As we walked away, I heard Trevor say to his lawyer, “Ten thousand is already too much. She’s just being vindictive.”
I kept walking, my head high, even though my stomach was churning.
Ten thousand dollars.
That’s what he thought six years of sacrifice was worth.
The mediation session happened two weeks later in a neutral office downtown.
It was required by the court, though Patricia had warned me it was unlikely to achieve anything.
“Trevor doesn’t think he owes you anything,” she’d explained. “He’s going to mediation because he has to, not because he’s actually willing to negotiate.”
She was right.
Trevor showed up twenty minutes late again, this time with Vanessa.
She wore a designer dress in burgundy and heels that probably cost more than my monthly car payment.
She sat in the waiting room while Trevor went into the mediation room, but her presence was clearly meant to send a message.
He’d moved on.
He’d “upgraded.”
I should just accept it and let him go.
The mediator was a patient man named Gerald who tried his best to find common ground.
“Let’s start by acknowledging what we can agree on,” he said. “You were married for six years. Dr. Bennett was in medical school during that time. Mrs. Bennett worked as a nurse and contributed financially to household expenses. Can we agree on those basic facts?”
“Yes,” I said.
“I suppose,” Trevor said, sounding bored.
“Good,” Gerald said. “Now, Dr. Bennett, Mrs. Bennett is claiming that she paid approximately three hundred forty-eight thousand dollars toward your education and living expenses during medical school. Is that number disputed?”
“The number isn’t the issue,” Richard interjected. “The issue is characterization. Those were household expenses during a marriage, not loans.”
“I have documentation showing Mrs. Bennett paid significantly more than her share of household expenses,” Patricia said, sliding a folder across the table. “She paid one hundred percent of rent, utilities, groceries, and Dr. Bennett’s personal expenses in addition to his tuition and fees. Meanwhile, Dr. Bennett contributed nothing financially for four years.”
Trevor bristled.
“I was in medical school,” he said. “I couldn’t work.”
“That’s not what I asked,” Patricia replied. “For four years, you contributed zero to household expenses. Yes or no?”
Trevor shifted.
“Yes,” he muttered.
“And your wife worked, on average, sixty to seventy hours per week during those four years,” Patricia continued.
“I don’t know the exact hours,” Trevor said, “but she was working, yes.”
Patricia opened the folder.
“I’d like to submit Exhibit A—text messages between Dr. Bennett and Mrs. Bennett from September of his first year of medical school,” she said.
She handed copies to the mediator and to Richard.
“Dr. Bennett, did you send these messages?” she asked.
Trevor looked at the printout, his jaw tightening.
“Yes,” he said.
“Can you read the message from September fourteenth aloud for the record?” Patricia asked.
Trevor hesitated.
“Do I have to?”
“Please,” she said.
Trevor cleared his throat.
“Babe, I know this is hard. I know you’re working like crazy to keep us afloat. I promise when I’m a doctor, I’ll make this up to you. I’ll pay back every cent you’ve spent on me. We’re in this together.”
“Does that sound like a casual comment to you, Dr. Bennett,” Patricia asked, “or does it sound like an explicit promise?”
“It was—I was expressing gratitude,” he said. “Like when you tell your spouse you’ll take them on a nice vacation someday. It wasn’t meant as a literal financial agreement.”
“By promising to pay back every cent?” Patricia asked. “That seems very specific for mere gratitude.”
Richard cut in.
“This is going nowhere,” he said. “We acknowledge Dr. Bennett expressed appreciation. That doesn’t make this a contract.”
The mediator raised his hands.
“All right,” Gerald said. “Let’s move toward numbers. Mrs. Bennett, what are you asking for in mediation?”
“Full reimbursement,” Patricia answered for me. “Three hundred forty-eight thousand dollars plus interest. We are, however, open to a reasonable payment plan.”
Richard exhaled sharply.
“Our counter is twenty-five thousand,” he said. “Paid over two years. That’s our maximum. Take it or see us in court.”
“We’ll see you in court,” Patricia said without hesitation.
Trevor stood up abruptly.
“This is ridiculous,” he snapped. “You’re wasting everyone’s time, Relle. You know you’re not getting half a million dollars from me.”
“Then let a judge decide,” I said calmly.
He stormed out.
Vanessa followed him, her heels clicking on the tile floor.
I heard her voice in the hallway, soothing him, telling him I was just bitter and jealous.
Maybe I was bitter.
Maybe I was even a little jealous—not of Vanessa, but of the easy life she’d always had, the privilege of never having to sacrifice.
But mostly, I was determined.
Trevor thought he could take everything I’d given him and walk away with a smile and a beautiful woman on his arm.
He thought his new success and new relationship made him untouchable.
He was about to learn how wrong he was.
The trial date arrived on a Wednesday in early February, four months after Trevor had first asked for a divorce.
I’d barely slept the night before, running through every possible scenario in my mind.
Patricia had prepared me extensively.
We practiced my testimony.
We reviewed all the evidence.
We discussed likely questions from Trevor’s lawyer.
Still, walking into the courtroom that morning, I felt my stomach twist with nerves.
“Remember,” Patricia said as we took our seats, “stay calm, stick to the facts, and don’t let them make you emotional. Richard is going to try to paint you as vindictive or opportunistic. Don’t take the bait.”
The courtroom was smaller than I’d expected, less dramatic than what you see on television.
This time, we did have Judge Morrison.
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