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I'm wrapped up in a matching white cashmere coat, cinched at the waist. I’m a tall woman, and Kevin hates that my heels make me the same height as he is. So, today I'm wearing a pair of cognac colored suede Jimmy Choo stilettos—a symbol of my defiant mood.
Armed with my black Chanel handbag, I look good and I know it. My minimal makeup only enhances what I hope is a sophisticated and calm demeanor.
I'm not confident about many things. I know I haven’t made the best decisions in my personal life. But when it comes to my son, there is no equivocation. I'm a good mother, being with me is what’s best for him. I'm not losing him.
I walk into the law firm’s lobby and see my lawyer already waiting. I was relieved when the most highly recommended family lawyer in this suburb of Washington DC was able to take me on as a client.
She was outraged when I told her how infrequently Kevin had seen Anthony in the last few months.
“Millicent, good afternoon,” she greets me as I approach her.
“Abby, hi.” We shake hands, share a small smile, and then sit down.
It’s late afternoon, and we must be the last appointment of the day. The waiting area is empty except for us and them.
Kevin and Rachael are already there with their attorney. It’s galling he brought his girlfriend to this meeting, but my lawyer advised me not to make an issue of it. The mediator would find it odd and petty as well. Any protest I made would just have me getting into the mud with him.
So, I just ignore them.
My lawyer, Abby Quan, is a stunning woman in her late forties. With her sleek fall of black hair cut into a chin length bob, immaculately applied makeup and expertly tailored suit, she looks every inch the high-priced lawyer she is.
She told me she has faced Kevin’s lawyer in court before and that he plays dirty. Thankfully, I don’t have any skeletons in my closet. My one secret is now public fodder and so, I'm ready for whatever Kevin tries to throw at me.
We are called into a conference room and Kevin and Rachael make a show of rushing to walk in ahead of me. I get my first good glimpse at the woman my husband left me for. She is everything I’m not. She's short, curvy, blonde, and young.
She glances at me and smirks as they walk past us into the room. It stings to see them holding hands. Not because I want to be the one holding his hand, but because right now, I hate to see visual proof of his ability to move on.
As I walk into the room with Abby at my side, I push this feeling aside and focus on why I’m here.
When we are seated across the table from each other, I fight my initial inclination to look away when Kevin makes eye contact. I know he wants to intimidate me by trying to appear confident. Well, I’m confident, too.
Our gazes lock and I find myself staring into the eyes of a stranger; someone I don’t know. Maybe I never did. But this cruel, cold man is a far cry from the warm, loving person I married.
I see his stare turn from one of challenge to one of surprise and then discomfort. He looks away abruptly, and Rachael grabs his hand on top of the table.
The mediator comes in, and the meeting begins. Abby has advised me to let her do all the talking and so I do.
It’s infuriating to sit here and listen to his lawyer lie about the “environment” in my home. He calls it distracting and disconcerting for Anthony. He talks about the resurgence of interest in my father’s criminality and says the chaos it has created will negatively impact Anthony.
He argues Anthony needs to be with his father who has a partner and can help create some “balance” in the home. I almost lose my cool at those words. But I hold my tongue. I know what is at stake here.
When Abby begins to present her points, I immediately feel better. She makes a very clear case for Anthony remaining with me. She cites Kevin’s frequent absences even before we were separated and his lack of contact since. She doesn’t mention my father or the recent blow up that surrounds his actions all those years ago. It’s true the press camping outside our house for a few days was stressful for Anthony, but I was there for him and talked him through his confusion.
It becomes clear I'm not willing to concede any points in this matter. And neither is he. He may not be able to look me in the eye any longer, but on this issue, he’s standing firm.
No resolution will be reached today and the mediator asks us to submit our individual proposals to him in writing. He will make a recommendation we could either accept or reject. If we rejected it, we would be cleared to pursue a custody arrangement in court.
Even though this is the outcome I expected, it’s not what I wanted and I feel defeated and tired as we walk out of the office.
Abby and I say our goodbyes and I head to the restroom before I go to my car. Of course, Rachael is there, at the counter reapplying her lipstick, when I walk in.
Being alone with her puts me on edge.
I walk into a stall without acknowledging her as she watches me in the mirror. A smirk plastered on her face.
“He's going to win, you know,” she calls out in a singsong mocking tone as my stall door closes.
I don’t respond.
