I go to The Lawyer’s office the day after the other side agrees to the final terms, and sign the papers. My lawyer’s office only has two people – him and the paralegal – and they’re both visibly upset when I get there.
Not about me, though. Another case has gone very wrong. The Lawyer is very upset for what is about to happen to this other client, a very nice lady, he tells me.
I sign the papers and inquire when I have to deliver this check. I assume they will send the check over with my signed papers; I’d looked into taking out a loan and the check will take about two weeks.
I’m amazed they didn’t keep fighting, I say, but I think he must have run out of money for legal fees. It’s the only thing that makes sense: he’s never tired of fighting, but the lawyers will only fight for you when paid to do so.
Oh, says The Lawyer. I know that check annoys you. Would you like it to annoy him more?
Is that possible, I ask.
Make the check out to his name and the lawyer’s name, he tells me.
I chuckle, and suddenly, look forward to writing this check.
I go home to wait for the loan to come through, which it does, and it is sitting on my desk when, a week later, I receive an email from the paralegal: You are divorced.
Apparently I have been divorced for a week.
And so it was that thirteen months after he walked out the door, the divorce ended, as abruptly and unexpectedly as the marriage did.