“My husband texted from vegas: ‘just married my coworker. You’re pathetic BTW.’ I replied: ‘cool.’ Then I blocked his cards and changed the house locks. Next morning, police were at my door…”

But the real circus waited outside.

We had barely stepped onto the courthouse steps before Margaret exploded.

“This is theft!” she shrieked. “You stole from my baby!”

Her voice rang out across the plaza so loudly that two people sitting on a bench actually turned their heads in unison like synchronized birds.

Rebecca’s mother, Sarah, was there too, inexplicably clutching an iced coffee and looking like she had shown up hoping the court might reverse reality into something more convenient for her daughter.

Lily, vibrating with impotent fury, stepped forward and flung her coffee.

She missed me entirely.

The drink hit Sarah across the blouse in a brown arc that seemed, for one glorious second, to silence the entire world.

Then Sarah screamed.

“You idiot!”

“Watch your tone, tramp!” Margaret shouted back, because apparently in her emotional universe every woman over fifty eventually becomes a soap opera villain.