My Husband's Divorce Attorney

Chapter 3

Robert showed up in my life during my sophomore year, about six months after Joseph had ghosted me the first time. Still hurting, I slowly pulled away from dating, but it had an unintended consequence. The more I declined to go out with anyone, the more interested my suitors became.

Robert was one of those who became persistent despite my rejections. While I found him attractive, I felt disconnected from dating. I was intent on taking time for myself to sort through my feelings. At least, I had been until Joseph messaged me out of the blue, asking if I could return the book I’d borrowed.

His contact information had been deleted from my phone for months, but my brain immediately recognized the unknown number when he messaged me. Getting a message at 10:15 pm on a Saturday night, from an ex-boyfriend, had ‘booty call’ written all over it.

But that’s not what it was.

He made conversation as if nothing had happened between us romantically, as if 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 parents’ 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 felt wonderful in contrast to Joseph’s absence. 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 proved that his affection was greater than Joseph’s, even though it didn’t feel that way.

It occurred to me as I sat across from him at the meeting table, how ironic it was that 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 my page of demands.

In truth, most of my demands weren’t about me, they were about our sons. Ensuring Nyx and Ethan made it through this experience with their futures unscathed was vital to me. I was going to be too poor to support them the way they deserved.

–Robert must continue to provide health insurance for both sons.

–Robert must cover all education expenses incurred by the both sons.

–Robert must cover the expenses for up to four extra-curricular programs for both sons.

“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 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 protection against 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, “that since Nyx is nineteen, joint custody of Ethan would mean you are not entitled to child support?”

“Yes,” I said steadily, “I am aware.”

“Maybe I should press for full custody,” Robert joked, “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, so 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 the anger out of my voice when it came to my boys. “How unfortunate it is that you are dissatisfied with a son who got into a prestigious university on a full-ride wrestling scholarship and another who 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 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, and both parties will be 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 to study multimedia design but never graduated because we got pregnant with Nyx. A winter cold had me on antibiotics, which undermined my birth control without my knowing. I still remember Robert coaxing me to be intimate 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 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 created a handful of surprisingly successful art installations as a hobby and acquired almost $30,000 worth of equipment. 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 because the images were originally for him.

“Those images lost their luster long ago. I am aware of how outdated they are.”

My lungs tightened as if my rib cage had abruptly collapsed. 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 use to be this way; while the initial intensity of his pursuit had 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.

Joseph had been sitting with his hand covering his mouth for most of the meeting. As my words tapered off, he shifted uncomfortably, his hand falling away as he looked at me. Just like when he had looked at me in the foyer, all other distractions in the room evaporated away as he stared at me.

Making me feel suddenly too seen.

Having a man I cared for witnessing my husband’s open rejection of me was too much. Water began to collect in my eyes and I was forced to look away, examining the surface of the table until I could get control over myself.

I didn’t want to cry here.

Not in front of Joseph, and not over Robert.

He wasn’t worth my tears.

We hadn’t laughed together or genuinely connected since an awful day eight years into our marriage. Catastrophe struck, and he betrayed me. Or 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.

Because I was caught in a moment of sadness, I didn’t realize how long the silence went on. I looked up and Joseph was 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.

Then I realized the silence from Robert was due to anger. His face was red, and he stared intently at the paper as it crinkled 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 had come home from work with a real estate agent. As the ‘for sale’ sign was hammered into the front yard, I came 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 place 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 expression was that of disapproval.

“That’s all?” Joseph asked, a slight tone of incredulity in 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.”

Each man across from me had a vastly different reaction to this statement. Robert’s face briefly shifted to glee, looking like he’d won the lottery. With all I could have taken from him, maybe he had.

But Joseph–

He was momentarily possessed with an expression of fear. Terrified concern filled his eyes, and the intensity of it made my stomach knot up.

What was Joseph so afraid of?