The morning of our divorce hearing, the air inside the courthouse felt sharp and cold, almost as if it knew what was coming. I walked in quietly, holding my purse and my composure, while my soon-to-be ex-husband, Daniel Carter, sauntered through the doors with all the confidence of a man who believed he couldn’t lose.
He made a show of it, leaning back in his chair as though he were settling into a private lounge instead of a courtroom. His mistress, Lana, perched beside him like she was starring in her own melodrama, smoothing her perfect hair and whispering loud enough for everyone to hear.
