That night, I didn’t sleep. Lily woke every two hours, and I fed her in the dark while listening to Ethan and Madison move around the house like they were touring a rental. At one point, I heard Madison say, “This room would make a great office for me,” and Ethan replied, “Do whatever you want, babe.”
Babe. A word he hadn’t used on me in years.
At 6 a.m., I emailed a family law attorney named Karen Price whose reviews basically screamed: She doesn’t play nice and neither should you. I attached what I had and wrote, I signed last night. But there’s more. Please call me.
Karen called at 9:12 a.m. “Claire,” she said, brisk and clear. “You’re not the first woman to sign papers in shock. We can work with this. But I need to know—did he pressure you? Were you medicated? Were you postpartum?”
“I’m still bleeding,” I said flatly.
