I feel my temper flare. “You don’t get it. You’ve always been good with numbers, but you don’t understand what it means to actuallybelievein someone.”
“I used to.”
She turns to leave, but I call out, desperate. “Youneedme to build those cabins.”
She pauses with her hand on the door. Looking over her shoulder, she replies, “Idid. When I thought I had a partner. Turns out, I had a thief.”
She opens the door, but before she closes it?—
“You remember our motto, Sam?” she says, pausing. “Stick to the plan.We always said this when we skipped dinners, turned down vacations, and lived simply to dream big." She swallows hard. “I stuck to the plan. You didn’t.”
Becca slams the door shut, and then I hear her start her engine. I rush outside, reaching for something to say but coming up empty. Before she reverses, she rolls down her window.
“Oh, and about that ten percent equity deal, did you get it in writing?”
I blink.
“If not, great. If you did, you now may be liable if the salon tanks. Perhaps crack open one of those books you like to mock and read up on default clauses.”
Then she’s gone. Again.
And I’m left with a cup of cold coffee and a heart full of regrets. I grab the first book off the shelf. It’s got Post-its and notes in Becca’s handwriting, and I start reading.
5
BECCA
Ileave our house—no—Sam's house, fuming. I grip the steering wheel tight, as if it's the only thing stopping me from falling apart.
I don’t recall much of the drive. Just flashes of brake lights, half-finished thoughts, and the sound of Sam telling me I had nowhere to go replaying so loudly it drowns everything else out.
I pull into the coffee shop where Phoenix said to meet. It’s that quiet lull between the morning rush and the mid-afternoon slump that makes the place nearly empty. Cascadia Coffee Company feels like every mountain-town dream rolled into one: knotty pine walls, oversized leather chairs, and the smell of espresso soaked into old wood.
I spot Phoenix in the corner with a laptop open and her sleeves rolled up, her dark blazer draped over the chair beside her and a half-finished cold brew sweating onto legal paperwork. I give a quick wave and point toward the counter, signaling I need coffee first or I might cry instead of speak. I order the largest vanilla latte they’ll make, with anextra shot of espresso. If they offered an IV drip, I’d have taken it.
By the time I sit down, Phi has already cleared the space for me and flipped to a blank page in a legal pad.
“Becca,” she says with an easy smile, moving into litigator mode. "Thanks for meeting me here. One of my clients prefers to meet at her work nearby and can only fit me in on weekends."
Phoenix is the most professional of the Zentrology group. She keeps her personal and professional life fairly separate. I feel honored peering behind the curtain today. It's Sunday, and I know she has a pro bono case. I assume that's what she means, since this area only has coffee shops and cheap diners nearby.
Phi straightens before she continues. "You’re looking to draft a postnuptial agreement. Why don’t you tell me what you’re hoping to accomplish with this, and we can see if it’s the best route for you.”
She says it gently, like a therapist easing into trauma. I take a breath. Focus on the facts, not the ache.
"As you know, Sam transferred $75,000 from our joint savings account to his sister. He did this without telling me. The money was supposed to go toward the cabin project we’ve been building together for years.”
Phi's face stays carefully neutral as she takes notes. “Okay. When was the account opened, and who opened it?” she asks.
“We opened it together, about four months after we got married. But I created the account myself, I added Sam as a joint owner.”
She nods. “That helps. Establishing intent and contribution is key. And you can provide a record of your deposits?”
“Yes. I’ve handled most of our budgeting and joint finances. I can provide everything.”
“Great. Now, what’s your goal with the postnup?”
I pause, pressing my fingers around the warmth of the coffee cup. “Security,” I say finally. “A layer of protection I didn’t know I needed. He didn’t only betray me emotionally, he made me feel financially unsafe.”
