Page 37 of Staking His Claim

“Have you told your husband you need more help—that you miss your mother?”

Pauline shook her head. “No. His mother and my mother both said we were too young to get married. I’ve been determined to prove them all wrong. To show everyone—even Ian—that I wasn’t too young.”

Ella asked a few more questions that revealed that money wasn’t a problem. Although both Pauline and Ian seemed to shop more than they should, Ian had a good job with prospects of another promotion soon. Nor, to Ella’s relief, was he verbally or physically abusive. It appeared this was a case of both of them needing to grow up quickly now that they had a baby on the way, and learning to talk and listen to each other better.

Coming to a decision, Ella said, “Before you go further down the road with a divorce, why don’t you talk to Ian about your unhappiness? I suggest that you both go to counseling and visit a budgeting service. If Ian refuses to go, I think you should take advantage of the sessions for yourself.”

Ella reached into a drawer for business cards for a couple of counselors who worked with the court, and another card for a local budgeting service.

She smiled at the young woman as she handed the cards to her. “Sometimes, when you spend more than you earn, financial worries can put a lot of pressure on a marriage—particularly if there’s a baby on the way. And if Ian is out with friends all hours of the night when you’re tired and pregnant, resentment can breed. These people may be able to help you. If they can’t, and you still feel certain that dissolving your marriage is the only way forward, come and see me again. We will put a plan into action.”

Pauline glanced down at the business cards she held. “You really think this will work?”

This was a question to which Ella never had a good enough answer. “There are no guarantees. But at least you will know in your heart that you tried everything before you decided that divorce was the only solution. And that will help you when you start the road to recovery. You’ll have fewer regrets.”

Over the years Ella had learned that often parties who consulted with her determined to secure a divorce wanted nothing more than to be pointed in the right direction to save their marriage. Not in all cases, but enough for her to know that six sessions of counseling were worth trying first.

As Pauline thanked her, tears of hope sparkling in her eyes, Ella’s lips curved up into a small smile, and she couldn’t help wondering what Yevgeny would say if he saw her now—hardly the hotshot lawyer out to destroy every marriage in town for an outrageous fee.

* * *

Yevgeny took in the tearstained face of the young woman exiting Ella’s office as he stood aside to let her pass. Then he entered Ella’s workspace, shut the door behind him—and pounced. “You’re doing her divorce?”

“That’s none of your business!”

Ella’s light brown eyes were cool. She stood behind the barrier of a highly polished wooden desk, clad in one of those black power suits he’d come to hate.

“She’s pregnant!” The angry words ripped from him.

“That doesn’t mean anything. There are times when divorce is the right thing—even for a pregnant woman.”

“And what about the baby’s father? What if it’s not the right thing for him?” Blood pounded in his head. Everything he’d come here to say had evaporated from his mind. Now he could only think about another divorce...another father deprived of his sons. His father. “What about the father’s rights?”

“Everything in a divorce is negotiated.”

“Not if the woman lies.” It was a snarl. “Not if she manipulates everything and everyone to get sole custody, and bars her husband from ever seeing the children...I mean, the child,” he corrected himself quickly, as he stalked to the front edge of the wooden desk. Ella still stood on the other side. She didn’t seem to have noticed his slip of tongue, as she watched him, unmoved. “Both father and child lose then. I ask you, is that right? Is it fair?”

“Yevgeny, it’s my job to make certain—”

“Your job is to be a divorce lawyer.”

“Family lawyer,” she corrected.

“You broker agreements, which keep boys from their fathers and wait like a vulture over a kill.”

“What?”

She drew herself up, which wasn’t much higher than his shoulder, Yevgeny knew. Her eyes blazed gold fire at him across the expanse of the polished desk.

“I don’t do anything of the kind! Divorce is hard on everyone. It’s my job to make the arrangements workable after a marriage ends. And that means taking the children’s needs into consideration from the very beginning. Sure, the spouses are often furious with each other, but it’s part of my responsibility to make sure that the party I’m representing is aware that their children take priority. I don’t try to prevent the father’s access to his kids—unless there’s reason to do so. Violence. A history of abuse.” She shrugged. “My job is not always pleasant.”

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