14. Chapter 14
Harriet
A folder with “Dallas v. Dallas” stamped across the top sits on the receptionist’s desk at Well and Heart Family Law. I straighten my shoulders, feeling the seam of my blouse dig into my back. Every time the phone rings or a door opens, my heart jumps, thinking my lawyer is going to call me back.
“Harriet Dallas? I’m Ronetta Well. Please, come in.”
I stand, my knees cracking slightly, and follow Ronetta to her office, which is bigger than it looks from the hall.
The walls not only have framed diplomas, but there are tubular containers hanging on the wall, each one filled with a specific candy.
I spot gummy sharks, gummy bears, Skittles, Starburst, cookie pieces, and literally a dozen more.
It looks like an old-school candy shop where you fill a bag to the brim and pay by the pound.
She spots me staring. “For the kids,” she says. “Every month I change out the snacks. Right now it’s candy. Next month it’ll be a cereal bar.” Coris and Maren would have loved the wall if they were still little. She then gestures to the chair across from her desk. “Please sit.”
I do. “Thank you for taking my case.”
“Of course, and thank you for coming in today, Ms. Dallas. I’ve reviewed the information you provided on the phone, and I think we have a clear path forward.”
I nod, not quite trusting my voice.
“First, we’ll need to complete the official filing paperwork,” she continues, sliding a stack of forms across the desk. “I’ve filled in most of the basic information already from what you’ve provided over the phone. I’ll need you to review each page, then sign and date at the bottom.”
The forms are exactly what I expected. I scan each one quickly, then sign my name at the bottom. Ronetta watches me work. When I finish the last form, she takes and straightens them while I fiddle with the pen.
“There’s something you should know,” she says, her voice careful. “I spoke with the district attorney this morning, and there’s already talk of your husband accepting a plea deal.”
I stare at her, sure I’ve misheard. “I’m sorry?”
“A plea deal,” she repeats, her voice even.
“For the assault and the unauthorized administration of a controlled substance. The District Attorney, or DA,” she explains, “is going to offer a reduction in charges for a guilty plea. There will be no jail time, but he will have two years probation with mandatory counseling since he has no criminal history, and this is his first offense.”
My hands go cold, then hot, then cold again.
“To be clear, he hasn’t accepted it yet as it’s still early, but the DA was transparent with me.
I know this is a lot to process,” Ronetta says, her voice gentle but professional.
“The DA’s office felt it was a reasonable offer, given the circumstances.
The unauthorized administration charge is difficult to prove, and the assault, while concerning, didn’t result in serious injury. ”
I set my pen down, my jaw tight. “He drugged me,” I say confidently. “He left me unconscious in a car after drugging me. During a fight, he grabbed my arm and tried to stop me from leaving, and he gets probation?”
“I understand your frustration, Ms. Dallas. The system isn’t perfect, but a guilty plea means this part is over. We can focus on the divorce and moving forward.”
“That’s the only good part of this, aside from divorcing his ass. If I never think of him again, I’ll be ecstatic.”
My lawyer seems to understand. “He’ll have a record, and you won’t have to testify. I’ll ask the D.A. to push anger management on him, too.”
“Thank you,” I say, fully recognizing that while she’s a family lawyer, she was willing to get me information on a criminal case.
“There’s one more thing. He posted bail this morning. There isn’t a ‘no-contact’ order yet, but I’m told there will be one as soon as it’s processed.”
“Great,” I say sarcastically.
She slides another form across the desk. This one is a blank inventory sheet with columns for assets. “I recommend you begin itemizing all shared assets as soon as possible. The house, vehicles, bank accounts, retirement funds. Anything of significant value that was acquired during the marriage.”
I take the form and scan the categories with growing dismay. House. Cars. Furniture. Electronics. I need every item and shared property, along with their cost.
“We had a prenup,” I say to ensure she’s had time to look it over from when I emailed her a copy.
“Yes, I reviewed the digital copy you sent over,” she says, uncapping a yellow highlighter.
“The terms are clear and completely valid. Anything either of you owned before the wedding remains separate property. Buck cannot touch your pre-marital assets, and you cannot touch his. However, the agreement explicitly states that any assets accumulated over the last twenty-five years are subject to an equal split.”
“Perfect.” I continue reading and then stop on a line halfway down the page. Family jewelry.
“The ring,” I say, the word coming out before I can stop it. “It’s still at the house.”
Ronetta’s pen pauses above her notepad. “What ring?”
“My great-great grandmother’s,” I explain, the words coming faster now.
“It’s a thin gold band with a small garnet.
Nothing fancy, but it’s been in my family for generations.
My mother gave it to me when I turned eighteen.
Buck...” I pause, swallowing hard. “Buck talked me into keeping it in the house safe instead of wearing it. Said it was too valuable to risk losing.”
“You can retrieve it, but I’d advise you not to go alone. Given the circumstances, I recommend a police escort. They can accompany you to the property, ensure you have safe access to your belongings, and document anything you remove. It’s a straightforward process. I can arrange it if you’d like.”
“Yes, please. That would be wonderful. Thank you.” It’s so nice to not have to do this alone.
“Give me five minutes,” she says, her voice warming slightly. “I’ll see what we can do.”
Five minutes later, my lawyer arranged for an officer to meet me at my marriage home in half an hour.
As I walk through the heavy glass doors of the office building, the morning sun temporarily blinds me.
That’s why it takes me a second to recognize not only Kwemby and his car, but also the two other familiar figures standing there.
“Maren? Coris?”
My daughters rush to me. They look small in the sprawling lot. They must have seen my car, or perhaps Kwemby told them about my appointment and they all decided to show. Before I can find my voice, Maren hugs me and then pulls back, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears.
“Mom,” she says, her voice thick. “We’re sorry for how we acted.”
Coris nods, stepping up beside her sister. “We’re so sorry, Mom. We’re going to be better—not just for you, but we need to be better people. We’re done making excuses for Dad and promise to hear you out from now on.”
The dam breaks. A sob escapes my throat, and I pull them both into me. We stand there, a tangle of limbs and tearful apologies, the weight of years of silence finally lifting. Their arms wrap tight around me.
When we finally pull apart, wiping our faces, Maren glances at Kwemby, who has been standing a respectful distance away, watching us with a quiet, steady smile.
“He,” she says pointing at Kwemby, “told us to meet you here and gave us a stern talking to.”
“Hate to say it, but you both needed it,” I say.
I can tell Coris and Maren both want to ask about the status of mine and Kwemby’s relationship, but I opt to keep it to myself. It’s none of their business at this point, and I deserve privacy.
“Everything go okay in there?” Kwemby asks.
I nod, though we both know it’s not entirely true. “They’re going to give Buck a plea deal,” I say. “No jail time, just probation and maybe counseling.”
His upper lip curls. “Dammit, I’m sorry.”
“I’m ready for this to be over. At least my lawyer is filing the divorce paperwork with the court today.”
“That’s one positive.”
I shake my head. “There’s more. I need to go back to the house. There’s a ring—my grandmother’s. It’s in the safe. Ronetta, my lawyer, is arranging a police escort.”
“I’m coming with you,” he says. “Police or no police, you need support.”
I don’t argue. He’s right, and it feels amazing to finally get vindication.
“Thank you. Maren, Coris, can you two not, though? The last thing I want is for your father to claim I’m putting you two in the middle. With Kwemby and the police there, I’ll be safe.”
Maren squeezes my shoulder. “Yeah, we understand.”
“We both have class this afternoon, anyway, and need to head back. Is that okay?” Coris asks.
“Of course! Your schooling is extremely important.”
Coris hugs me again. “I promise we’ll check in more.” I believe her.
Kwemby then grabs my hand. Not too tight. Not too loose. Only the right amount to let me know he’s here. His thumb traces a slow circle over my knuckles in a way that makes my skin tingle.
“You’re doing great, Harriet,” he murmurs, his voice a low vibration that settles deep in my chest.