Chapter 3 - The Scales of Justice
Four days after I delivered Carmen to 5th Street, I sat in a sunlit corner office on the twelfth floor of a downtown high-rise.
Across the glass desk sat Victoria Vance—a family law attorney with sharp gray eyes, a pristine tailored suit, and a reputation for turning arrogant husbands into cautious men.
"Let me get this straight," Victoria said, reviewing the thick stack of documents I had placed before her. "You owned the residential property prior to the marriage?"
"Yes," I said calmly. "It was bought outright using my late father’s estate. Miguel’s name was never added to the title."
"Good," Victoria murmured, turning a page. "And these financial statements?"
"Those are seven years of bank records," I explained. "Showing that Miguel contributed less than twenty percent of his income toward household expenses, medical supplies, and caregiving needs. He maintained a separate private account, which I recently discovered he used to pay the lease on his mistress’s apartment."
Victoria leaned back in her leather chair, a slow, predatory smile touching her lips. "Mrs. Santos, most wives in your position come to me with emotion. You have brought me an audit."
"I spent seven years managing a chronic medical condition, Ms. Vance," I said evenly. "I know how to keep records."
"And what about his mother?" Victoria asked, raising an eyebrow. "Has he attempted to contact you regarding elder care?"
"He tried sending his sister to guilt me," I replied. "And yesterday, I received a formal letter from a cheap strip-mall lawyer claiming I had 'abandoned a vulnerable dependent' and threatening to sue me for spousal support and emotional distress."
Victoria let out a short, musical laugh. She picked up a red pen, tapped it against her desk, and shook her head.
"Abandonment?" Victoria said. "He walked out on a seven-year marriage to reside with a third party. You returned a biological parent to her legal son and primary next-of-kin. You are not her legal guardian, nor were you ever paid as her medical caretaker. If he attempts to bring elder abandonment charges against you, the court will look at his seven years of zero caregiving contributions and laugh him out of the room."
She slid a document across the desk toward me.
"Sign here," Victoria said. "We are filing for divorce on the grounds of adultery, financial dissipation, and irreconcilable differences. We are petitioning for an immediate freeze on all joint accounts, full retention of your real estate, and a claim for financial restitution for the personal funds spent on his mother's care."
I took the pen. The blue ink flowed smoothly across the white paper.
Two days later, Miguel was served with divorce papers at his office.
He didn't receive them in private. Victoria had purposefully arranged for the process server to deliver the bright yellow envelope during a department budget meeting, in front of his boss and six senior executives.
An hour later, my phone rang from an unknown number. I answered it, expecting a hysterical outburst.
Instead, I heard a voice that sounded utterly destroyed.
"Elena..." Miguel rasped. He sounded like he hadn't slept in a week. His voice was raw, cracked, and desperate. "Please. Please answer me."
"I am listening, Miguel," I said softly.
"I can't do this," he sobbed—actually sobbed into the phone. "She won't stop crying. Mom has a fever. Chloe left me, Elena. She packed her things and moved to her sister's place last night because the apartment smelled like... she said she couldn't take it anymore. She took the car I leased for her."
I sat at my kitchen table, sipping my coffee, watching the morning sun illuminate the dust motes dancing in the calm air of my living room.
"That sounds difficult, Miguel," I said, my voice completely devoid of sarcasm or anger. It was the tone one uses with a stranger describing a delayed train.
"I tried to put Mom in a facility yesterday," Miguel wept. "They told me there’s a six-month waiting list for state-funded care! The private places want five thousand dollars a month upfront! I don't have that kind of money, Elena! My accounts are frozen! Why did you freeze my accounts?!"
"Because you used our marital funds to pay for Chloe’s rent," I said smoothly. "And because my attorney is very good at her job."
"Bring her home, Elena!" he begged, his voice dropping into a desperate, pathetic whine. "Please! Bring her back to our house! I'll break up with Chloe forever! I'll come back home! I'll be a better husband, I swear to God! Just come take care of Mom! I can't lift her anymore, my back is throwed out, and she keeps calling for you!"
I looked out the window at my garden. The roses were blooming. I hadn't had time to prune them in three years.
"Miguel," I said gently. "I am not coming back. You are her son. You spent seven years pretending that caring for her was as easy as sitting on the couch while I did the work. Now you get to experience the reality of your choice."
"She’s sick, Elena!" he screamed. "She has a fever right now!"
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"Then call an ambulance," I said. "Like any responsible adult would."
I hung up the phone.
