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Her office is small but not cramped, a desk with a computer, a bookshelf filled with actual books rather than decorative objects, and a small round table with two chairs set off to the side that immediately distinguishes her from every other lawyer I’ve met. A conversation table.

“Please,” she says, gesturing to one of the chairs. “Sit wherever you’re comfortable.”

I choose the table, setting my bag on the floor beside me. Clara takes the chair across from me, her posture relaxed but attentive, and waits, not rushing to fill the silence or steering the conversation, just giving me the space to begin.

“I’m getting a divorce,” I say, the words coming out more evenly than I expected. “My husband has been cheating on me since I was pregnant with our twins. They’re five months old now.”

Clara nods, her expression neutral but focused. “I’m sorry,” she says, the words simple and genuine. “That must be very difficult.”

It’s such a normal response, not dismissive, just the acknowledgment that what I’m describing is actually hard, that for a second, I don’t know what to say. Then I reach into my bag and pull out my phone.

“I have evidence,” I say, opening the locked folder and sliding the phone across the table. “Screen recordings of the messages. Photos. Dates and times. It’s all there.”

Clara picks up the phone, puts her glasses on, and begins to scroll. She doesn’t gasp or exclaim or make any of the dramatic reactions the previous lawyer seemed to think were appropriate. She just looks carefully, thoroughly, her expression changing slightly when she reaches the messages from the NICU but never tipping into the shock that made my stomach turn last time.

It takes nearly three minutes. Three minutes of silence while I watch her hands, capable hands with short, clean nails and a single silver ring on her right index finger, move through the evidence of my husband’s betrayal. Three minutes of waiting while she sees what Daniel has done, the full scope of his lies laid out in timestamps and usernames and explicit photos.

Finally, she sets the phone down and looks at me directly. “This is thorough,” she says, her voice matter of fact. “You’ve done well.”

Six words. That’s all. But they settle into the space behind my ribs with a weight I wasn’t expecting. You’ve done well. Not “this is compelling” or “that’s fascinating” or any of the other responses that made me feel like an exhibit in a particularly juicy true crime podcast. Just acknowledgement that I’ve handled an impossible situation with competence. That I’ve done something right.

“Thank you,” I say, my voice slightly unsteady.

Clara nods, then reaches for a notepad on the desk. “I’d like to ask you some questions,” she says. “About your situation, your children, your goals for this process. Would that be alright?”

The consultation that follows is nothing like the previous two. Clara asks specific, relevant questions, about the timeline of Daniel’s infidelity, about the twins’ custody routine, about his work schedule and financial contributions to the household. She listens to each answer fully before responding, her eyes on my face rather than her notepad. She takes notes, but they’re brief, dates, names, key details.

When she outlines her advice, she doesn’t soften it into uselessness or dress it up in legal jargon. “Do not leave the family home,” she says, her voice direct. “Regardless of how difficult it becomes. Leaving voluntarily complicates things and can be interpreted as abandonment of the marital residence.”

“I won’t,” I say, the words coming out harsher than I intended. “He doesn’t get to push me out.”

Something that might be approval flickers across Clara’s face. “Good,” she says. “That’s right. Second, do not confront him. Not yet. The moment he knows you’re aware of what he has done, he could start making his own moves. The less he knows about what you know, the better your position.”

This is essentially what Adrian told me, but hearing it from Clara, from someone who’s actually going to help me navigate this process, makes it feel more real. More possible.

“Third,” she continues, “continue documenting his behaviour and his involvement with Maisie and Milo. Dates, times, specific interactions, anything that establishes a pattern of his presence or absence in their lives. The screen recordings are excellent. If you notice anything else, changes in his behaviour, unexplained absences, money moving between accounts, make a note of it. We need to review your joint accounts as well. If he has used joint funds for his escapades it will need to be noted.”

I nod, making mental notes of my own. “What happens if he finds out before I’m ready?” I ask. “If he checks his phone and realizes I’ve seen the messages?”

“Then we adapt,” Clara says, without hesitation. “We’d move immediately to filing for divorce and requesting temporary orders regarding the children and the marital home. It wouldn’t be ideal, but it’s not a disaster. The evidence you’ve gathered puts you in a strong position regardless of when we begin the process.”

It’s not the guarantee I was hoping for, but it’s something, a plan, a path forward, a recognition that whatever happens, I’m not starting from nowhere.

“What about custody?” I ask, the question that’s been sitting in my chest since Sunday. “The twins are only five months old. I’m their primary caregiver… but Daniel is on their birth certificates. What happens if he tries to take them?”

“The court will rule in what's best for the children,” Clara says, her voice measured. “At this age, and with you as their primary caregiver, it’s extremely unlikely that a judge would order custody to their father. We’d be looking at a plan that begins with supervised visits and progresses to overnight stays as they grow older.”

Relief washes through me, so intense it’s almost physical. “And the NICU evidence?” I press. “Does that make a difference? The fact that he was arranging hookups while they were fighting to stay alive?”

Clara considers this for a moment, her head tilted slightly. “It establishes a pattern of behaviour,” she says carefully. “A judge will consider the character of both parents when making custody decisions. The fact that Daniel prioritized his extracurricular activities over his children’s health speaks to his judgment and his priorities. It won’t be the only factor, but it will be a significant one.”

It’s not a promise. But it’s honest, a straightforward assessment of how the evidence I’ve gathered might actually help my case rather than just providing entertainment value for strangers.

By the time Clara finishes explaining the next steps, the petition, the financial disclosure, the timeline for a response, something has settled in my chest. Not happiness, not relief, but the first recognizable version of control I’ve felt since that Sunday morning on the couch with Daniel’s phone. This is happening. Whatever comes next, I am slightly more prepared than I was yesterday.

“Thank you,” I say as I stand to leave.

Clara nods, her expression matter of fact. “You’re welcome,” she says, and then, with perfect timing, the receptionist appears in the doorway.