Chapter 8 - THE DIVORCE
Our divorce became final eighteen months after Cora was born.
No courtroom ambush.
No surprise billionaire inheritance.
No judge awarding me everything because Julian cheated.
Reality was slower.
More precise.
Hartwell and the Hart Trust remained separate.
They had been structured that way long before the marriage.
Julian did not get half the trust.
I did not get half of Vance Capital.
Marital assets accumulated during six years were divided under our settlement.
Our jointly owned investment account.
Two vehicles.
Some retirement contributions.
A vacation property.
Furniture.
Ordinary things made complicated by emotion.
Julian paid restitution to the Hart Trust through Vance Capital under the audit settlement.
That was a business issue.
Not my divorce prize.
No one confused the two.
Custody became a detailed parenting plan.
Cora lived primarily with me during the preschool years.
Julian received regular overnights, expanding as she grew.
Holidays alternated.
Medical decisions shared.
Travel notices required.
No parent disparaged the other.
No romantic partner introduced without reasonable notice after a stable relationship period.
Julian suggested that clause himself.
I noticed.
By then Serena had moved to Denver.
Her company survived in smaller form after settling its disputed fees.
She sent one final letter.
I am sorry that the worst introduction to motherhood was tangled with my choices. I can't undo that. I hope Cora grows up knowing none of it was because she wasn't wanted.
I kept the letter.
Not for Cora.
For myself.
Maybe one day I would throw it away.
Maybe not.
Julian did not marry Serena.
They never resumed the relationship.
That did not make me happy.
Or sad.
It simply ended.
At the final divorce hearing, Judge Ellis asked whether our agreement was voluntary.
“Yes,” I said.
“Yes,” Julian said.
Then it was over.
Outside the courthouse, we stood under a gray Virginia sky.
Julian looked at me.
“Six years.”
“Almost seven.”
“Right.”
He smiled sadly.
“Still correcting me.”
“Someone has to.”
Then silence.
“I loved you.”
I looked at him.
“I know.”
He seemed surprised.
“You believe that?”
“Yes.”
“After everything?”
“Yes.”
I put my hands in my coat pockets.
“Love doesn't prevent selfishness.”
He absorbed that.
“Did you love me?”
“Yes.”
“Still?”
I thought.
“Differently.”
Truth.
He looked down.
“I'm sorry our daughter starts life with divorced parents.”
“So am I.”
“Do you think we failed her?”
“No.”
He looked at me.
“We fail her if we make her carry our shame.”
His eyes filled.
Then he nodded.
We walked in opposite directions.
No dramatic last look.
No music.
May you like
Just two adults leaving a courthouse to pick up the same child at different times.
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