Independence, freedom from tyranny. That’s what the Fourth of July is all about, right? While I celebrate our freedom from a tyrannical England and am deeply grateful to every solider who has fought every war to keep this nation free, I’d like to take it down a few notches and make it less global, more personal.
Let’s just suppose you’ve been shoved through the freedom tunnel at warp speed. Maybe you got laid off, evicted from your home, or divorced. That kind of emancipation can be terrifying, albeit unburdening. Where’s The Justice? Often the relief isn’t realized until you glimpse it in a rear-view mirror.
So let me tell you a story…names changed to protect the innocent, of course.
“In the matter of Wendall v Wendall, dissolution of marriage,” the clerk announced. My lawyer gave me a gentle shove from behind and I moved forward towards the stand.
The dark, wood paneled courtroom was intimidating, especially with the judge seated so far above me. I was trembling as I took the oath.
“Mrs. Wendall,” the judge said. “Do you understand the agreement? Do you concur with these terms?”
He looked so kind, I thought he really wanted to know.“Well, I don’t think it’s fair,” I said, relieved. Finally, I had a chance to tell the real story. “I mean I signed that prenuptial agreement years ago, before I gave up my career. I’ve spent sixteen years of my life being a corporate wife. Do you know how hard that is? Seriously?”
I pointed to the table where my husband sat. “The day he left me…it was a surprise, did you know that? I want to work again, but my resume is thin Judge! Terribly thin …not a want ad to be found for a burnt out, broke down corporate wife anywhere! Not even on the internet, and these days you can find just about anything on the internet, ya know?”
I turned and leaned my head in the direction of the judge, cute like. Intimate. We were having a conversation, I thought. “I need more money to allow me more time to…I mean it’s been almost twenty years—”
“Objection your honor! Mrs. Wendall signed the papers yesterday. We’ve reached a final agreement here.” Confused, I looked to where my husband’s attorney stood.
“A moment with my client your honor?” my attorney addressed the judge as she walked towards me briskly, handsome in her black business suit.
“Make it brief counselor; I have a tight calendar today.” The iciness in his voice made my heart stop. I guess he really didn’t want to know after all.
“Roberta, I thought I made it clear that this is just a formality. You signed the papers yesterday.” Her whisper was harsh and I could smell coffee on her breath.
“But he asked!” I whispered back loudly.
“Just say yes Roberta. That’s all you have to do, I told you that.”
I imagine I’d embarrassed her. Her client was college educated, world traveled, but couldn’t get a simple instruction straight.
“But—”
“It’s over. Just say yes.” She hissed and backed away.
I made a final attempt to meet my husband’s eyes, looking for something remotely close to the love I used to see there.
He stood up shouting, “Give her half of my considerable net worth! She might not have been a perfect wife, but close enough.”
What really happened is… he shook his head and turned away, revolted by my outburst. But not before I saw the familiar glint of victory in his eye. Like the day he bought a competitive company for half its value.
“Yes,” I whispered. “I agree.”
My now ex-husband was gone before I could inhale, the wide mahogany door closing behind him. I’d been braced for the loud slam of that door, because it seemed an appropriate end. Instead, it was a whispered swoosh that signaled our dissolution.
I braided the crowds, behind my attorney until we reached the outdoors. On the steps of the courthouse, on a blustery summer day, she shook my hand. “You’re free Roberta.”
There I stood with the wind practically ripping my hair out (it felt strangely different than me ripping my hair out) stunned that all my contributions had absolutely no value in a court of law. The cradle of justice had rocked me clear out of the tree, while the blindfolded lady laughed.
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