Chapter 10 - THE TOWNHOUSE HE COULDN'T TAKE
The divorce negotiations were exhausting.
Kyle initially claimed that the townhouse should be sold and the proceeds divided equally.
Meredith reviewed the purchase records, mortgage history, and marital financial contributions.
The situation wasn't as simple as whose name appeared on the deed.
Illinois law required a careful analysis of separate property, marital contributions, and any potential reimbursement claims.
But the records supported my position that I had purchased the property before marriage with my own funds.
Kyle's attorney eventually proposed a settlement.
After several rounds of negotiation, we reached an agreement.
I retained the townhouse.
Kyle received an agreed financial payment resolving his asserted marital claims.
Our joint accounts were divided according to documented contributions and the settlement terms.
The disputed personal expenditures were addressed in the overall financial resolution.
It wasn't the dramatic victory people imagine in stories.
There was no judge banging a gavel and announcing that Kyle deserved nothing.
There were spreadsheets.
Bank statements.
Legal fees.
Compromise.
But when I signed the final property agreement, I felt something powerful.
The house was still mine.
Not because I had defeated Kyle.
Because I had protected something I built before he entered my life.
On the day Kyle collected his remaining belongings, Clara stayed with me.
He moved quietly through the house.
Packed his clothes.
Took his books.
Carried out the espresso machine his parents had given us.
Then he stopped in the doorway.
“You really don't want to try again?”
I looked at him.
“No.”
He swallowed.
“Five years, Ellie.”
I nodded.
“I know.”
“Doesn't that mean anything?”
Tears filled my eyes.
“It means a lot.”
He looked hopeful.
I continued.
“That's why I stayed as long as I did.”
His expression changed.
I took a breath.
“But the years we spent together don't obligate me to spend the rest of my life being hurt.”
Kyle lowered his head.
For a moment, he looked like the man I had married.
Then he picked up his final suitcase.
“Goodbye, Eleanor.”
“Goodbye, Kyle.”
He walked out.
May you like
I closed the door.
And this time, I didn't wait for him to come back.
