My Husband's Divorce Attorney

Chapter 4

Now that the options were literally on the table, I stood up to leave. I desperately did not want to go before Robert agreed to my terms, but this was a calculated move. He was prone to risk-taking when he was rushed.

Both men sat in silence as I grabbed my bag and casually slung it onto my shoulder. I wasn’t looking at them but felt their gazes as I turned to walk towards the door, which made me want to run out of the room. I stepped slowly to give Robert more time to stop me, but I didn’t want it to be obvious I was trying to linger.

“Wait!” Robert’s voice called as I was passing through the door. I halted and turned to face him, grateful he hadn’t let me leave. Mindlessly sliding the single sheet of paper back and forth across the surface of the table, he looked at me and shrugged. “I accept.”

Relieved by his acceptance, I leaned against the door frame and crossed my arms, trying to arrange my features in the most neutral face I could before I looked at Joseph. Thankfully, his face no longer held the fearful expression it had.

“What is the process from here, Mr. Kavinsky?” I asked.

“I will submit the divorce request and the terms that have been agreed on,” he began cautiously, holding my gaze, “but the state requires a ninety-day waiting period before the divorce can be finalized. During this time, the existing terms can be modified without penalty, but after ninety days, any changes will require us to start over. Once the waiting period is over, we can file the state-approved form to finalize the divorce.”

“Is this meeting done then?” I asked, ready to get out of the room with these two men.

Joseph’s breathing was measured, and he just stared at me as if trying to will me back into my seat. The longer he looked at me, the more desperate I was to go.

“I can take it from here,” he said as he broke eye contact and looked out the window.

His eyes being elsewhere seemed to free me from my panicked need to flee. My gaze shifted to Robert, who was visibly trying to hide his satisfaction. I knew he would be thrilled about the terms if he could manage not to be suspicious about them.

“Robert, will you be home for dinner?”

“I have plans to take the boys out to talk about things,” he said, the optimism falling from his face at the mention of our sons.

“Good luck,” I said with a chuckle as I turned to leave.

Nyx and Ethan had been furious at their father about the divorce. I tried not to fuel their anger, as I had long anticipated this event, but he was right about them being momma’s boys. They would need more time before they saw the situation for what it was. Accepting that their parents weren’t happy together and that they would be better apart would take more than a single dinner.

The secretary didn’t even look up from her coffee as I left the office, probably accustomed to dramatic exits and angry spouses. Making my way towards the stairwell, I did feel a bit lighter, knowing that what I had done what I needed to do. Not that I truly expected Robert to decline. I was asking for a lot upfront but relatively little in the grand scheme of things. Anxiety ate away at my mind, though.

Reaching the door to the stairwell, I turned to look back at the closed office door. My mind was morbidly curious as to what Robert and Joseph might be saying about me, making the ache in my chest rise and my breath catch. I pushed the thoughts away before the emotions made their way to my tear ducts, and I threw open the door to start down the stairs. I had almost reached the second floor when I heard the door above me swing open.

“Tiffy, wait!” a voice called, followed by the sound of rushed footsteps.

The old nickname made me freeze on the steps. Only a few people had ever consistently referred to me that way. However, I stopped letting anyone refer to me as Tiffy years ago, telling everyone I preferred Tiff instead. It was one of the many ways I tried to bury my memories of Joseph.

Hearing him say it made my arms prickle, and I was grateful for the long sleeves.

Joseph ran down the stairs towards me, then stopped a few steps above. He looked a bit panicked, and shallow breaths made his chest heave slightly.

“What are you doing?” he asked. His voice was laced with disapproval, and it made me bristle.

“You said the mediation was over, so I am leaving,” I snapped.

Joseph opened his mouth and raised his hands as if ready to hand me something important, but then his shoulders drooped and his hands fell down to his sides, lifeless. It appeared as if he were rebooting, like he needed to restart this conversation.

“For the twelve years I’ve been doing this, I am usually preventing wives from asking for too much. It’s my specialty, sort of.”

“But you are asking for far too little.” His words started coming out faster and faster, frustration seeming to seep into them. “Do not agree to those terms. Go get a damn attorney; we can have another mediation. I can submit new terms before the waiting period is over. This is madness. This—”

His voice trailed off. He stared at me, eyes full of concern.

Bitterness filled my gut and lurched up my throat. I had to swallow it back and steel myself against the barrage of anger that his concern sparked in me.

Once upon a time his unsolicited advice would have been welcome, but that ended twenty-two years ago. Now this was just another man’s opinion of my choices, and I had no need for that.

“It is not very professional of you to act in direct opposition to what is best for your client.”

My voice was a low, condemning tone. A dark whisper that made him take another step towards me, the gap between us shrinking, and my neck craned up to look at him.

“You never finished school, and you haven’t had steady work for two decades,” he began, with a tone so soothing that I was almost disarmed by his words. “Don’t turn away assistance that you need to get yourself started. It is unwise.”

His assessment was accurate, earnest, and helpful; that is precisely why it made me furious. How dare this ghost know such vulnerable details about my life? It was infuriating and offensive that he, who was once my closest friend and also the person who consistently abandoned me, would show up after decades of silence to bear witness to my painful truths.

Bitter anger filled me, and I climbed the stairs past him then turned to face him. Standing one step above him and wearing high heels put my eyes at his level. I was so close that I could smell his cologne, and it was achingly familiar. His hazel eyes looked apprehensive and shifted nervously at my proximity.

“Joey,” I whispered, the old nickname falling from my lips with more familiarity and warmth than I intended. At the sound of the old name, the tension in his jaw and lips softened.

During the brief texting contact we had during my marriage, he told me that he went by “Joseph” for professional reasons. I might be the only person who knew him by this name now. That was why I used it; I wanted to drive my next point home.

Maintaining eye contact, I leaned in ever so slightly and said, “I have no need for pity from a stranger.”

The tightness returned to his jaw, and he leaned away, but I had already turned to descend the stairs. My shoulder brushed against his as I passed, and the electricity I felt generated a dissonance of desire and irritation in my stomach. I listened for him to head back up to the third floor, but no sound came. I exited the stairwell. Even after all these years, the ghost and his silence continued to impress.

I thought having a turn walking away from Joseph might feel good. It was his turn to be abandoned. However, it didn’t make me feel good; I just felt empty. Maybe it was because I knew we’d see each other again. In ninety days, I would have to meet him and Robert to finalize the divorce. Once it was over, maybe then walking away would feel better.

Until then, I needed to focus on getting my life back in order. The next step was the meeting I had scheduled one street over, and it was the thread of hope I needed to weave my new life. An unexpected gift was waiting for me, and I was desperate to know what the dapper widower had in store for me.

My next meeting was a short walk away, and I had intended to leave my car parked here. But the fear of running into Joseph when I returned was too palpable to ignore. Besides, my feet were dying in these heels. When I reached the car, I finally stopped to look at the difficult parking job I had undergone just before the last meeting.

Crooked.

All that shifting around and second-guessing, and it was still crooked.

How fucking poetic.