Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 68716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
He looks good.
Healthy.
Tanned.
Toned.
Relieved even. He’s thriving while I’m still a hot mess.
The sight of him makes something twist hard in my stomach. The anger is climbing.
The mediator, a woman in her fifties with kind eyes and a stack of folders, smiles in that tight, neutral way professionals do when they’ve seen every version of this. “So,” she begins, tapping her pen against the pad in front of her. “We’re here today to work through the division of assets and debts and see if we can get you both to an agreement without going to court. That will save you both time and money.”
I nod, because I understand that language: save money. I understand that too well. I’m drowning in debt.
Debts he created. But that is the thing about marriage and love, I gave him blind trust. A trust that has left me with a mountain of credit cards that are maxed out. Cards I didn’t even know I had.
He just shrugs.
My lawyer, a calm woman named Denise who talks fast and thinks faster, nudges a packet toward the mediator. “We’ve already submitted Holley’s financial disclosures,” she remarks. “We’re here to review his. As all of my requests for disclosures from Mr. Colson have been ignored we kindly request the court intervene and provide us the information here today.”
The mediator looks at him. He slides a folder to the woman. She opens the folder gazing at the single paper in front of her. “All right, sir, I see here you’ve listed your income as… zero.”
The word lands like a punch to my solar plexus. I knew this was coming. Some things never change and in the last two years when has he managed to hold down a job? He hasn’t. Why would he work now?
Denise anticipated this very move.. “He going to claim no income,” she’d said over the phone two weeks ago, irritation sharp under her clipped tone. “Self-employed, no verifiable salary, no tax returns filed in the last two years. It complicates things. The debts you submitted are all attached to your social security number. We may be forced to file fraud charges or you may consider bankruptcy. These are conversations to have after mediation.”
But hearing it said aloud, in this room, in front of me, is something else. I can’t help it, I do exactly what I told myself I wouldn’t do: I look at him.
He doesn’t look back. He just gazes at the mediator with that easy, practiced charm. “Yeah,” he states without a care in the world. “I’ve been freelancing, you know, jobs as they come type of stuff. Nothing steady enough to really count and expenses eat it up there isn’t a profit. I think it put a strain on our marriage. It’s been a rough few years for me as a carpenter.”
My cheeks burn. Rough few years…
For him.
What about me? How for years I’ve encouraged him to work for himself if that was what he felt best about? The reality was he couldn’t get along with anyone to manage to hold down a job working for someone else. He used to be a dedicated hard worker. The first few years getting his business off the ground he did well for himself. Even managed to pay for us to have a tropical vacation once. Then something changed in him. Work didn’t matter, I didn’t matter, and our vows no longer mattered.
The mediator frowns slightly. “No 1099s? Bank statements showing deposits? Anything that could help us estimate an average?”
He spreads his hands. “Most of its cash. Side jobs. Friends. I help out where I can, they slip me some cash for the handyman work. It barely covers gas. Not exactly paperwork, you know? I’m sleeping on couches where I can and in my truck sometimes. If I had extra I would support Holley for all the support she’s given me, but it’s just not there.” He laughs, like this is all funny, like not paying taxes and hiding income is adorably rebellious.
My nails dig into my palms. I think of the envelope I opened last month, the “intent to garnish wages” notice. My wages for his tax debts. Well, legally our tax debts as we filed jointly and he told me he paid the IRS for his self-employed part.
Guess what? It was a lie. He didn’t pay and then proceeded to not file taxes for the next two years. Leaving me with a debt that is full of interest and penalties that is now coming out of my paychecks.
None of that touches the other bills. The past-due credit cards. The medical bill from his urgent care visit that somehow never got paid. All of it addressed to both of us, stacked neatly on the table in my tiny kitchen.
The mediator makes a neutral sound. “Well, we have to work with the information we have.” She flips another page. “You, Holley—you’re working full time?”