Chapter 10 #2
"One more thing," she said as I gathered my purse and prepared to leave her office feeling like I'd just enlisted in a war I never wanted to fight.
"Don't change your behavior. Don't confront him, don't threaten divorce, don't give him any reason to suspect you're planning to file.
The element of surprise is our biggest advantage. "
"So I just pretend everything's normal?"
"Exactly. You're gathering intelligence for now. When we're ready to move, we'll move decisively." She stood and extended her hand again. "You're going to be fine, Lauren. Better than fine. You're going to be free."
I walked out of that office feeling like I'd just stepped off a cliff and discovered I could fly.
The drive home took an hour. By the time I pulled into our driveway, I'd mentally transformed from abandoned wife to strategic combatant. No car was in the driveway, which meant I had the house to myself for a few hours to begin my new career as a domestic spy.
I sat at the kitchen island with my laptop and started researching Connecticut divorce law like I was studying for the most important exam of my life. Which, in a way, I was.
Community property versus equitable distribution. Alimony calculations based on the length of marriage and earning disparity. Child support guidelines that might not apply since both kids were almost over eighteen. Asset valuation methods for real estate and business interests.
It was fascinating in a depressing way, learning about the legal framework for dismantling everything I'd spent my adult life building. Like studying the engineering principles behind controlled demolitions.
The law was surprisingly favorable to women in my situation.
Long-term marriages where one spouse had sacrificed career advancement for domestic responsibilities were viewed sympathetically by Connecticut courts.
Brett's success was partly built on my unpaid labor, and the state recognized that contribution as valuable even though it didn't appear on tax returns.
For the first time in months, I felt like someone was on my side.
I was still reading when my phone rang, Kimberly's name making me smile despite everything else falling apart.
"Hey, sweetheart," I answered, thankful for any distraction from legal terminology that was starting to run together. "How did your lab exam go?"
"Better than expected, really." Her tone had the exhausted satisfaction of someone who'd been studying for eighteen hours straight. "I think I might have passed instead of just survived. Professor Hendricks said the average was lower than usual, so the curve should help everyone."
"I'm proud of you. You've been working so hard this semester."
"Thanks. How are you doing? Really doing, not just the standard 'fine' you give everyone."
I looked around the kitchen, and tried to figure out how to answer that question honestly.
"I'm okay," I said finally. "Taking things one day at a time. Making some progress on figuring things out."
"Have you decided what you're going to do? About Dad and everything?"
I wanted to tell her about Lindsey Garland, about the strategic plan we were developing, about how I was finally ready to stop pretending my marriage was salvageable.
But something held me back. Maybe I wanted to get further down this road before involving the kids, or maybe I just needed to protect this small rebellion until it was strong enough to survive exposure.
"I'm working on it," I said. "Still figuring out the best approach, but I'm not just sitting around feeling sorry for myself anymore."
"Good. Whatever you decide, I'm on your side. You know that, right?"
"I know. That means everything to me."
We talked for another few minutes about safer topics. Her roommate's boyfriend drama that made my marital problems seem simple by comparison. Whether she'd registered for spring classes. Plans for Thanksgiving break that suddenly felt complicated given what our family would look like by then.
After she hung up, I went back to my research with renewed focus. This wasn't just about ending my marriage anymore. It was about building a foundation for whatever came next, for the woman I was going to become when I wasn't Brett's wife anymore.
My phone chimed with a text from Devin around four-thirty.
Bad news. The UConn meeting got pushed to next month. Some emergency with their coaching staff. I'm bummed but Coach Phelps says it's good, gives me more time to prepare.
My heart sank for him. He'd been looking forward to that meeting for weeks, had been practicing his handshake and researching questions to ask about their program.
I typed back:
That's disappointing but these things happen for a reason. You're going to be amazing whenever it happens.
Thanks, Mom. Heading home soon. Practice ran late.
Drive safely. Love you.
Poor kid. At least someone in our family was chasing what they wanted instead of just enduring what they'd been given. His dreams were still intact, still worth fighting for.