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May 11 • 16 tweets • 10 min read
Part 5 🍿
(Final)
The divorce took five months.
That sounds fast unless you are the person living inside it. Then, five months is long enough to age a year every week.
May was depositions.
June was financial discovery.
July was custody evaluation reports, attorney letters, and Paige trying three different emotional strategies in the parking lot after exchanges. First, she was sorry. Then she was angry. Then she was nostalgic.
“Do you remember Cape Charles?” she asked once, standing beside her car while Ryland buckled Odette into her booster seat.
I remembered.
A cheap rental cottage. Sand in the bedsheets. Odette still a baby. Paige standing at the stove making pancakes while I held coffee in one hand and a crying child in the other. Sunlight on her neck. The smell of sunscreen and bacon.
“I remember,” I said.
“We were happy there.”
“Yes.”
“Doesn’t that matter?”
“It mattered then.”
Her face hardened.
“That’s cold.”
“No,” I said. “Cold was sending me heart emojis from another man’s dinner table.”
She had no answer for that.
The financial part was uglier than I expected. Boone and a forensic accountant named Marla Chen traced every payment from Mercer Advisory LLC. Fifteen thousand a month, coded as “consulting.” No deliverables. No invoices. No legitimate business work Paige could explain without folding herself into knots.
The money was marital.
May 11 • 14 tweets • 7 min read
My cheating wife texted me: “I’m stuck at work. Happy 10th anniversary, babe.” But I was sitting two tables away in the same restaurant, watching her lean across the table and kiss her millionaire boss. Just as I stood up to confront them, a strange woman grabbed my arm and whispered, “Stay calm. The real show’s about to start.”
...
The text came in at 6: 32 p.m. on March 15, 2024, while I was sitting in my truck outside Bastion’s, a French-American restaurant on East Cary Street in Richmond.
I still remember the blue glow of my phone lighting up the steering wheel.
I’m stuck at work. Big deadline. I’m so sorry, babe. Happy 10th anniversary. I’ll make it up to you this weekend. Love you.
Then came three little hearts and a kiss-face emoji.
