October 2014
No one in good conscience wants to get a divorce.
You don’t plan your wedding and go through all the work, thinking to yourself, Oh, I can’t wait for the divorce. That’ll be even better! That’s like building your hopes and dreams with glass and letting them fall in the middle of a rock quarry.
But I knew what I had to do. My heart was a completely different story. It was attached to the former version of Wes—the one that promised me everything and molded my dreams of the happily ever after.
“Why are you scared? You’re much braver than you think,” Sinclair had whispered in my ear that morning.
I needed to remember his words. I needed to capture them all and bottle them up to use in moments like this.
“Are you ready to do this?” Renee asked.
It had been a week since I told Wes I wanted a divorce and now I was in Richmond, about a two-hour drive away. I did that on purpose. I wanted my lawyer to have no clue who my husband was. If I chose a lawyer from McLean or Falls Church, I could just see them balking and running away.
Sighing loudly, I unbuckled my seatbelt and nodded at Renee. “I’m ready.”
This was a fairly busy area, with a parade of large buildings lining the road. Most parking spots were filled. People walking down the streets kept their heads down, eyes glued to their cellphones. No one noticed me. No one cared and I slowly felt the tension leaving my body. Lately I felt like there was a huge sign over my head, along with a flash blinker that said: Look at me! I failed my marriage!
Across the street, directly in front of us, was a four-story brick building. On the second floor was Randall & Fernberg, P.C.
Randall & Fernberg was a top-rated law firm. Their office was on the third floor. In the elevator, Renee and I were silent. I could feel her eyes flick toward me every few seconds. I felt sick to my stomach.
As we stepped out of the elevator Renee held me back for a moment. Her hands settled on my shoulders and gently squeezed. “Everything will be fine.”
I gave her a blunt nod and then we walked into the office. Decorated with dark furniture, white walls, and framed pictures of natural scenes, it was a typical office. The receptionist greeted us with a smile.
“I have a one o’clock appointment with Mr. Randall,” I said quietly, as though Wes were hiding around the corner, ready to change my mind.
The receptionist told me to sign in. I couldn’t get a firm grip on the pen, which made my signature look like wavy lines. “He’ll be with you shortly. You can take a seat.”
The magazines stacked on the end tables were aging. In the corner, right in front of a window, were Styrofoam cups and a full pot of coffee. I couldn’t imagine anyone stepping into this office finding comfort in a good cup of coffee. I could barely concentrate on the magazine on my lap.
I nudged Renee and pointed to the ceiling. “There’s a small water stain.”
“Yeah, and your point is?”
I leaned in. “My point is, why hasn’t it been fixed? Maybe this law firm is going down the drain. Maybe I should look for a new lawyer,” I hissed.
“Okay. Relax. You’re getting way ahead of yourself. That means nothing. You picked a good lawyer.”
“How do you know?”
Renee shrugged and went back to flipping through her magazine. “I did my research too.”
I had never consulted a lawyer and the only time I’d ever been to a law office was to visit Wes. Even then I didn’t pay attention to the people in the waiting room. Wes brought home cases but he never discussed them with me and I didn’t pry. I wished I had. How many people had Wes represented who were trying to leave an abusive relationship? This was Wes’s stomping ground. He knew the ins and outs of the law. How to win cases and where to really hit a person.
I thought I had done everything I could to cover my bases, but in the back of my head I kept feeling like I was missing something. I wrung my hands together and stared at the clock on the wall. Time felt like it was frozen.
It felt stuffy in there. Even though it was October, it was unusually hot out. Why didn’t they have the air-conditioning on? I felt like I was choking.
I had gone to stand up when a short, stout man stopped next to the receptionist’s desk. He looked like he could be my grandfather, with gray hair and a face lined with wrinkles. He didn’t look like any cutthroat lawyer. He looked like he belonged in 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.”
The next hour was filled with nothing but heavy questions and filling out an insane amount of paperwork. What documents would be filed and what was required of me. By the time I stood up to leave my head was reeling. But I had jumped one hurdle and for right now, that was enough.
When it was time to go, he stood up and shook my hand. I swore I saw the smallest amount of respect in his eyes.
“What happens now?” I asked.
“Well, Wes will have to be notified that you’ve filed for divorce. You can’t serve him the papers. In most circumstances anyone else can serve him the papers.”
“I’ll do it,” Renee chimed in.
I shot Renee a look. “Is there any other option to serve the papers?” I asked him.
“Of course. It can be through mail. Service by picking it up. But I think the best option is personal service, where the spouse is personally delivered the papers. This also means that the court can have personal jurisdiction over the spouse.”
Hesitantly, I nodded. “Let’s do that.”
“All right. The second he is served, you’ll be notified.”
“What happens after that?”
“After that we’ll go through any assets or outstanding debts that you have together. What belongings in your household that you want or don’t want. A court date will be set. You’ll go before a judge. And if all goes well, then the paperwork will be finalized.”
“And if it doesn’t go well?”
He shrugged, the look on his face grim. “Then this divorce could take years.”
My body was shaking as we walked toward the car. Renee and I were quiet as we drove back home. I stared out the window, bouncing back and forth between relief that I did the right thing and fear that it would all blow up in my face. I would spend the next few days a nervous wreck, waiting to hear when the papers were served.
This was one more hurdle that had been jumped and I knew I should be relieved and a small part of me was. Aside from actually telling Wes that I wanted a divorce, I knew filing would be one of the hardest parts of this whole situation. It hurt just as bad as I thought it would.
“I’m proud of you,” Renee said.
I didn’t reply.
“I know I sound all mushy and dramatic,” she continued. “But I really mean it.”
Renee sighed and gave my hand a pat. I continued to look out the window, staring into the traffic, feeling the weight of this situation pressing harder on my shoulders.
I’d seen the ugly side of my husband enough to know that it could get uglier, and my gut told me that it was about to get much uglier.