He got through it with that newfound, almost arrogant, confidence.
“I've thought about it,” he said, checking his phone. “We can draw up a formal document. To clarify the 50/50 split.”
“Perfect,” I replied without looking up.
My tone surprised him. There were no tears. There were no complaints.
That disconcerted him more than any other argument.
I made three phone calls during the day.
The first letter was addressed to a lawyer I hadn't seen in years.
The second to the accountant who ran our company.
The third to the bank.
I didn't mention divorce.
I talked about an asset review.
Because dividing everything meant opening everything up.
And opening everything meant exposing things he preferred to keep hidden.
That evening I waited for him in the dining room.
Not with dinner.
With the blue folder on the table.
He came in, left his keys, and looked at me.
“What is it?”
“Our division,” I replied calmly.
He sat across from me, with a confident smile.
“Good.” I like that we're adults.
