PART 1
When my husband asked for a divorce, he made no effort to soften the impact of his words. He did not suggest that we had drifted apart, nor did he say that we should take time apart to process our feelings. Instead, he sat calmly across from me at our marble counter in the breakfast nook, folded his hands together, and laid out his demands without hesitation.
“I want the property, the vehicles, and all the liquid accounts,” he said smoothly. “I expect everything to be transferred into my name.”
He paused for a moment and stared directly into my eyes.
“You can take our boy,” he added flatly.
For a few seconds, the air left my lungs completely. Our nine-year-old son, Tommy, was sitting upstairs at his desk doing his social studies project. What stung the most was that Mark did not even speak his name, referring to him instead as a simple line item to be allocated in a ledger.
