I remember the day I asked Heather to write it. Since Ray worked as a bartender and didn’t have insurance, we agreed to add him to my policy. We needed the DPA to do that. Heather took it upon herself to protect me and drafted it with language similar to a prenup. I’m glad I listened to her.
Heather’s tone turns harder. “As for the cheating allegations, they are irrelevant. What is relevant is the brutal assault on my client and the subsequent plea agreement, if you recall.”
That shuts him up, and his attorney gives him a look that says, I told you so. Heather flicks her eyes at me, checking to see if I’m okay. I nod for her to continue.
She then presents my offer. “However, my client is willing to split their joint accounts equally and will give Mr. Murphy ten percent of the net proceeds from the sale of the home, contingenton the property being vacated within seven days. If your client has caused any damage to the home, the repair costs will be deducted from that amount.”
It was my idea to make the offer. I knew I had to give him something to get him to agree to move out. His pride won’t let him walk away empty-handed. Heather fought me on it, and I know it’s another compromise, but I’m willing to live with it if it means a clean break.
“You’re selling the house?” Ray asks me directly for the first time.
Heather squeezes my shoulder to keep me quiet and answers, “Yes, the house will be listed for sale once it is vacated.”
Ray looks both surprised and pissed, but says nothing else.
Samuel asks Ray’s attorney, “Are those acceptable terms?”
Ray and his lawyer whisper, and after a few minutes of back and forth, Ray grudgingly agrees.
Samuel moves on. “Next, the social media and OnlyFans accounts. Is it agreeable to remove Mr. Taylor’s name and all images and videos in which he is included, from joint accounts, and to release a mutually agreed-upon statement acknowledging the end of the relationship?”
I tried to delete the posts myself, but Ray changed the passwords and locked me out. He’s been recycling content, reposting old videos, and worse, redirecting any earnings away from our joint account. I set up a ghost account on OnlyFans to monitor him, but whatever money he’s making now is going into an account I can’t access.
“No way,” Ray snaps. “That is my income. Taking it down would ruin me. And if we’re putting out a statement, I’m telling everyone he cheated.”
Heather straightens, ready for a fight. “Mr. Murphy, let me be direct. You were the one who pushed for opening the relationship. Witness testimony can confirm that you encouraged and facilitated those encounters.”
She’s bluffing about the witness testimony, though I highly doubt it would take much convincing to get Mac and Leon—or any of the guys from Florida—to give a statement. Aiden would make sure of it.
Samuel interjects, his hands flat on the table. “The purpose of this meeting is not to assign blame or to weaponize reputations. I suggest a neutral statement of a mutual parting of ways. Can we all agree to that?”
The question hangs in the room like a lead weight. Ray swallows, his eyes darting between us. Heather watches him like a hawk, ready to strike again if he pushes back.
“Fine,” he spits out.
We go a few more rounds, where I give up even more ground, agreeing to let him keep whatever money he’s been making on socials, because I want him out of my life. He finally signs off. The paperwork says our relationship is finally over. No more bargaining, and I never have to see him again.
When I step out of the oppressive office building, I take a deep breath of fresh air and feel the weight of what I’ve been carrying fall away from my shoulders. I’m free.
I haven’t been in my house since we packed up my belongings when Aiden was here. Ray finally moved out, so I came this morning to make a list of repairs and to pack the rest before it goes on the market. Heather didn’t want me to come alone, but I’m determined to do this myself.
But, walking through the door, the sight in front of me hits me like a punch to the gut: holes hammered through the walls in the hall, the word “Whore” scrawled in red across the dining room, and deep slashes gouged into my favorite chair.
I call Heather.
“Hey, how are things at the house?” she asks, picking up after the second ring.
“Not great,” I say as I walk through the rooms, feeling like I’m in a dream. “There’s a lot of damage we need to deal with.” I try to keep my voice steady, but everything inside me is screaming. I shouldn’t be surprised; it’s the kind of meltdown I expected from Ray, but it’s the last thing I need.
“What do you mean, damage? What did he do?” Heather snaps. I can hear her blood pressure spiking.
As I tell her what I found, I walk down the hall and find more destruction as I move through the bedrooms.
“What the actual fuck?” she seethes. “I’m calling his attorney right now. This is exactly why I put that clause in the settlement: any damage he caused means he loses the money from the sale of the house. He won’t see a fucking dime. Document everything.”
“Okay,” I say, trying to stay strong, but my stomach drops with every new discovery. “I’ll take pictures and send them to you.”
“Good. I’ll handle it with his lawyer. You focus on packing what you can. I’ll be by later.” Her voice is all teeth; I can tell she’s already three steps into retaliation.
