Unhinge - Calia Read Page 0,86

a Norman Rockwell painting.

“Mrs. Donovan?” His eyes veered between Renee and me, unsure of which of us was her. I turned my head and nodded, smiling weakly. “Come with me,” he said. “I’m Mr. Randall.”

Before I walked away, I turned back to Renee. She was still flipping through the glossy pages. She looked up at me. “What?”

“Come on.”

She lowered the magazine. “You want me to go with you?”

“You didn’t come all the way here just to sit in the waiting room, did you?”

She shrugged and grabbed her purse from the floor. Mr. Randall merely raised a brow as we walked through his doors.

Whether it’s a therapist, lawyer, doctor, or businessman, they all have one thing in common: their offices. Those large, imposing desks. Degrees mounted on the wall. A couple of bookshelves. It is always the same.

Mr. Randall’s office was no exception.

He held out a hand. “Doug.”

I shook his hand. “Victoria. This is my friend Renee.”

“It’s great to meet you both. Please have a seat.”

I sat down across from him. Renee took another chair, slightly to the side. Shafts of sunlight peeked through the blinds and made precise lines on the floor. I wanted nothing more than to be outside and miles away from this place. But I came this far. I had to finish this.

“What can I do for you?”

“I want a divorce,” I rushed out. I expected to feel better, but the words had a bad taste. I wanted to vomit.

He nodded his head, looking completely nonplussed. “All right. First, let’s get down the basic information.”

I nodded hesitantly. I shot a glance at Renee but she was in the dark as much as me.

“Full name?”

“Victoria Isabel Donovan.”

“Maiden name?”

“Aldridge.”

“Date of birth?”

And so the questions continued. I answered each one, expecting my nerves to calm down, but that didn’t happen.

“And what’s the name of your husband?”

“Wesley Donovan.”

Mr. Randall glanced up from his legal pad. He took off his glasses and sighed. “Well, this changes things.”

“How so?” Renee asked, anger creeping into her words.

Mr. Randall answered Renee’s question but kept his eyes on me. My hands curled around the edge of the chair. I already knew what he was going to say. “I know of your husband, Mrs. Donovan. He’s very…cutthroat in the courtroom.”

Renee snorted underneath her breath.

Mr. Randall shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “How many years have you been married?”

“Two and a half.”

“And is there any way that counseling will help you?”

“No.”

“Do the two of you have any children together?”

“No.”

“Assets?”

“Yes.”

“What’s with the twenty questions?” Renee blurted out.

I knew that this was part of the process, but Renee didn’t. She looked shocked and pissed-off.

“These questions are standard. I need to go in knowing as much information as I can.”

Renee sat back and gave him a brief nod.

Mr. Randall glanced at me with his sad blue eyes. “If you are to petition for divorce, seeking damages, spousal support, etc., there’s a good chance that he will fight back. He’s cunning enough to make sure you walk away with nothing.”

“I know that.”

“Again, I’m not trying to discourage you. I think it’s fair that I be up front in the very beginning about this process. It’s not easy. In a perfect scenario you file. It’s an uncontested divorce. You go to mediation. You sort everything out and the paperwork is filed. Now, that’s most cases. But sometimes it can get ugly. Very ugly. You need to be prepared.”

I nodded.

The look on his face showed that he was doubtful. He cleared his throat. “What are the grounds for divorce?”

“I want it to be uncontested.”

There was my journal and the pictures of that mystery woman that could back me up if I decided to fight, but all I wanted was to leave this marriage and move on.

“Have there been domestic disputes?”

I hesitated and he pounced on my silence like a lion. “Please be honest.”

Both he and Renee stared at me and I felt myself caving in. “Yes.”

“Is there proof? Have you ever called the police? Filed a report?”

“There’s proof, but I don’t want to make this difficult. I just want to cut ties with him once and for all.”

“I understand that,” Mr. Randall replied patiently. “But it might not go as you’ve planned.”

I took a deep breath and stared out the window. A long silence followed.

“Do you still want to move forward?” he asked gently.

I swallowed loudly, staring at the kind man in front of me. “Yes.”

Mr. Randall looked surprised by my answer. He dropped his pen and stood up from his desk. “Very well.”

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