As he shaved that morning, his mind was racing.
This is it – the showdown. He had been waiting for this day. He felt confident, cocky. He knew he may have lost the battle, but he would win the war.
He sneered as he thought about her. He would show her. She would be lucky to get out alive. He stared his reflection. He would show her.
Today at nine o’clock the two of them would be sitting in the courtroom, in front of Judge Mary Swayback – the most vilified judge in town. Ironically, 20-plus years earlier, they had been sitting with Marge Burke, the most sought after wedding planner in the City.
She had moved out six months earlier. He was happy – relieved – to get rid of her. He didn’t need her.
She complained-was always complaining. She hated his cigars, his drinking, the flirting and his driving. She was a control freak and cooked those horrible meals. They were so damn healthy, they made him sick.
The kids were launched, gone, and had jobs. The nest had been empty for three months before she started laying the groundwork. Bam! They were in couple’s therapy. Whatever.
Two meetings into it, he knew something was up.
He got blindsided. He thought the old empty nest was “The subject du jour.” Lo and behold, she’s babbling and dabbing her eyes, her nose running and she’s talking about his drinking, his DUI’s, the trysts, the money. Like a faucet of all the things he did wrong.
He sat there stunned. After 20 minutes, she said four words he never in a million years thought he would hear, “I want a divorce.”
The room was deathly quiet. He could barely breathe. The room felt warm. There was an underwater quality. He was speechless.
She waited for several minutes. He said, “Good. You can live alone.”
She smiled at the therapist. She stood up and shook her head, and walked out of the office – happier than she had been in years.
That afternoon, he called his shark attorney. She had handled his DUI – she would get him out of this.