Eight Months Pregnant I Faced My Husband In Court Until Chaos Broke Out

Simon Fletcher had been her one piece of genuine good fortune in this process, a quietly methodical man who charged her less than he should have and who had, she believed, a genuine sense of moral indignation on her behalf that he kept carefully professional. But his chair was empty, and when she asked the clerk why, she was told that Harrison’s legal team had filed a procedural motion the night before, something about scheduling irregularities, and that it had disrupted the schedule sufficiently that Simon had apparently been misdirected to the wrong floor. She was told to wait.

Then she was told the hearing would proceed regardless. She sat down with her folder. It was worn at the corners, the kind of folder that accumulates a life rather than a career, and inside it were an ultrasound from twenty-two weeks, a hospital estimate for the delivery, three months of bank statements showing a zero balance, and a bundle of text messages she had printed at the library and had not shared with anyone, not even Megan.

She placed her hands flat on the folder and breathed. Harrison leaned across the aisle. He did not raise his voice.