Page 11 of Dream with Me

The judge turns her gaze on me. “Ms. Willson, doyourealize how much of his income Mr. Willson will be spending on the house and child support, even though he has the children nearly equal amounts of time?”

My cheeks heat with embarrassment. Everyone in this courtroom is hearing this, and either thinks I’m an uncaring bitch or that Troy is a fool. I hate this.

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“You’re okay with that?” The judge’s facial features are pinched, and it seems like a trick question. Who the heck is she to give us shit?

“I-I’m... it’s not that I wanted it or wanted to be unfair. But he insisted. He wouldn’t agree otherwise.”

The judge lifts one eyebrow at me and her mouth parts slightly in her obvious disbelief. She holds my gaze for an uncomfortably long moment, then turns to address Troy. She opens her mouth to speak.

My lawyer attempts to speak, “Your Honor, I’d like?—”

“I’m addressing the defendant right now, Counselor.” My lawyer’s cheeks redden, and he nods, looking appropriately chastised.

“Mr. Willson, is that accurate? You laid out these stipulations even though they’re clearly not equitable to you?”

Troy looks up at the judge, his hands clasped in front of him. “Yes, Your Honor.”

“May I ask why?”

Troy clears his throat and looks her dead in the eye. “They’re my family. I won’t make my kids leave the only home they’ve grown up in. A man takes care of his wife and children.”

The judge’s eyes narrow, the hint of a frown on her face.

“While it’s noble and refreshing to see a father whowantsto step up for his children, and I wholeheartedly support that, Ms. Willson won’t be your wife soon, so you don’t need to take care of her.”

Bile rises up my throat at her words, and my heart races. It must be because she’s being harsh, not because she said I won’t be his wife. I know that. I filed for divorce, after all. But hearing someone else say it after almost two decades with this man sounds wrong.

“She will be where it matters,” Troy practically whispers. His voice cracks.

“Pardon? Could you repeat that?” The judge’s eyes are filled with compassion for Troy, and I can’t blame her.

“I said she’ll always be my wife where it matters.” He rubs absentmindedly at his chest. “It’ll take more than a piece of paper to convince me otherwise.”

Troy is facing the judge, but he’s looking beyond her now. She watches him intently for what seems like ages, then spares me a glance before looking down at the papers that spell out how eighteen years together should be neatly divided.

She thumbs through the stack once more, then stops and stares at one for a solid thirty seconds before shaking her head. When she looks up at us again, she folds her hands together and clears her throat.

“I’ve been a judge on this bench for thirteen years, and, most days, things are fairly cut and dry. Only three times in these thirteen years have I done what I’m about to do.” Panic crawls up my chest as I pierce her with my eyes, trying to read in her expression what it is she plans to do. “Mr. Willson, I’m concerned that you’re grieving the loss of your family.” I glance over at Troy, and his jaw clenches at her words. I hate seeing him like this. It’s clear he’s hurting, but I have to do this. “I’m worried it’s affecting your judgment, and I can’t, in good conscience, grant this divorce today because I’m not sure you grasp what this means for you.”

What? Did she say she’s not letting us get divorced?

I whip my head over to look at Troy, expecting him to look happy. He doesn’t. He’s not even looking at her. Instead, he’s staring at a point on the wall above her. I glance down to his hands, clasped together yet shaking. Finally, I turn back to the judge.

“So, my judgment today is to delay a final decision. We will move forward with the plaintiff and the defendant living separately and following all of the child visitation and financial agreements as outlined in this request for a divorce. It will be like you’re divorced, only you won’t be… yet. Consider this a trial run. I will see you back in my courtroom in a few months, and if, at that time, Mr. Willson agrees he can live with the arrangements as they are, I will proceed with granting the divorce. If you decide before then that any items need adjusting, your respective council can work on a new arrangement. Mr. Willson, it’s clear you love your family, but you must also have enough left financially for you to live reasonably.”

She allows no time for us to ask questions before her gavel smacks against the wood of the judge’s bench. In shock, I stand still until my lawyer places his hand on my elbow and guides me out of the courtroom. When we’re outside in the hall, I spin on my heel to look for Troy. We have to come to an agreement sooner. I can’t live in limbo for months.

But Troy is already twenty feet away, speeding toward the exit.

“Troy! Wait!” I move toward him.

He ignores me, and anger fills me. There is anger at him for being so stubborn about the stipulations of the divorce, anger at the judge for delaying this when I need resolution so I can start my new normal, and anger at him for walking away.

I pick up my pace to catch up with him. Then I see him swipe at his face with the backs of his hands. I freeze in place. Is he... is this man I’ve only seen cry once since I’ve known him—at his mother’s funeral—wiping tears away?

CHAPTER8

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