Page 10 of Dream with Me

I peer into his eyes and expect to see something other than the confusion that’s there. I don’t understand how he can ignore what our life—our relationship—has become.

“You must want something more than this.” I gesture to the room around us. “More than me...”

Troy scoots closer to me and grabs my hand, holding it in his. I feel nothing.

“Shannon, what are you talking about? I love our life. If this is about the other day, I’m sorry I picked up the hours without checking with you first. I’ll?—”

“No.” I jerk my hand away. “It’s not that simple. You... you don’t see me anymore. It’s like I’m invisible to you.” He flinches at my words, and his posture tenses.

“That’s not true. I know you haven’t been your usual self, but I don’t know how to fix that. Tell me how, and I will.”

“I don’t want to have to tell you!” My tone is harsh. “I want you toseeme. Like you used to. I want you to remember I had dreams for what I wanted out of my life. I’m more than a chauffeur and keeper of dirty laundry! I want a husband who talks to me and makes me feel alive.” I throw the words out at him rapid fire. Like accusations.

Troy grasps his head in his hands and closes his eyes. I watch him for several long seconds, and when he doesn’t respond, I know what I have to do.

He’ll never do it. So, it has to be me. I swallow past the massive lump in my throat.

“I want a divorce.”

CHAPTER7

FOUR MONTHS LATER

SHANNON

Whoever first wrote the words “and they lived happily ever after” was a damn liar. Me? I took the bait, hook, line, and sinker when I first read those words as a little girl. I never stopped believing them, either, until these last few years.

Now, I’m standing here before a judge, my lawyer by my side, and my soon-to-be ex-husband stands four feet away with his lawyer. Troy won’t look at me, his gaze fixed on the puke-green, commercial-grade carpeting in the courtroom. Seriously, who picks this color for carpeting?

The judge clears her throat and adjusts her glasses on her face.

“In the matter of Shannon Willson versus Troy Willson, Ms. Willson is seeking a divorce, citing incompatibility. Is that correct, Ms. Willson?”

My heart pounds in my chest, and I glance over at Troy, the tic in his jaw the only sign he’s even hearing her. I turn back to face the judge.

“Yes, Your Honor,” I answer. I want this. So, why is there a tightness in the pit of my stomach? Why does my voice quiver?

“It says here that you’ll share custody of your four minor children, with Mr. Willson having them three days a week, and you, Ms. Willson, will have them four days. Is that accurate as well?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Troy doesn’t answer her.

“Mr. Willson?”

I watch as Troy glances up from the spot on the carpet he’s been hyper-focused on and looks at the judge. His voice is thick when he responds. “Yes, Your Honor.”

The judge looks back down and shuffles through the papers in front of her. Her brow furrows in concern. She peers back up at Troy.

“This is unusual. Ms. Willson will retain the family home, but you agree to continue to pay the mortgage for fifteen years or until it’s paid off, whichever comes first. And you’ll be paying child support?”

A few whispers can be heard from the crowd behind us. It’s so degrading that the court makes you herd into the room like a bunch of cattle and watch as each other’s marriages dissolve. Why can’t we have privacy?

“Yes, Your Honor.” Troy’s voice is so hushed I can barely hear it.

“That won’t leave you with much money for your own living expenses,” she warns.

“I’m aware of how much it will leave me. It’ll be enough.” Troy’s tone is respectful but determined.

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