My Husband’s Best Friend Toasted To Me As “The Temporary One” At Our 3rd Anniversary Dinner. I Just Found The “Future Plans” Folder For His Ex In His Locked Desk. How Do I Get My Revenge?
The Lawyer
Wednesday afternoon I meet Miles Carver at his office in a building downtown. He’s younger than I expected, maybe 40 with dark hair going gray at the temples. His office has floor-to-ceiling windows and modern furniture that looks expensive. I sit in a leather chair across from his desk and pull out the folder of documents I brought.
Emails between David and Natalie. The lease agreements for both apartments. Bank statements showing the secret account. The timeline David made for his transition planning. Miles goes through everything slowly. He makes notes on a legal pad. He asks questions about when I discovered each piece of information. He asks about our assets and debts. He asks if we have kids. No kids. No house; we rent. Two cars, both paid off.
After an hour, he sets down his pen and looks at me.
“This is actually a fairly straightforward case. No children, no property, clear evidence of intent to end the marriage.”
He taps the folder.
“Texas is a no-fault divorce state, which means we don’t need to prove wrongdoing to get you divorced. But this evidence will definitely help with property division.”
I feel something loosen in my chest. Straightforward. That’s good. That means this can be over relatively quickly. Miles explains the process: filing the petition, serving David with papers, waiting periods, negotiation or mediation, possibly court if we can’t agree on division of assets. He says most cases settle before going to trial. He says based on what I’ve shown him, I have a strong position for negotiating a fair settlement.
Miles leans back in his chair and asks if I want to pursue anything regarding emotional distress or public humiliation. He mentions the anniversary dinner and how Lucas revealed everything in front of multiple witnesses.
“We could argue for additional compensation based on the intentional infliction of emotional distress. The fact that he humiliated you publicly in front of family and friends, that he deceived you for the entire marriage—that adds up.”
I think about it. I think about standing up in court and describing how Lucas called me temporary. I think about David’s lawyer arguing that I’m exaggerating or being vindictive. I think about months of depositions and hearings and having to relive the worst night of my life over and over.
“I just want out.”
Miles nods.
“That’s completely valid. A clean break is often better for your mental health than a prolonged legal battle.”
He makes another note.
“We’ll focus on fair division of assets and getting this done as efficiently as possible.”
I sign the retainer agreement. Miles says he’ll file the petition this week. He says David will be served with papers probably by next Monday. He says to expect David to contact me and to not engage with him directly. Everything should go through the lawyers now. I leave his office feeling lighter and heavier at the same time. Lighter because I have a plan. Heavier because signing those papers made it real. I’m actually getting divorced. My marriage is actually ending.
I walk back to my car and sit in the driver’s seat for 10 minutes before I can make myself turn the key.
Therapy
I drive to Kelani Schwarz’s office on Thursday morning and sit in the parking lot for 15 minutes trying to make myself go inside. The building is a converted house with a small sign that says “Counseling Services,” and I keep thinking about how I never imagined needing a therapist to help me survive my marriage ending.
I finally walk up the steps, and a receptionist checks me in, then leads me to a small room with soft lighting and comfortable chairs. Kelani comes in a minute later, and she’s younger than I expected with kind eyes and a calm voice that makes me want to cry before she even says anything. She asks me to tell her what brought me here, and I start explaining about the anniversary dinner and Lucas calling me temporary and finding all the evidence in David’s office.
Halfway through, I’m crying so hard I can barely talk, and Kelani just hands me tissues and waits patiently while I try to pull myself together. She tells me everything I’m feeling is completely valid and normal and that discovering your spouse has been planning to leave you for years is traumatic. Hearing her say the word “traumatic” makes me cry harder because it feels like permission to fall apart.
We spend the rest of the session with me crying and her asking gentle questions about how I’m sleeping and eating and whether i have support from friends and family. When the hour ends, she schedules me for twice a week and says, “We’ll work through this together at whatever pace you need.”
The next session, Kelani asks me what I want my life to look like in 6 months, and I realize I have absolutely no idea. I sit there staring at her, trying to come up with an answer, but my mind is completely blank. She asks what kind of apartment I want to live in, and I don’t know. She asks what I like to do on weekends, and I can’t remember.
For three years, I built my life around David’s schedule and preferences, and now I can’t even remember what I enjoyed before I met him. Kelani writes something in her notebook and tells me that’s actually very common in relationships where one person’s needs dominate everything.
She says, “Part of our work together will be helping you rediscover who you are separate from being David’s wife.”
The idea sounds good but also scary. Because what if I don’t like who I am without him? What if being “temporary” was the most interesting thing about me?
