Chapter 9
Ellary
It’s been a week since I told Jackson our marriage was over.
For the first two days at my parents’ house, I barely stopped crying.
The next five days, I saw past the pain, and now I’m ready to speak to a lawyer about getting a divorce.
“My neck is killing me.” I wince, stretching out the kinks as best I can.
An air mattress is fine for a couple of days. More than that, it’s just not supportive enough. I need a firm mattress and plump pillows, or my neck promptly lets me know it’s not happy.
“You can stay at my place.” Lila snaps her seatbelt on and twists the key in the ignition.
I buckle up. “You have less space than Mom and Dad.”
I spare my parents’ house one last glance as my sister starts up the engine and pulls out of the driveway. It’s Saturday, a day she usually works, but she took it off to come with me and finally start the process of cutting ties with Jackson. My marriage is over. It’s time to make it official.
My parents offered to come as well, but they’ve done so much for me this last week that I told them they needed a break from taking care of me.
Confronting Jackson in the backyard was almost more than I could handle. I’ve always been someone who runs from confrontation rather than toward it. But there are some things you can’t run from, and I surprised myself by facing Jackson with more anger than I thought I had in me.
A week later, I can’t stop thinking about why Jackson would cheat on me while still claiming he loved me.
Lila said these things happen. I know people have affairs; that’s not news to me, but I always believed there was a reason.
That something, whether it was bad sex, boredom, long-standing resentment, or just falling in love with someone else, led to those affairs happening. But there was always a reason.
Sure, Jackson said ‘something’ wasn’t enough. Whatever that meant. He’d been so vague and sounded so confused and frustrated that I’m not sure he believed that’s why he did it.
He doesn’t know why he would cheat on me, and because he doesn’t know, I can’t know. A week later, the not knowing is driving me crazy.
“I’ll stay with Kelly and Jasmine,” Lila says, on our way from the suburbs toward downtown. “Then you’d have the apartment to yourself. You can have a bubble bath every night, sip OJ from a champagne flute, and order takeout every day.”
I smile fondly at her for wanting to give up her cute apartment to stay with her two friends. “I can’t kick you out of your own apartment, sis.”
She glances at me. “So you’re moving back to the house?”
There’s no expression on her face, so I don’t know what she thinks about it.
Jackson’s parents called mine while I was busy falling apart. His dad told my mom that Jackson was staying in a motel and that I shouldn’t be the one to move out when he was the one who hurt me.
I’d been trying to pretend I didn’t have a husband, so going back to the house wasn’t something I thought about for too long.
That house has too many memories, and I want to remember exactly none of them.
But I can’t live in my parents’ living room forever, and my back and neck are already struggling with an air mattress that kept deflating in the middle of the night.
And I’ve had time to go through my suitcase and realize how much of a mess I was from the random clothes—some of which were Jackson’s—that I packed. I need more clothes, prioritize my baby over what I want, and find a job.
“I don’t want to go back to that house,” I say, my eyes on the boutiques that we pass along Main Street.
It’s a weekend, so the streets are busy, and there’s a constant flow of people going in and out of the stores.
“Even though Jackson won’t be there.” His presence will be.
The smell of his cologne. The memories of the life we built together that I no longer trust. That’s why I don’t want to go back there. But I might have to.
“Are you sure he’s not still living there?” Lila asks. “It’s been a week, and he could have gone back.”
Hearing Lila’s suspicion, I turn to look at her. “His dad texted me his motel room number. He wouldn’t lie to me about that. I think Dad went to check the house, and Jackson’s car wasn’t in the driveway.”
“But Jackson might lie to him about it.” She parks outside the lawyer’s office, cuts the engine, and turns to face me. “He could be waiting to ambush you at the house.”
A smile tugs at my lips. “Ambush me? Have you been bingeing true crime again?”
She rolls her eyes. “You know what I mean.”
My smile drops. “He knows I want a divorce, Lila.”
“Yes, he does. That doesn’t mean he won’t fight you on it.”
I let out a tired sigh. “He won’t win.”
She lifts a brow. “And when he learns you’re pregnant. What then?”
It’s a good point, and one I’ve tried to avoid thinking about.
My eyes slide from hers to settle on the squat red-brick building she parked in front of.
The attorney’s office is a small family law practice, and one of its specialties is divorce. I called them yesterday and made an appointment for today at ten o’clock. We’re a little early this morning, but I didn’t want to be late.
Melton isn’t a big town, but news about Jackson and me will have spread. Our marriage is over, but the thought of walking into the office and making it official terrifies me in some inexplicable way.
I didn’t come from a divorced home, and neither did Jackson. Our friends saw us as the strongest couple least likely to break up. We’ve been together since we were sixteen, and I thought we’d stay together forever too. Maybe I was just na?ve.
“I don’t want to move back into the house because it’s full of memories, Lila.
Good memories. Happy memories. It sounds crazy, but I wish I could burn that house down so going back wasn’t even an option.
” I sigh again, rubbing a hand over my face.
“But I’m having a baby, and I know this baby will need space and stability, not be crammed into Mom and Dad’s too-small house.
I don’t want to go back there, but I might have to, at least until I find a job and an apartment. ”
I have no idea how long that’s going to take.
Yesterday, I started my job search, and it was terrifying how few options I found.
I’m trying not to lose hope when I’ve barely started, but it’s hard not to be afraid when I gave up my job to be a stay-at-home wife nearly seven years ago.
The job market has changed so much, and even though I have a business degree, I have barely any experience, and it’s not like Melton ever had a ton of job prospects.
She takes my hand and squeezes it. “You’ll manage fine. And you have me.”
I smile gratefully at her. “Thanks, sis.”
She glances at the building with its frosted windows. “Are you sure you want to do this now? We can cancel and come back in a couple of days or even weeks if you need more time.”
“No.” I pull my hand from hers and unsnap my seatbelt. “I need this to happen now. I know it will take time to be finalized, but I need to at least start the process. Let’s go.”
The attorney, Robert Morris, a man who looks to be in his mid-fifties with graying brown hair and pale blue eyes, offers us a glass of water or coffee, which Lila and I refuse.
Once we’re settled into our chairs on the other side of his massive, dark wood desk, he tells us his qualifications and experience in handling divorces for over twenty years. Then we get down to business.
“The divorce process in Michigan is clearly defined,” Robert says. “You mentioned on the phone to my secretary that you don’t have children?”
I’d called the day before to set up this initial consultation, and his secretary, an older-sounding woman, was as friendly on the phone as she was when she greeted us in the building’s front office.
Nervous without knowing why, I fold my fingers together and sit up. “That’s right.”
Nodding, he makes a note on his legal pad. “And you’re not pregnant?”
I hesitate.
He eyes me steadily from across a desk with only a computer monitor on one side and a new legal pad and pen in front of him.
Jackson’s desk at work was always a mess.
He could learn a lot from this guy. “What you disclose won’t go any further, but your being pregnant adds complications to the process. ”
I lick my lips. “Complications like what?”
“The judge will typically wait until after the birth to enter the judgment of divorce—that just means the divorce is final.”
“What! You’re saying it could take over a year to get divorced?”
He sits back in his seat and sets down his pen. “How far along are you?”
I rake a hand through my hair, flustered. “About a month, I think. I still haven’t had my first ultrasound scan. I was going to tell Jackson when I saw something that ended our marriage.”
“Well, Mrs.—”
“Ellary,” I cut in, “please call me Ellary.”
I’d have preferred he call me Ms., but until the divorce is final, I’m still married to Jackson, and that means I’m a Mrs. for however long this process takes.
“The six months are to ensure the father has his rights regarding the child, as well as making arrangements pertaining to custody, parenting time, and child support that benefit you.”
“I don’t want his money.”
“But your child will likely need it, at least until you get back on your feet. You said you were a stay-at-home wife?”
“That’s right.”
“Then you’ll likely be awarded alimony and child support.”
“He already offered to give me money.” His parents had spoken to my parents, and his dad had been very clear that Jackson intended to keep supporting me.
He smiles. “That makes the process smoother down the line.”
“But I haven’t told him I’m pregnant.”
His smile fades. “That… will complicate things.”
I consider what he’s told me already. “You’re saying the judge won’t sign off on the divorce until after I give birth and until I’ve made arrangements with Jackson regarding custody and visitation. Is that the right word?”