Three months of it passed before he sat me down in the kitchen one morning and told me he needed space to find himself. He said it as if I should respect the journey. I respected the lawyer instead.
Her name was Dr. Sofía Escamilla, fourteen years in family law, with a reputation for precision and a documented win rate her firm listed on its website. I found her through a colleague, called her on a Tuesday, and sat in her office the following Thursday with a complete financial inventory of the marital assets that I had assembled over the previous three months.
She looked at it over her reading glasses. “You’ve done this before.”
“My mother taught me,” I said. We filed the divorce petition in October.
Rodrigo’s family lawyers responded within forty-eight hours, which told me they had been prepared. They offered a settlement, a lump sum I will not name because it was embarrassing, a studio apartment arrangement, and a nondisclosure agreement. I declined.
