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At the time of this decree the extracurricular activities Amelie participates in are as follows: Dance. Foreign Language Club. Soccer. These expenses will be covered by Mr. Ashford. Any changes to activities will require Mr. Ashford’s approval. If Mrs. Ashford wishes to add an activity, it will be at her expense.
The residence in Beaumont, as well as the private medical practice will remain with Mr. Ashford. Within one year from the date of the dissolution of marriage, Mr. Ashford will refinance the home and bequeath one-third of the profits to Mrs. Ashford. The remainder will go into a trust for the minor children.
After a while, the words blur. I can’t believe this is what my marriage comes down to—words on a piece of paper—dictating what I’m going to pay so Amelie isn’t struggling. It’s a crap shoot that Aubrey’s going to sign this. Something tells me she wants money. Aubrey wants a divorce, not a trial. A judge here can only issue spousal maintenance. My lawyer is banking on Aubrey signing and walking away.
I’m not sure if I expect her to fight me for custody. I don’t want Amelie staying with Aubrey for the foreseeable future, but I will listen to what my daughter wants. After all, her happiness is what’s important here. I am willing to concede and let Amelie stay as long as she wants. Last week, she didn’t want to stay. This week, she does. I expect she’ll change her mind again, and again.
The entire thing makes me sick. I hate that my family is torn apart, that I failed at keeping it together. It’s the worst feeling in the world, hearing your wife tell you she wants a divorce. What’s worse is the way she looked at me when she said it. Any love I thought we shared was gone. The thing is, I don’t know where it went because weeks ago, she told me she wanted things to work between us.
What changed?
I close my laptop, turn off the television and make my way into the small bedroom that’ll be mine until I either find another place or my contract ends. Part of me is willing to suck it up. I’m only here to sleep and I don’t need much so I’ll put up with the twin bed that’s situated in the far corner. Amelie, however, deserves a better place to live in. Then again, Aubrey wanted her to live in a village. The divorce decree will prevent that.
Outside, lights shine into my window from people coming and going. I stare at the ceiling. There are patches of plaster. Holes filled in, but not sanded or painted. Just globs of white cement all over the ceiling, waiting to fall down on an unsuspecting sleeping man. Sort of like my life.
* * *
After work,I head to the mediator’s office. I’m not sure how my attorney found this place, but they are willing to be the go between with my lawyer. With my hand poised on the door handle, I glance across the street and come to a sudden stop. My wife is there, in the arms of another man. He hooks some of her hair behind her ear and stares down at her tenderly. When he leans down and kisses her, every part of me is torn. Do I say something or ignore it?
I say nothing as I walk into the office. She doesn’t want me, and I shouldn’t care. Except I do because I want to know how long she has been with this man. From what I saw, they looked comfortable with each other, and people who just started dating don’t normally express themselves with a lip lock on the street. They don’t engage in PDA or give loving looks to each other. Not to mention, it’s been a week since we called it quits for good. Did she really move on this fast? I’m trying not to let what I saw sting, but it does. I am only human after all.
Aubrey walks in, straightening her hair as she comes toward me. Her lips are red, and I know it’s from being kissed. I’ve seen them enough to know. She sits next to me and has the nerve to smile. I smirk and think about when it’ll be the perfect time to bring up what I saw.
The mediator calls us into the small, cramped office. It’s too close for comfort and I want the door to stay open for air flow and a quick escape when Aubrey starts with her crocodile tears.
“I’m assuming you’ve looked over the decree?” the mediator asks.
I nod and Aubrey sighs.
“Yes, and it’s not okay,” she says. “I need spousal maintenance. I haven’t worked much during the marriage and don’t have any assets.”
The mediator nods.
“You have a job that pays you two thousand a month, no bills, and I’m paying your rent.”
“So?”
“Okay, the alternative is I don’t pay your rent and you can have it in spousal maintenance.”
“You’re only willing to pay as long as Amelie is living here.”
I shrug. “And I’m going to refinance the house. You get one-third of the profits.” A house she paid absolutely nothing for because when she was working, she sent her money to her parents. I never told her otherwise because I knew it was important to her.
“Maybe there’s another solution?” the mediator asked.
“There has to be,” Aubrey says. “I have to have income to live.”
“You keep one hundred percent of your earnings, Aubrey. I’m paying for everything for the kids. Healthcare, education, extracurricular activities, and a caregiver, which wouldn’t be needed if we were living back in the states.”
She looks at the mediator as if they should say something. The settlement is more than generous considering the circumstances.
“You just want to be back there because of Josie,” she mumbles. I don’t know if she didn’t expect me to hear her or what, but I did and use it as an opening.
“Who is the man I saw you kissing?”
Aubrey looks at me with fake confusion on her face.
“Don’t, Aubrey. I saw you across the street. It wasn’t some friendly peck on the cheek. Who is he and how long have you been seeing him?”
