“Mr. Taylor, Ms. Taylor, thank you for coming in,” he greets Heather and me as we enter his small office on the second floor of the courthouse. “As I mentioned over the phone, we’d like to discuss the options regarding the case against Mr. Murphy. I understand you don’t want to proceed to a trial. Is that correct?”
“That’s correct,” Heather answers for me.
She’s pissed that I don’t want to push for the harshest punishment possible, but after long conversations about it, I finally convinced her to let it go. I can’t bring myself to deal with it and have to relive the experience in court. I just want him out of my life for good.
The district attorney folds his hands on the desk. “We’ve prepared a plea offer to present to his attorney later today, if that is acceptable to you,” he explains. “It reduces the charge to a misdemeanor and does not include jail time. He would be required to attend anger management classes, and once he completes the stipulations, he can leave the state, as he’s requested.”
It’s smaller than the punishment Heather wants, but larger than nothing. For a moment, Heather’s mouth twists. I can see the list of what she wants to do—press harder, punish more, make it hurt—but I’ve already decided what I need.
“It works for me,” I say before Heather can object.
I’m fine with whatever they offer him. I want the possibility, however flawed, that I won’t run into him at my favorite bar or even walking down the street. If he wants to leave the state, let him go.
“Very well,” the district attorney states, “I’ll forward this to his counsel today.”
With that out of the way, it’s time to get him out of my house. He received a thirty-day notice to vacate nearly two months ago, but he’s refused to leave, insisting it’s his house and that he doesn’t have to go.
A week after he accepted the plea deal, we have mediation to resolve the remaining issues and separate our lives. I’d hoped to avoid seeing him again, but he would only agree to mediation if I showed up in person.
Physically I’m mostly healed, but the mental and emotional fallout is another story. My stomach flips as I pull into the parking lot. Before I go in, I call Aiden.
“Hey, are you ready for this?” he asks, knowing what I’m walking into.
“I don’t know,” I admit, hesitation in my voice. “I don’t want to see him. This feels like one last chance for him to take a swipe at me.”
“You’ve got this,” he says, steadier than I feel. “He can’t hurt you anymore. Heather will be with you, and you know she won’t let him pull anything. I wish I were there.”
“I wish you were here, too.” I’m grateful he’s just a phone call away.
He’s quickly become the most important person in my life, and that scares me. He lives on the opposite side of the country, and I don’t know if we can bridge the gap between us. His world is so different from mine.
“Call me when you’re done, okay?”
“I will. Talk soon.” I hang up with his voice still warm in my ear and take a deep breath.
Then I head inside to meet Heather.
The mediator’s office is on the third floor of a downtown building. The receptionist escorts us to a small conference room, where Ray and his attorney are already seated at the table across from the door. Ray fixes his gaze on me, his eyes sharp and angry, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’s gotten to me. I ignore him and take a seat.
Heather told me she’ll take the lead and only speak if she asks me to. I’m perfectly okay with that.
Samuel Han, the mediator, sits at the head of the table and starts the meeting.
“Everyone, thank you for coming. Did you all have time to review the draft agreement?”
Ray’s attorney pulls out a marked-up copy of the document from his folder. I knew this wouldn’t be easy.
“We did, and my client is not willing to agree to certain stipulations,” his attorney says.
“Such as?” Samuel asks.
The lawyer pauses before clearly stating Ray’s demands. “My client is claiming an equal split of the home they share, any bank accounts, joint or otherwise, and all belongings.”
Heather doesn’t blink. “Absolutely not,” she says, clipped and professional. “The domestic partnership agreement, entered into three years ago, explicitly protects my client’s assets.”
Ray explodes. “That’s bullshit! I didn’t agree to that. It’s unfair!” He points at Heather. “You made me sign the damn thing and didn’t explain it. He cheated on me! I deserve—“
“Mr. Murphy,” Heather cuts him off, her voice cold. “You were given the agreement before signing, and you had every opportunity at the time to ask questions, butyousigned it. That agreement was created so you could be added to my client’s health insurance through his employer, not for him to surrender his rights to his property.”
