At our divorce trial, my husband coldly pursued the end of our 20-year marriage. Just before the judgment, my 8-year-old niece shocked the courtroom by asking the judge to show a video of what she’d seen at home.
A young courier stood on my doorstep shifting nervously clearly uncomfortable about handing a thick envelope to a sixty-four-year-old woman in a faded floral apron. I was still holding my first cup of coffee when he asked for me by name. “Catherine Stevens?” I nodded. I didn’t yet know my life was about to…