22 August 2026

I was seventy-three when my husband looked me in the eye and said, “You’re old. You’re sick. I’m leaving you for someone who still matters.”

Wade filed for divorce three days later.

His petition was theatrical, insulting, and incredibly stupid.

He claimed I was mentally fragile and had contributed nothing to the marriage except for basic domestic support. He even claimed he needed access to all marital assets to preserve the stability of our business.

The phrase made Katherine laugh so hard she actually coughed into her coffee.

Katherine Blake had been my attorney for twenty-two years, and she was a woman who wore sharp charcoal suits, hated liars, and knew exactly where every dollar in my life had gone.

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