Page 111 of Yearn

Temporary.

Household stability.

Neutral environment for the minor children.

The phrases stacked like bricks, walling me into a prison I hadn’t agreed to enter.

Please, God. Don’t do this to me. My days were finally getting better.

I skimmed faster, looking for the brutal trapdoor.

Fuck.

It was there—buried in the phrase “husband shall remain in the marital residence with wife and children pending final custody hearing.” It had been surrounded by case citations stacked like ladder rungs leading nowhere I wanted to go.

Why, God? Why would you do this to me? Is this punishment? Or a test?

Scott’s expensive attorney had threaded the needle: play-acting concern for the kids while twisting the word “stability” until it meant “my presence, whether she wants it or not.”

“You had this drafted.” I looked at him. “You didn’t file pro se; this is too clean. Who wrote it?”

“A friend.” He nodded toward the papers like we were colleagues admiring a brief. “Our friend, really. You remember Alex from Civil Procedure.”

“You remember I dropped out of Civil Procedure to have our child that passed.” I threw the words back the way one threw a rock at a snarling dog that kept trying to bite. “Because I was pregnant. Because you wanted me to keep working while you finished your second year.”

His eyes flashed, and then the smirk came back. “And look how well that turned out for you. I got the degree; you got the diaper bag. You should be begging me to come back to you. Got atenant renting the basement because you can’t even pay the bills on your own. I told you that you needed me.”

There it was.

The old poison.

I should’ve felt it sink in like always.

It didn’t.

Due to Dominic’s new presence in my life, something in me had changed shape and refused to absorb his vileness.

“I don’t want you back and you know it. And the top reason is because you’re a bitch.”

He blinked hard and stepped back like he’d been slapped. “What?!”

“A sad bitch. A spineless bitch. A no-good, potbellied, little old dick bitch.”

“How dare you—”

“And you know you’re a bitch that I would never want back. That’s why you had to go to court just so I would have to look into your shitty face every day. Who really needs who?”

Color rose onto his face. “Don’t posture with me.”

“Posturing is your native tongue, but I speak it better than you think.”

He laughed under his breath. “Listen to you. What is it—years of being a legal assistant and suddenly you’re Atticus Finch?”

“I am very good at my job, and you know it. You know it because while you were in law school, I kept the lights on, I kept the rent paid, and I kept your outlines color-coded because you’re incapable of making a key without turning it into a performance piece. Remember those nights? Me at the kitchen table with a belly out to here, highlighting in three colors while you ‘networked’ with your study group, which was code for getting drinks with a woman who thought your jokes were new and then got bored with you real fast.”

His mouth twitched. “You always loved rewriting history. Lies. That’s all that fills your head. I was a devoted boyfriend.”

“Oh please. Let me guess: the hoe you’ve been sleeping with finally got tired of you like they all do. Is that why you’re here with your suitcase and a piece of paper dressed up like court-ordered love?”