Page 4 of The Unhinged Christmas of a Cat Lady
Claire clears her throat gently. “Would you both like a short break?”
“No,” I say, voice flat. “We’re not done yet.”
Giles leans forward, folding his hands in that lawyerly way that signalsthis part isn’t up for discussion.
“My client is clear,” he says. “He is not prepared to pay spousal maintenance. That is non-negotiable.”
I nod, slowly. “Of course. Heaven forbid I drain the hedge fund.”
Renata places a hand on her notes but says nothing.
Giles continues. “Mr Gordon has offered to contribute fifty percent of any rent Miranda pays going forward, which is generous and ensures SJ’s housing is secure. He’s also willing to cover the cost of any childcare she requires while returning to work. This is not about withholding support. This is about creating fair, sustainable terms.”
“Fair,” I say. “Yes, because nothing says fairness like your ex-husband subsidising a shoebox while you try to convince someone to hire you after nearly a decade out of the workforce. Very empowering.”
Sim-Sim glances at me, jaw tense.
“You said you wanted to be free of me,” he says quietly.
“No, I said I wanted respect,” I snap. “But clearly that comes out of a different budget.”
The room goes still for a second too long.
Claire straightens her posture, smoothing her expression into something neutral. “Let me remind both parties,” she says, her voice still soft but firmer now, “that if we cannot reach an agreement on these terms, the case will have to proceed to family court.”
She lets that sit.
“That will involve significant delays. Possibly months. You’ll both lose control of the outcome, and any judge will prioritise the welfare of the child above all else. So I would encourage you to consider whether continued negotiation might be preferable to formal proceedings.”
Renata turns to me.
Just a glance. Calm. But I know that look.
It’s the one that says, you can push this if you want, but it’s a risk. A judge might not side with you. And if it goes the wrong way, you could end up with even less.
Less support. Less say. Less everything.
Because the law doesn’t care that I spent the last eight years raising a child while Sim-Sim doubled his company’s assets. It cares that I’m fit, healthy, and technically employable. It cares that there’s no violence, no addiction, no chaos. Just a marriage quietly dismantled by arrogance and lust.
Sim-Sim, to his credit—or maybe just his advantage—says nothing.
He knows Renata’s look too.
I tap my fingers on the table, once, then stop.
“Fine,” I say.
It comes out quieter than I mean it to.
I clear my throat and try again.
“Fine,” sharper this time. “I’ll take the half rent. I’ll take the childcare. And I’ll find a job.”
No one says anything. Not even Claire.
I look across the table at Sim-Sim.
“You win.”
