The Girl I Used to Be by Heidi Hostetter (that summer book .txt) 📕

“There’s got to be something Jill can do,” Ellie pressed. “It can’t be that hopeless.”

“That’s why I needed to know if your friend was a fighter.” Phyllis tossed a fresh legal pad across the desk. “Write this down.”

Jill retrieved a pen from the cup.

“First thing—most important thing.” Phyllis leveled a gaze at her. “Do not get emotional. Emotion is a distraction, and my guess is that Prince Charming knows what buttons to press to get you flustered. Then he’ll use whatever tactics he needs to make you seem…” She waved her hand in the air as if to gather the right word. “Crazy,” she said finally.

“But he’s the one who cheated, not me,” Jill blurted, her face flushed with indignation.

Phyllis jabbed her finger at Jill. “That right there. You can’t do that. Even if Mr. Wonderful brings his side piece to the arbitration meeting and sets her up in the chair right next to him, you act like you don’t care. Emotion is drama, and judges hate drama. Pisses them off.”

“Okay,” Jill murmured. That Marc might bring Brittney to their divorce arbitration had never occurred to her.

“I’m not kidding,” Phyllis warned. “I’ve seen husbands bait their wives into the most spectacular meltdowns and all it does is serve their own purpose. Prince Charming already knows what gets to you, and my guess is that he’ll use all the tricks. Don’t let him.”

Jill nodded, underlining what she’d written.

“And this may seem like a small thing, but it’s not,” Phyllis said. “Twenty-eight years of divorce law has taught me this little gem and now I’ll pass it on to you, free of charge. Pay attention to who the judge looks at first, after he introduces himself. Judges are supposed to be unbiased but they’re not always—they’re human, just like the rest of us. The person he looks at first is the one he thinks has the strongest case. Whoever’s left has to work harder just to be heard.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I wish I were.”

Then, for the better part of an hour, Phyllis navigated them through the jungle of divorce law in the state of New Jersey and Jill never received a bill. When the meeting was over, Jill’s head was swimming with precedent and process. Written across four pages of legal paper was a list of tasks she needed to accomplish in just a few days’ time.

But she would do it.

She would do whatever it took. Marc would not take advantage of her again.

On a Friday afternoon in mid-October, exactly one week after Jill discovered Marc’s affair, she reported to the county judicial center to dissolve the marriage. As she made her way up the stairs, it occurred to her that her marriage to Marc had begun in this very building, in a gray courtroom on the ground floor. The ceremony had lasted less than ten minutes and was a disappointment, truth be told. It had taken Jill longer to decide what dress to wear than it had to recite her vows, which seemed appropriate, given where she was headed. At the time Marc had been anxious to be married, and now he was equally anxious to be divorced.

They both were.

The conference room was empty when Jill arrived, stark and cold with air conditioning flowing from an overhead vent despite the chilly fall weather outside. The walls had been hastily painted a dingy institutional beige and were flecked with chips, the windows streaked with grime. Three places had been set at the conference table, two opposite and one at the head, where Jill assumed the judge would preside. At each place was a fresh yellow legal pad and a cheap ballpoint pen. In the center of the table sat a stack of cracked plastic cups and a pitcher of stale tap water.

So this is how it ends, Jill thought, marriage to a man who swore he would love her forever.

Moments after Jill settled into her seat, the conference room door opened and Marc sauntered in, well-rested and confident as if this were just another meeting in a typical day.

By contrast, Jill’s nerves were frazzled. She was anxious and exhausted and couldn’t remembered a time when her head didn’t pound. Since Marc left, it had become painfully clear that he was the one with money, not her. The reality was that Jill was very nearly broke. So she had been looking for work, calling on every temp agency in the area, asking for whatever they had, but hadn’t found anything yet. At night, she worked on the list of tasks that Phyllis had given her, but checking them off was harder than she’d expected, especially when it came to their financials. Bank branch managers who had known Jill for years, had even cashed checks without asking for identification, suddenly refused to provide her with basic account information. They were sorry, they’d said, but Marc Goodman was the account holder, not her.

Now, as Marc eased into his chair, his chunky silver cufflinks tapping against the conference table, he appeared completely unaffected by the events of the past week. His navy suit looked new, his hair was neatly trimmed, and his shoes were polished to a high shine. The unfairness of it all shook Jill to the core. She wasn’t the one who’d cheated; Marc was. After today, Marc’s life would go on as it always had while Jill’s entire life had imploded. Nothing would ever be the same.

At that moment, Jill realized—fully—that she meant nothing to him and that she probably never had. Right now, she was a loose end, something for Marc to see to before he returned to his wholly unaffected life.

Well, she wasn’t going to let that happen. Jill pressed her back against the vinyl chair as she felt a swell of anger. She leveled her gaze across the table at the man she’d been stupid enough to marry and promised that she would not