Til Divorce Do Us Part

Continuation of

https://www.literotica.com/s/the-day-the-wi-fi-betrayed-me

_________________________________

Three Weeks Before the Divorce Hearing

I had just settled in for a perfectly quiet evening--beer in one hand, PS5 controller in the other, ready to absolutely obliterate some virtual enemies--when the doorbell rang. I groaned, already annoyed. It was too late for deliveries, too early for home invasions, so I figured it was either a neighbor or some other new form of suffering.

Turns out, it was the latter.

Standing on my damn doorstep, looking like she had just walked out of a Hallmark redemption arc, was Monica.

I blinked. "Huh. You're not the pizza I didn't order."

She ignored the joke and gave me a small, rehearsed-looking smile. "Travis."

I sighed. "Monica, it's late. Unless you're here to confess to another terrible decision, I don't see why--"

"Can I come in?" she asked quickly, her voice soft, hopeful.

I gave her a long, deadpan stare. "Not unless you're bringing that pizza I still didn't order."

She let out a shaky breath. "Please, Travis. Just five minutes."

I considered my options.

Option A: Shut the door in her face, finish my game, and never think about this moment again.

Option B: Let her in, listen to whatever nonsense she had planned, and regret my choices immediately.

Because I am an idiot, I went with Option B.

"Fine," I muttered. "But if this turns into a 'take me back' speech, I'm gonna start charging you for my time."

She stepped inside, looking around like she expected things to feel the same. But nothing about this house was hers anymore.

I crossed my arms. "Alright. You got five minutes. Impress me."

She took a deep breath, like she was preparing for a TED Talk. "Travis... I just... I need you to know how sorry I am."

I sighed. "Oh, wow, you're sorry? Well, that changes everything. Let me go grab the 'Marriage Un-Destroyer™' from the back and we can just--"

"Travis."

I smirked. "Sorry, sorry. Continue your tragic monologue."

She swallowed. "I miss you. I miss our family. And I would give anything--anything--to undo what I did."

I stared at her for a moment, then slowly shook my head. "You know what I miss, Monica? Having a wife who wasn't sneaking off to the gym for reasons that had nothing to do with fitness."

She flinched. "I was... I was lost."

I snorted. "Lost? Monica, Google Maps can't even fix what you did."

She wiped at her eyes. "Do you think you could ever--ever--forgive me?"

I tilted my head, pretending to think. "Hmmm... let's see. Could I forgive my wife for cheating on me with the human embodiment of a protein shake?"

Monica sniffled.

"No."

She blinked. "That's it? Just... no?"

I shrugged. "Would you prefer a PowerPoint presentation?"

She looked genuinely crushed, like she thought showing up and looking sad would magically reverse reality.

"I just had to try," she whispered.

I sighed and gestured to the door. "And now you can try walking out."

She hesitated, like she wanted to say more. Then, realizing this was actually the end, she gave me one last look--regretful, defeated, and about six months too late.

Then, she walked out.

I closed the door, locked it, and let out a deep breath.

Then I walked back to my couch, picked up my controller, and muttered, "Well, that was a colossal waste of five minutes."

And with that, I went back to doing something productive.

Like winning a war in a video game.

_________________________________

Two Weeks Before the Divorce Hearing

Francis had always been the level-headed one, the kid who saw all sides, who tried to find common ground where the rest of us just wanted to pick a side and stay there. So when he texted me saying he wanted to have a sit-down--with me, Monica, Beth, and Traci all in the same room--I already knew where this was going.

I sighed, staring at the message, debating how much energy I had left for this nonsense. Then, another message popped up.

"Dad, just hear me out. We don't have to forgive her. I just think we should at least try to talk before the hearing."

I ran a hand down my face. This kid. He always meant well, but I wasn't sure he understood just how done Beth and Traci were with their mother.

Still, against my better judgment, I agreed. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was exhaustion. Or maybe I just wanted Francis to finally see what I already knew--Monica wasn't the victim here.

We met at a neutral place, a restaurant downtown. Public enough that no one would cause a scene, but quiet enough that we could actually talk. I got there first, sat down, and ordered a coffee. Beth and Traci arrived next, and both of them looked as unenthusiastic as I felt.

"You know this is a waste of time, right?" Traci muttered, crossing her arms as she sat down.

Beth nodded. "Yeah, I don't even know why we're here."

"Because Francis asked," I said, taking a sip of my coffee. "And because we want him to see for himself that this is pointless."

Before either of them could respond, Francis walked in, followed by Monica.

She looked nervous, maybe even hopeful. She sat down across from me, eyes flicking toward Traci and Beth, who both immediately looked away.

"Thank you all for coming," Francis said, already slipping into his mediator voice. "I just... I know things have been bad, but before we go into that courtroom, I think we should at least try to clear the air."

Monica seized the moment. "I agree," she said quickly, looking between them. "I--I know I've made mistakes. I know I hurt all of you." Her eyes lingered on Beth and Traci. "But I don't want this to be the end. You're my children, and I--"

"You don't get to say that," Traci cut in, her voice sharp as a knife. "You don't get to call us your children when you threw us away the second you cheated."

Monica flinched. "Traci--"

"No." Traci's hands clenched into fists. "You want to sit here and pretend like you care? Like you've been some helpless victim in all this? You weren't. You made a choice. And now, you want us to just pretend none of it happened?"

Beth, who had been quiet up until now, finally spoke. "Why now?" she asked, voice small but firm. "Why do you suddenly care so much now?"

Monica's mouth opened, but no words came out.

"Because you're losing everything," I said, my voice even. "That's why."

She turned to me, eyes welling up. "Travis, please--"

"No." I shook my head. "This is exactly why this meeting is a waste of time." I gestured to Beth and Traci. "They're not going to forgive you just because you suddenly decided you're ready to be their mom again. You don't get to pick and choose when you care."

Francis sighed. "Come on, Dad, can't we at least--"

"No, Francis, we can't." Traci stood up. "You wanted a conversation? Well, here's my part--I'm done with her." She looked down at Monica, cold and final. "And if you had any self-respect, you'd stop pretending this is fixable."

Beth nodded, standing as well. "I'm done, too."

I pushed back my chair and stood with them.

Francis looked between us, defeated. "So that's it?"

"That's it," Traci said, grabbing her coat. "Let's go."

Beth followed, and I gave Francis a small pat on the shoulder. "I know you meant well, son. But this? This was never going to work."

Monica sat there, silent, staring at the table.

Francis sighed. "I just... I don't know. I thought maybe--"

"You're a good kid," I said. "But you need to stop expecting good things from bad people."

Then, without another word, I walked out the door, leaving Monica and Francis behind.

_________________________________

One Week Before the Divorce Hearing

Sitting in my lawyer's office, I mentally braced myself for what was about to be an incredibly tedious conversation about the divorce hearing. I had survived months of psychological warfare, endured therapy with a biased referee, and had somehow not committed a crime despite Monica pushing every legal and emotional boundary imaginable. But now, this was it--the final stretch.

"So," my lawyer, a no-nonsense guy named James Pearson, began, flipping through a ridiculously thick file, "the hearing is in a week. We need to go over what to expect."

I sighed. "Let me guess. Monica is going to walk in looking tragically fragile, claim she was manipulated into the original settlement, and try to squeeze me for every dime possible?"

James gave me a pointed look. "Pretty much."

I groaned, leaning back in my chair. "Fantastic. Do I get bonus points if she fake-cries? Or do I just automatically lose the round?"

James smirked. "You don't lose unless you engage in the theatrics. Stick to the facts. That's what the judge will care about."

I nodded. "Alright, so no rolling my eyes when she starts monologuing about how hard it's been for her?"

"Correct."

"And if she starts quoting poetry about lost love?"

James blinked. "Is that... likely?"

I scoffed. "You don't know Monica. I'd put money on a dramatic speech about how I abandoned her, followed by a teary plea for reconciliation."

James flipped to another page in his notes. "Well, she's also arguing that she was 'emotionally coerced' into the original agreement and deserves spousal support."

I nearly choked on my coffee. "I'm sorry, she what?"

"Yeah." James exhaled. "She's claiming that she wasn't in a 'stable emotional state' when she agreed to no spousal support."

I stared at him. "Was this before or after she was emotionally stable enough to cheat on me? Because I feel like that's an important timeline to clarify."

James chuckled. "Stick with that tone in court, and we'll be fine."

I ran a hand through my hair, already exhausted by the idea of having to listen to Monica argue her way into more of my money.

"Alright," I sighed. "What else should I expect?"

James scanned his notes. "She might bring up your 'hostile attitude' in therapy. Willow will likely have a statement about how you weren't 'willing to engage in reconciliation.'"

I barked out a laugh. "Oh, you mean the therapy where Willow tried to Jedi-mind-trick me into believing my divorce was my fault?" I shook my head. "Great. I can't wait for that testimony."

James shrugged. "It won't hold weight unless Monica can prove you were outright refusing to participate."

"James, I walked out of therapy because Willow was projecting her own marriage issues onto me. If anything, I should be getting emotional damages."

James sighed, clearly trying not to laugh. "Unfortunately, the court isn't going to compensate you for enduring bad therapy."

I groaned. "So unfair. Can we at least argue that she should pay me back for the mental toll of those sessions?"

"Focus, Travis."

I waved my hand. "Fine, fine. What else?"

James flipped one last page. "We'll go over the financials, child custody agreements--though Beth is old enough to make her own decision--and finalize asset division. Just stick to the facts, avoid sarcastic outbursts, and let me handle any nonsense she tries to pull."

I nodded, sighing. "Alright. So basically, shut up, don't roll my eyes, and don't call out her BS too obviously."

"Exactly."

I stood up, shaking his hand. "I feel like I should get a trophy or something when this is all over."

James smirked. "You'll get your freedom."

I exhaled dramatically. "Yeah, but can I also get a cake?"

James chuckled. "I'll see what I can do."

I walked out of his office, mentally preparing myself.

One more week. Then it would finally be over.

_________________________________

One Day Before the Divorce Hearing

I swirled my drink, watching the ice melt into what I could only assume was liquid wisdom. Tomorrow was the big day--the final battle, the moment where I would either walk away a free man or financially wrecked beyond recognition. There was only one place I wanted to be tonight, and Maggie had already beaten me there, sitting at our usual table, drink in hand, watching me like she could see the storm brewing in my head.

"So," she said, raising an eyebrow as I sat down. "You ready?"

I let out a breath. "For court? Absolutely not. For drinks until I temporarily forget about court? One hundred percent."

Maggie smirked and clinked her glass against mine. "That's the spirit."

I took a sip and sighed. "You know, when I got married, I never pictured my life coming down to a courtroom and a judge deciding whether or not I still owed Monica something."

Maggie gave me a knowing look. "You're still stuck on that, huh?"

I shrugged. "Not stuck. Just... thinking. I spent so much time these last few months being angry, sarcastic, exhausted. But now that it's almost over, I just feel...weirdly empty."

She nodded. "Because this was your fight. You've spent months tearing through this mess, throwing punches, dodging Monica's insanity, surviving therapy sessions designed to break you. And now? Now there's nothing left to fight."

I smirked. "That's pretty deep for a woman who once slapped me in the face to bring me back to reality."

Maggie grinned. "Hey, sometimes tough love requires a little violence."

I chuckled, but her words stuck with me. She was right. I had defined my life around surviving this divorce, making it out with my sanity intact. Now that it was here, I didn't know what came next.

Maggie must've seen something in my expression because she leaned forward, resting her arms on the table. "So, what are you gonna do once this is over?"

I tilted my head. "You mean after I collapse in bed for a week straight and reconsider every life choice that led me here?"

She smirked. "Yeah, after that."

I sighed. "I don't know. I've spent so long looking backward, trying to rewrite the past in my head, wondering where I screwed up. Maybe it's time I actually look forward."

Maggie lifted her glass. "To the future, then."

I clinked mine against hers, letting out a small smile. "To not looking back."

And for the first time in a long time, I actually meant it.

_________________________________

Divorce Hearing Day -- The Courtroom War

I had always imagined my final battle with Monica would be some dramatic, movie-worthy showdown, complete with lightning, thunder, and maybe a choir singing in the background. Instead, it was just me, my lawyer, a stiff suit I hated, and an old judge who looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here.

"All rise," the bailiff announced as the judge entered.

I stood, adjusting my tie like it was a noose. Across from me, Monica was already playing the part of the tragic ex-wife, sitting with her hands neatly folded, looking delicate and wounded, like she was about to recite a Shakespearean monologue about betrayal.

"Please be seated," the judge said, already sounding bored with life.

My lawyer, James, leaned over. "Remember, stick to the facts, no sarcasm, no rolling your eyes, and for the love of God, don't get baited."

I nodded. "Cool, cool. What about deep, dramatic sighs?"

James exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Just...try to behave."

The judge cleared his throat and turned to Monica's lawyer, a guy who looked like he practiced smarmy smiles in the mirror every morning. "Counselor, you may proceed."

Monica's lawyer stood, buttoning his overly expensive suit. "Your Honor, before we begin, I'd like to submit evidence into the record--Dr. Willow Carr's official report from the therapy sessions between my client and Mr. Parker."

I froze.

Oh. Oh, you have got to be kidding me.

James muttered, "Unbelievable," under his breath but kept a poker face as Monica's lawyer handed a thick stack of papers to the judge.

The judge flipped through it, adjusting his glasses. "Dr. Carr is a licensed therapist, correct?"

"Yes, Your Honor," Monica's lawyer said. "And her findings are very telling."

I already knew what that report said.

It painted me as bitter, combative, emotionally unwilling to work on reconciliation. Because, you know, I didn't sit there and cry on cue like Monica did.

The judge nodded slowly. "Alright. Proceed with your witness."

Monica's lawyer turned toward her. "Mrs. Parker, can you tell us why you felt reconciliation was possible?"

Monica sniffled for effect. "Because I still love him," she said softly.

I almost choked on my own rage.

She continued, perfectly rehearsed. "I know I made mistakes. I deeply regret them. But I wanted to do the therapy because I believed that, deep down, Travis still loved me too."

Monica's lawyer nodded. "And how did Mr. Parker behave during therapy?"

She sighed like I had personally wounded her soul. "Distant. Sarcastic. Resentful." She looked up at the judge with watery eyes. "I was trying to save our marriage, but he...he just wouldn't let go of his anger."

I clenched my fists under the table. Unbelievable.

Monica's lawyer nodded, flipping through Willow's report like it was gospel. "According to Dr. Carr, Mr. Parker showed clear hostility in sessions, refusing to engage in meaningful communication. He often used sarcasm and avoidance tactics instead of dealing with his emotions."

I nudged James. "That's not sarcasm and avoidance. That's me coping."

James whispered back, "Yeah, judges love hearing about 'coping through sarcasm.' Just...shut up for now."

Monica continued her performance. "I wanted to rebuild trust. I wanted us to find a way back to each other. But Travis...he shut me out completely."

I stared at her, completely floored. This woman had rewritten history so thoroughly I half-expected her to claim I had an affair with Rick instead.

Monica's lawyer sighed dramatically, turning back to her. "Mrs. Parker, in your opinion, is your husband an angry man?"

She nodded without hesitation. "Yes. He's very angry."

I smirked before I could stop myself.

Monica's lawyer turned to the judge. "Your Honor, based on Dr. Carr's professional assessment and Mrs. Parker's testimony, we believe that Mr. Parker's hostility during therapy is clear evidence that he was emotionally unwilling to negotiate fairly in this divorce. We request that the original settlement be reconsidered, and spousal support be granted to my client."

James sighed, rubbing his temple.

I leaned over. "Can I roll my eyes now?"

James straightened his tie, looking back at me with a slow grin.

"No, but you can watch me tear this apart."

He stood up.

_________________________________

The Courtroom War: Cross-Examining Monica

I leaned back in my chair, watching as James stood up, adjusting his tie with the kind of calm, lethal precision that told me he had been waiting for this moment.

"Mrs. Parker," he began, his voice even, professional, but with just enough of a bite to let everyone know he was about to rip her testimony apart like a bear on a picnic basket.

Monica shifted in her seat, trying to maintain her fragile, wounded persona.

James took a casual step forward. "Earlier, you stated that you believed reconciliation was possible. Is that correct?"

She nodded. "Yes."

James tilted his head. "And yet, in Dr. Carr's very thorough report, nowhere does it say that you took any responsibility for your actions. Would you like to explain that?"

Monica blinked. "I--I took responsibility."

James raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Because what I read says you repeatedly reframed your actions as mistakes, not choices. Which is interesting, considering you didn't 'accidentally' have an affair, did you?"

Monica swallowed. "It was... a lapse in judgment."

James smiled. It was not a friendly smile. "Right. A lapse in judgment. Just a casual oopsie-daisy."

I smirked.

James continued, flipping through his very organized, very dangerous-looking file. "Let's talk about your affair with Mr. Richard Sullivan--or as we all lovingly know him, 'Big Rick.'"