“No, you not packing shit. We about to sit down and work this shit out! I let you get away with being away from the house for two months, but that shit is over with. I fucked up and I’m sorry.”
After failing at freeing myself from his grasp, I reached up to elbow the bandaged area.
“AGHHHHHHHHH!” He raged, dropping my ass in the middle of our bedroom floor.
Blood seeped through his bandage, and he glared at me like a fucking demon. I matched his energy, ready to pounce on that same spot if that nigga decided to get froggy. The same reasonI fell in love with Quinten was probably why I was in this situation. Maybe I should’ve chosen a nigga who was scared of my uncle. Instead, I chose the one who wasn’t afraid to endure a week of torture from his father and his men, then turn around and take my virginity in my uncle’s house while he slept on the other side of the house.
“Dad, you alright?” I heard Lil Q calling from beyond the door.
He bent the corner, and I took my eyes off my husband to face my son, who I’d only seen once since I took off. Last week, we all took a trip to Tampa as a family to drop Quincy off at college. No matter how angry I was with their father, that wouldn’t stop me from making that trip. We were cordial throughout that entire weekend, making sure Quincy got settled into his new apartment, but the moment we got back to Miami, it was fuck Quinten again.
From the perplexed expression on Lil Q’s face, I knew he didn’t know what the hell to do. I didn’t either. My words were caught in my throat as Quinten stumbled over to the bed. Since I couldn’t let the nigga bleed out in front of our son, I called Damon and he got the doctor to come over. In the midst of Quinten getting patched up, I packed my shit and found all of my legal documents that I had in the house.
“Where the fuck you going, Marissa?” His voice was feral.
“I’m for real, Quinten. We can’t work this shit out and I really don’t care what happens next. I’ll die before I pretend to be happy next to a nigga as disrespectful as you!”
The doctor jabbed the surgical needle into his arm, and Quinten winced in pain, making my cold heart swell. “I been taking care of Lil Q by myself for two whole months now. You act like I don’t have shit to do and the boy don’t need to be left in the house to his own devices while I get back out here.”
“Then leave the house and give me some space like I already asked you!” I argued.
“Fuck no! You need to come home.”
Rolling my eyes, I went back to the stairs. “Lil Q!” I shouted from the bottom of the stairs.
Quinten gulped straight from the D’Ussee bottle, tossing it back like it was water. His eyes remained locked on me, burning with a mix of pain and something darker, while the doctor stitched him up without a word. The pain he was enduring couldn’t compare to the constant ache in my heart I’d had over the last two weeks.
“Wassup ma?”
“Come on. You going to come stay with me,” I informed him.
Lil Q hesitantly nodded his head then dashed towards his room. I stood unbothered while Quinten’s eyes pierced me, heavy and unrelenting, but I wasn’t impressed. Lil Q was descending the stairs with a duffle bag in one hand and his Xbox in the other, his gaming headphones resting on top of his head.
“If you walk out that door don’t call me for shit, Marissa,” he snarled.
His words didn’t move me. I continued out the door with Lil Q right behind me. I hated that went down in front of him, and that was a part of the reason why I couldn’t keep doing this shit with Quinten. My kids didn’t deserve to see us arguing and fighting, and that’s the only energy I had for Quinten.
That was nearly a year ago, and after tracking me down, offering a few grand gestures that I wasn’t feeling, Quinten decided to take the deadbeat route. When he said don’t ask him for shit, he meant it. I still had access to our shared bank account, but the evil bastard ceased the monthly deposits six months ago, hence my appearance in Miami. This divorceneeded to be underway because I just wanted to move on with my life.
Alexandria pulled me out of my thoughts when she placed a manila folder in my hands. My shaky hands flipped it open, and I flopped back down in the chair so I could examine its contents. I lifted the alleged prenup and skimmed through until I reached the third page where my signature was sprawled across the line. Pulling it closer to my face, I blinked hard and read it again, as my heart thumped in my ear. I traced the signature with the tip of my thumb, disbelief knotting in my stomach. It looked exactly like my signature, down to the girly curl at the beginning and end of the M. But I knew I didn’t sign a prenup!
“I can’t deny that looks like my signature, but I know I didn’t sign a prenup.”
“I understand, and I’m not questioning your memory. However, Quinten’s attorney provided a signed prenuptial agreement with your signature, and it’s dated three days before your wedding.”
“I’m telling you that’s not possible. I never would have agreed to give up alimony and property. A prenup wasn’t even a topic and if it would have been I would’ve laughed in his face and declined the proposal.”
“Okay, then the next step is to challenge its validity. If you truly didn’t sign this knowingly or if you were misled, we may have grounds to contest it. Especially considering your age at the time and whether you had your own legal counsel.”
“The elders in our families handled all of the wedding plans,” I recollected, trying to remember if somehow all of those years ago I did sign that form. After a brief moment, I peered up at Alexandria.
“The only thing I signed was the marriage license.”
“If we can prove you signed under pressure, without proper disclosure, or without understanding the terms, the court maythrow it out. But we have to move quickly and have a forensic expert review the signature.”
“Whatever we have to do,” I muttered, passing Alexandria the papers back. “He doesn’t get to leave me high and dry just because I don’t want to remain in this marriage.” I stood from my seat and exited Alexandria’s office without another word.
After twenty-five years of marriage, I probably could have forgiven the infidelity as long as he took a lie detector test to prove he hadn’t cheated since. A little unhinged? Possibly. But I am my uncle’s child. The fact that Quinten had a living daughter who shared the same name as the deceased daughter that I never got to see grow was a level of disrespect that we couldn’t come back from. I didn’t give a damn who didn’t like it.
