — a woman in her thirties who had been in Tom’s life for about a year now.
Rachel didn’t waste time with pleasantries. She got straight to the point: she demanded that I change my last name back to my maiden name. It was baffling, especially since I had kept my married name after the divorce, primarily for the sake of the children. It had been part of who I was for over a decade, and it felt right to maintain that continuity for their sake.
Rachel’s reasoning was that she and Tom were getting serious, and she felt it would make things less complicated if everyone used their “proper” names. She even mentioned how “awkward” it was for her to introduce me with the same last name as Tom. I was taken aback. The audacity of her request was overwhelming. It wasn’t as if I was flaunting my relationship with Tom — we shared children, and having the same last name made sense for that reason alone.
I thought for a moment. I could easily dismiss her request, tell her it wasn’t her business, and carry on. But in that moment, I decided to take a different route. After all, I had been through a lot in my life and had learned to choose my battles wisely. So, I calmly responded, “I’ll agree to change my last name, but only on one condition.”
Rachel, clearly not expecting any resistance, sounded intrigued. “What condition?” she asked, somewhat condescendingly.
I took a deep breath and said, “If you’re willing to pay for the legal fees. Changing a last name isn’t as simple as just deciding one day. It involves paperwork, fees, and time. So, if you’re asking me to go through all of that, then I think it’s only fair that you cover the costs.”
There was a long silence on the other end of the phone. I could almost hear her processing what I’d said. After what seemed like an eternity, she finally responded, her voice much less confident. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just thought it would make things easier.”
“Well,” I said, “it would make things easier for you, but not for me. If you want me to make this change, it should be a mutual decision that considers my time and effort. If that’s not something you’re willing to accommodate, then I’ll keep my last name. Simple as that.”
The conversation ended shortly after that, with Rachel quietly agreeing to think about it. I never heard from her again on the matter, and to be honest, I didn’t expect to. I wasn’t trying to make things difficult for anyone, but I also wasn’t about to let someone demand a change that didn’t serve my interests.
In the end, I didn’t change my name. It wasn’t about the money or the principle, but about the sense of control I wanted to maintain in my own life. It was a reminder that my choices were mine to make — not dictated by the demands of others.
