My husband asked for a divorce. He said: “I want the house, the cars, everything except the son.” My lawyer begged me to fight. I said: “Give it all to him.”
His lawyer leaned in and whispered five words—just five—and Vincent’s face, that smug, self-satisfied face I’d stared at across the breakfast table for fifteen years, went completely white. His hands started trembling. The papers he’d been so eager to sign were shaking like leaves in a storm, and me—for the first time in three…
