The next few weeks were a study in performance art. David and Beatrice were living together in her cramped one-bedroom, and whenever David came by to get the rest of his things, he brought her along like a human shield. They looked like a couple who thought they’d already won the lottery.
My mother called daily, her voice a shrill mix of guilt and manipulation. “Marina, honey, you have to think about the baby. David is a good man at heart, he just got lost. And Beatrice… she’s family. Can’t you just be the bigger person? You have so much, and they have so little.”
“I am being the bigger person, Mom,” I’d reply. “I’m letting them be together. Isn’t that what they wanted?”
In the fourth week, I finally made the call. Beatrice answered, her voice cautious but tinged with a smug victory. “Mari? Is everything okay?”
“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, Bea,” I said, pitching my voice to sound weary and resigned. “You were right. We’re adults. There’s no point in being bitter. We need to settle the divorce and the property so we can all move on. Especially for the sake of the baby.”
I could almost hear her eyes light up through the phone. “Oh, Mari! I’m so glad you’re seeing it that way. David was so worried you were going to make this difficult.”
“Not at all. Let’s meet at Terrazzo again this Saturday. A final dinner to close this chapter properly. My treat, one last time.”
“That sounds perfect,” she chirped.
I spent the rest of the week preparing. I chose a black dress—sharp, expensive, and imposing. It wasn’t a mourning dress; it was a suit of armor. I practiced my expressions in the mirror, making sure I looked just hurt enough to be believable, but composed enough to lead them right into the trap.
I arrived at the restaurant exactly at eight. The maître d’ gave me a sympathetic look as he led me to the same secluded table. When David and Beatrice walked in, they looked triumphant. Beatrice’s belly was slightly more prominent now, and she wore a dress that accentuated it. David pulled out her chair with a flourish, a level of chivalry he’d rarely bothered to show me in our final year of marriage.
“Marina,” David said, leaning back as if he already owned the place. “Thank you for being so reasonable about this.”
“Of course,” I said, signaling the waiter for the same expensive bottle of Chianti. “We should do this right. Now, let’s talk about ‘fairness.’ David, what exactly are you looking for in the settlement?”
He and Beatrice exchanged a quick, rehearsed look. “Well,” David began, “we think it’s only fair to sell the loft and split the equity fifty-fifty. And given your new promotion and the fact that I’ll be supporting a new family, a bit of spousal support—alimony—would go a long way in helping us stabilize.”
I didn’t flinch. I just reached into my bag and pulled out the envelope. The sound of it hitting the table was as sharp as a gunshot.
“Before we talk about the future,” I said, my voice dropping an octave, “we need to discuss a little piece of the past that you both seem to have conveniently forgotten.”
David stared at the heavy, ivory-colored envelope as if it were a coiled snake. The confidence that had radiated from him just moments ago began to leak out, replaced by a flicker of genuine confusion. “What is that?” he asked, his hand hovering uncertainly over the Chianti.
“Our prenuptial agreement, David,” I said, my voice steady and cold as a winter morning. “The one you signed four years ago. You remember, don’t you? The one you laughed at? The ‘rich people’s nonsense’ that you were too distracted to actually read?”
The color drained from his face so quickly it was as if someone had pulled a plug. He reached out with trembling fingers and pulled the document toward him. Beside him, Beatrice looked back and forth between us, her brow furrowed.
“What agreement? You guys made a prenup?” she asked, her voice losing that saccharine, sisterly lilt.
“We did,” I said, leaning back and watching them. “And David was quite happy to sign it back then. He thought it was just a formality to make me feel ‘calm.’ David, look at the first page. Section two. Complete separation of assets. Do you know what that means in the state of Texas?”
David’s eyes darted across the lines of dense legal text. He wasn’t reading it; he was hunting for a way out.
“Calm down, Mari,” Beatrice interjected, though she was the one who looked panicked now. “Even with a contract, you were married. There’s community property. Anything you bought while you were together gets split. That’s just the law.”