I walked to the door, sunlight spilling across the floor. I took a deep breath, smiled, and whispered to myself, "Welcome to your new morning routine." Then I stepped outside, coffee in one hand, freedom in the other. If you've never been to divorce court, let me paint you a picture.
It's like The Office meets jury duty. The same awkward silences, the same forced smiles, and absolutely no snacks. Everyone's pretending to be civilized while secretly calculating how many ways they can ruin each other before lunch. Walking in that morning, I felt oddly calm.
Maybe it was the coffee. Maybe it was the relief that this circus was finally reaching its last act. Belinda, meanwhile, looked like she'd spent the night wrestling her conscience and lost. She was sitting two rows ahead, pretending to scroll through her phone like she wasn't fighting the urge to hurl it at me.
Her lawyer sat beside her, some guy named Derek with slicked-back hair and an ego so shiny it could have been used as a mirror. Mrs. Delgado, my legal gladiator, gave me a nod. "Ready?" she whispered. "Born ready," I said.
"Let's turn heartbreak into case law." The bailiff called the session to order. The judge entered, a silver-haired woman with glasses perched halfway down her nose and a face that said she'd seen it all. If this woman's life were a movie, it would be called Fifty Shades of Divorce.
"Case number 4,823. Carver versus Carver," the clerk announced. The judge glanced over her glasses at both of us. "Let's make this quick. I skipped breakfast."
Mrs. Delgado smiled faintly. "Your Honor, we'll be as efficient as possible." Belinda's lawyer cleared his throat, instantly trying to charm. "Your Honor, my client is simply seeking a fair division of marital assets."
"She contributed greatly to the household, and—" The judge raised a hand. "Save the speech. I'll see the paperwork." Mrs. Delgado slid our neatly labeled folder across the bench.
I swear the sound it made, paper gliding over wood, was the sweetest music I'd ever heard. "Your Honor," she said, "this is Exhibit Belinda: Season Finale. It includes proof of infidelity, financial mismanagement, and enough text messages to crash a phone." The judge adjusted her glasses and flipped open the binder.
Belinda shifted in her seat. Her lawyer tried to keep his poker face, but I could tell by the twitch in his jaw he hadn't been briefed on all the evidence. Page one: screenshots of texts between Belinda and her boss. Page two: hotel receipts.
Page three: the video. Yes, the one Tar edited with jazz music and tasteful fade-outs. When the video started playing on the courtroom monitor, you could have heard a pin drop. There they were.
Belinda and Mr. Hairline in glorious 1080p. Mrs. Delgado had even added subtitles for clarity. Belinda: "You make spreadsheets sexy." Boss: "Only for you, baby."
The courtroom collectively exhaled a scandalized "oof." Even the judge's eyebrows lifted, and I swear someone in the back whispered, "Yikes." Belinda's lawyer jumped up. "Your Honor, this is highly inappropriate."
The judge waved him off. "Oh, hush. It's evidence and oddly cinematic." Mrs. Delgado smiled sweetly. "My IT consultant added the transitions, Your Honor."
"Very professional," the judge said dryly. "Continue." The footage ended with Belinda's boss wiping lipstick off his chin. When the screen went dark, the silence was thicker than courtroom coffee.