Robert showed up in my life during my sophomore year, about six months after Joseph had ghosted me the first time. Hurting from the situation, I began to slowly pull away from dating, but it had an unintended consequence. The more I declined to go out with anyone, the more interested many of them became.
Robert was one of those that became persistent despite my rejections. While I found him attractive, I felt disconnected with dating. I was intent on taking time for myself to figure things out. At least, I had been until Joseph messaged me out of the blue, asking if I could return a book.
He made conversation as if nothing had happened between us romantically, like we were casual friends catching up. I talked to him as if things were fine, but I was furious. He fell off the face of the earth, didn’t contact me for a year, then messaged me to return a paperback? I left the book on his parent’s doorstep, and he stopped messaging me immediately.
That was when I finally agreed to go out with Robert.
While I had originally gone on the date out of spite, not that Joseph cared, I ended up having a genuinely good time with Robert. His over-attention became a counterpoint to Joseph’s absence that made me feel better. He sent flowers, kept tabs on me, showed me off to his friends, and bought me gifts. Somewhere along the line, I convinced myself that his diligent attention was an indication that his affection was greater than Joseph’s was, even though it didn’t feel that way.
It was ironic how Joseph had indirectly played a part in the beginning of my marriage and now was overseeing its dissolution. I stole a glance at Joseph before looking at Robert’s nonchalant face as he skimmed the page.
“For Nyx,” Robert started, scratching his chin in confusion, “I am fine keeping him on my health insurance until he’s twenty-six, but why would I need to agree to cover his school costs? He’s on a full ride scholarship.”
“In the event he’s injured or loses his scholarship for any reason,” I said with a shrug.
Robert rolled his eyes at my worry. I had included it mostly as a protection for Nyx’s tendency to fight with his father. Their relationship was rocky, and Robert leaned into withholding money as a common form of punishment.
“Joint custody for Ethan for the next two years until he turns eighteen,” Robert read aloud, and nodded in agreement.
“You do know,” Joseph interrupted and met my eyes, “with Nyx being nineteen, that if you have joint custody with Ethan, you are not entitled to child support?”
“Yes,” I said steadily, “I am aware.”
“Maybe I should press for full custody,” Robert said in a joking tone, “Finding a place within his school district will probably be out of your budget.” He smiled his fake, charming smile I had seen a thousand times, “then you can pay me child support.”
Joseph sighed and scratched his eyebrow, but as he opened his mouth to speak, I interrupted.
“Only one of us must live in the school boundary for him to keep attending. Besides, Ethan is over the age of thirteen, he could technically choose which parent he wants to be with. I am not against the choice being his.”
“Of course, you’re not,” Robert huffed, “You raised two soft-bellied momma’s boys.”
“I am so sorry,” I started, unable to keep anger out of my voice when it came to my boys. “How unfortunate it is that you are dissatisfied with a son that got into a prestigious university on a full ride wrestling scholarship, and another that is a state champion athlete on a path to become his high school valedictorian.”
My jaw clenched and my eyes seethed at Robert. This is what worried me. Our sons were becoming great men, but Robert always had a certain ideal of what he wanted that they didn’t provide. He wanted to be their hero, but they preferred me. This had been a constant sore spot for him, and I didn’t know if the divorce would fracture things entirely. I needed to make sure that the terms of the divorce protected the boys from being abandoned by their father.
“Relax, Tiffany,” Robert said condescendingly, as he continued to go through the list, “I am prepared to bankroll for them even if you’re their favorite parent. Per your list, I can cover Ethan’s extracurriculars and this custody schedule is fine.”
We made it through the items that I had put there specifically to protect the boys, and now it was time for the area I feared Robert would resist more readily, the things I needed.
“Physical assets are to be given to the intended user of the item. Things that are genuinely shared will be split as evenly as possible with both parties in agreement. If an agreement cannot be reached for certain items, said item is to be sold and the proceeds are to be given to the boys.” Robert sighed and casually spluttered, “Don’t worry Tiff, I’m not going to try and take all your photography swag.”
I went to university for multimedia design but never graduated because we got pregnant with Nyx. A winter cold had me on antibiotics which unknowingly undermined my birth control. I still remember Robert making a move when I was sick, which I resisted, but he assured me that he still loved me even in that state. Back then I thought he was being sweet, but I didn’t believe that anymore.
I went into labor before the beginning of my senior year. Early on, I had hopes of going back to graduate, I had been so close to finishing. However, Robert convinced me that creating work was more important for artists than degrees, so I relented. Throughout our marriage I still created a lot of work as a hobby and acquired almost $30,000 worth of equipment over the past two decades. If I truly wanted to strike out on my own, I would need to keep as much of it as possible.
“Any intimate gifts displaying undressed bodies will be given back to the person whose body is being portrayed. Physical copies turned over, digital files deleted, and ownership fully returned.”
He laughed after he read this, and as he did, I felt my cheeks flush with embarrassment. It may have seemed like a point of pride, but it was the ownership piece that I needed. I had a terabyte of boudoir photoshoot content of myself that could potentially be helpful marketing material if I developed clientele for that kind of work. I did not want Robert coming for me, alleging he had claims on the money I was making due to the images originally being for him.
“Those images lost their luster long ago. I am aware of how outdated they are.”
My lungs tightened at this remark, as if my rib cage had shrunk abruptly, because he was being intentionally cruel. While his critical jabs often rubbed me the wrong way, this one made me feel incredibly small. He didn’t used to be this way, while the initial intensity of his pursuit long evaporated, he had never openly belittled me like this.
“One man’s trash,” I said, staring at the table and pretending to brush invisible dust off the papers in front of me, but I didn’t have the heart to finish the joke.
We didn’t laugh together or genuinely connect after eight years into our marriage. Catastrophe struck and he betrayed me in a very unexpected way. Maybe it wasn’t really a betrayal, but I felt betrayed. From then on, the love I thought we had faded. We respected each other and operated on marital autopilot. Robert and I had even been regularly intimate, until about six months ago, the first sign that the end was coming.
Caught in a moment of sadness, I didn’t realize how long the silence went on, just that when I looked up Joseph had been staring intently at me. He had been rather wooden this whole time, but his eyes had softened and filled with an emotion I couldn’t discern. What an unwelcome witness he was to this experience.
Eventually, I realized the silence from Robert was due to anger. His face was red, and he was staring intently at the paper as it started to crinkle in his grip. Taking a deep breath, I braced myself for the argument that would ensue.
“You want 100% of the revenue earned from the sale of the house?! Absolutely not. That is unreasonable, Tiffany!”
Even Joseph took a deep breath and leaned forward in his chair, ready to tear the request to shreds. “Splitting the revenue 50/50 would be standard and generous,” he said in a calm, factual tone.
Last week, on Valentine’s Day, Robert came home from work with a real estate agent. As the ‘for sale’ sign was being hammered in the front yard, I had come out to furiously ask Robert what was going on. That was when he handed me the divorce papers.
When we moved here two years ago, houses were selling so quickly that the only way to get preference over other offers was to include $250,000 cash as part of the offer. That cash was revenue from two incredibly successful commissions over the years that I had saved. With the current offers we were receiving; I would barely recover the money. If we split it 50/50, I would lose over a hundred thousand dollars.
“In normal situations, I would agree.”
Joseph’s eyes narrowed at me, “What is abnormal about this situation, Mrs. Masterson? You do not have a job and have not contributed to the regular mortgage payments for the two years you have occupied the home. You have no claims on the earned equity.”
“On the contrary,” I began, amusement in my tone, “all the equity we have in the house is because of me. The housing market has cooled since we moved in, so the property value is the same. The first few years of a mortgage places an inordinate amount of the payment towards loan interest, not the principal. His monthly payments have not been happening long enough for it to create any significant equity.”
“So, how did you create this equity?” he asked, curiously.
“She paid the cash down payment when we bought the house,” Robert said, his tone resigned.
“How much?” Joseph asked, pen rolling in between his fingers, ready to jot down the note.
“Quarter of a million.”
Robert shifted uncomfortably in his chair, and Joseph shot him a glare. Apparently, my future ex-husband had failed to mention the most significant financial contribution I made during our marriage.
“Where did you get that kind of money?” Joseph queried casually.
“Is that relevant?” I asked sharply.
“It could be, that amount of money is a bit suspicious for a stay-at-home mother to have.”
“I believe the source of the income was already vetted by the underwriters of our mortgage.”
The corner of his mouth lifted, and his eyes had a bit of a twinkle to them as they quickly glanced at me, the amusement at my adept evasion momentarily visible.
“Let’s move on, Robert and I will need to review this insightful detail along with the other financial requests.”
Robert craned his neck from side to side, then turned his attention back to the paper. His eyebrows drew together, and he flipped it over, greeted by nothing but a blank page.
“Where is the next page, Tiff?”
“There isn’t one.”
Robert’s eyebrows raised in surprise. Joseph leaned back in his chair; his facial expression was that of disapproval.
“That’s all?” Joseph asked, a slight tone of incredulity to his voice, “You are not asking for alimony? Investment stocks? Retirement?”
I was tired of existing as a derivative of my successful husband. The future I created needed to be entirely my own, even if I was getting a late start on it.
I placed my hand on the small stack of papers and turned it around to face the two strikingly similar men sitting across from me. Taking the paper from Robert’s hand, I laid it directly to the side of their proposal.
“This or that, Robert,” I said, gesturing to the documents, “Let me know what you decide.”
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