Within two months, he stopped coming every Wednesday.
Then every second weekend became once a month.
Then phone calls replaced visits.
Then the phone calls became shorter.
Four months after he left, Rebecca became pregnant.
Michael told me through an email.
Rebecca and I are expecting.
I hope eventually you can be happy for us.
I stared at that message until the words blurred.
I wasn't angry that another child existed.
Children are innocent.
I was angry because Michael had spent every conversation telling me he needed “time to understand who he was.”
Apparently who he was had a nursery in Rebecca’s townhouse.
Our divorce became vicious.
Michael claimed the start-up had no real value.
He said his finances were unstable.
His attorneys argued that because my education gave me “significant future earning capacity,” support should be limited.
I didn't have enough money for a prolonged legal fight.
I was thirty-four.
Two four-year-olds.
An unfinished doctorate.
A mortgage.
And $8,700 in our joint savings account.
The morning before our final hearing,
the account was emptied.
Michael said business expenses had required emergency capital.
My lawyer told me we could challenge it.
But challenges cost money.
Money I no longer had.
I signed.
Michael received broad visitation rights.
