It is a formal conference room. Upon entering, I immediately notice the drapes and fabric of the chairs. The table is expensive, cut from cherrywood. Eric is already seated with a woman dressed in a suit. She is a partner at the firm, I’m sure. He wouldn’t settle for any less. Power demands power—the rules of the game are set.
“Where is your lawyer?” Eric demands, the first words he’s spoken to me since he left our house weeks ago.
“I don’t have one.” I am not trying to be obtuse or difficult. It just seems superfluous to me when we haven’t decided what the next step is. “I thought we could talk.”
“I’m not paying five hundred dollars an hour to my attorney for us to talk,” Eric bites out.
I try to gather my senses. This is not the man I knew, the one I married. The man whose smell still permeates every room of our house and reminds me of a time when I was happy. “Then why are we here?”
“To discuss the settlements of the divorce.” His attorney takes over, talking to me as if I’m a wayward child, needing to be spoken to slowly and with explanation.
“You want a divorce?” I ignore her, staring at my husband instead. “That’s it? We’re over?”
“I think it’s best if we keep the conversation to details about finances and division of property,” the woman says, ice in every word. “Eric is prepared to be very generous with alimony. I understand you have no means of income.”
She sees me as a kept woman, one who is easily bought and dismissed. Whereas she is someone used to taking over, to being in charge. But I am not in the mood to be taken charge of. “We’re over?” I ask again, ignoring her, facing Eric. “Because of a child?”
“Because you lied to me,” Eric answers, no longer able to stay silent. “Because I trusted you.”
You lied to me, I want to yell, fighting back tears. “You told me you would love me no matter what,” I say, throwing his words back at him. I ache to tell him that his belief that a family makes everything perfect is flawed. But I stay silent, remaining the holder of our secret. He can never learn that every scar, even those invisible to the naked eye, was once an open wound. “I guess we both lied.”
“If that’s how you see it,” he says. “There’s nothing left to say.”
We have reached an impasse. There is no turning back, no retreat that will make this right. The game is set, the final hand ready to be played. My father’s voice whispers in my ear, a memory from long ago that I had forgotten. I was playing with neighborhood children, each of us riding our bikes. I had yet to fully grasp the basics and kept falling off, fear driving me to be cautious. Enough teasing and I couldn’t help the tears that flowed. Escaping into the house, I ran right into my father’s arms. With a gentleness saved only for me, he wiped them away and said, “You are so special. Don’t ever let anyone convince you otherwise.”
“You’re right,” I say, returning to the present. Turning away from him and facing her, I show her who I really am. “There’s no need for alimony. I’ll be moved out of his house by month’s end.” I push my chair back, ready for it to be over. Walking toward the door, I look back to see Eric staring at me silently. I want to say good-bye, but I don’t.