“Luna, this version of the divorce agreement has no typos or sloppy grammar. I hired a lawyer to draft it.” I passed her the attorney’s business card along with the documents. “Take a look. If there’s anything off, talk to my lawyer.”
That finally got her to stand up straight and step away from the man she had been leaning on. She took the papers.
I turned and walked into the kitchen, made a glass of milk and handed it to the college kid named Seth.
Seth Boreas... He was young, good-looking—there was even a flicker of resemblance to a younger version of myself.
I was no longer the person who held her heart. She’d moved on—again and again. I’d lost count of how many times.
“There’s powdered milk in the cupboard—skim and whole. Help yourself next time if you want more.”
“Professor Luna is a kind person. There are eleven other students like you living on the third floor. Try learning from them. Maybe you’ll graduate sooner.”
Over the years, I had thrown the word “divorce” around more times than I could count—handwritten drafts, online templates, you name it. A chaotic mess, one version after another.