Page 31 of Letting Go

“Alright,” she says, cool and clinical, “let’s start with assets.”

I rattle off the list like it’s a confession. “Mike has his 401k, two investment accounts, the car that was a gift from his parents so technically his, and that stupid motorcycle he rides once a year for attention. I have my Roth IRA, my savings account, and the Lexus I bought last year.”

She nods, jotting it all down. “Anything joint?”

“Just the house.”

“The house,” she echoes, and pauses like it deserves a cinematic beat. “It’s in both your names, correct?”

“Yeah. It was gifted to us by his parents and the deed is in both our names. But,” I raise a finger because I know this part matters, “his father is Judge Miller. Capital J, capital M, ruling over half of Cook County’s civil court like God with a gavel.”

“Oh, I know,” she says, her tone gone deliciously sharp. “And trust me, if the judge on your case hears how the woman Judge Miller introduced as his daughter has been treated, there’s a very good chance Mike loses any claim on that property. Even in Illinois.”

I blink. “Wait, what do you mean?”

Her mouth curves into a practiced, lawyerly smile, the kind that makes grown men cry and juries’ hand over everything but their firstborn. “You’re about to learn your new favourite phrase: equitable distribution. Illinois doesn’t do automatic fifty-fifty splits. It’s about what’s fair, not what’s equal. And if we can make it look like you’re the injured party, sweetheart, that house could be yours.”

I let out a slow breath, something between relief and holy hell I’m scared. “Okay, and what’s my job?”

Lorna sets her pen down with a soft click. “To be elegant.”

“…Elegant?” I blink. “Have you met me?”

“You’re going to be poised. Gracious. Sad. The heartbroken legal wife blindsided by betrayal. Not petty. Not vindictive. No arson jokes.”

“That’s very hard for me.”

“Illinois only recognizes irreconcilable differences. Not adultery, not misconduct. So, no matter how much your sister’s naked ass in your bed haunts you—”

I groan. “Why would you say that out loud?”

“-we need to build a narrative. You as the victim. Him as the philanderer. The judge won’t punish him for cheating, but they will favour you for being sympathetic.”

I slump back in my seat. “Sympathetic. Great. I’ll wear beige and cry.”

Lorna’s already writing again. “Now. Employment. Are you currently working?”

“I quit Marx Media last month.”

Her eyes light up. “Perfect.”

I frown. “Let me finish. I just got hired by Marx Corp as legal counsel to the CEO. With a salary bump.”

Lorna pauses, eyes narrowing. “When do you start?”

“Monday.”

“Can you delay that?”

I tilt my head. “Delay starting a dream job so I can win a divorce war. Of course. What else?”

“Keep him on your side,” I open my mouth but she continues, “If he doesn’t contest, you’re looking at a one-to-three-month process. If he does, it could drag on for two years.”

I stare at her. “Jesus.”

“So yes,” she says, smooth as butter, “keep him on your side.”

“Lorna. You want me to keep the cheating man I’m divorcing on my side. That is-”

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