What if second chances come a second time?
Long ago, Hannah and Jonah called it quits. Long ago, Hannah stopped trying to make things work, and Jonah let her go. Long ago, Jonah mailed back all of Hannah's stuff from his apartment, and Hannah blocke...
Divorcing a billionaire is a really, really long process, even with the prenuptial agreement we have carefully set up. We're going for an uncontested no-fault divorce, so we're not going to trial. We have no child together, so there's no need for a custody battle. There's not much else to negotiate, as we've mostly settled everything in the prenups. But I understand the concerns, especially coming from his lawyers—the people hired to protect the Archer family's assets. There's a lot of money involved in this marriage—even though it's firmly stated in our prenups that I'm not going to take anything that never belonged to me, I need to convince them that there's no ulterior motive behind our decision to separate. That I'm not going to go and rob Freddie blind in the divorce. I'm not fighting for his money or any of his properties—in fact, I have to fight against getting one of his houses instead, that he insists he's bought in my name.
But, of course they're not going to simply take my word for it—or even Freddie's. That's why the divorce is taking so long to process—all these lawyer talks, going through so many legal paperwork, making sure I'm not going to screw with the Archers with an undetected loophole. It's all very tedious and, frankly, really boring—but necessary.
After smoothing out all our remaining disagreements, Freddie and I still need to finish a few sessions of divorce mediation. Then, apparently, we have to prove that our marriage has been "irretrievably broken"—for at least six months. Then, there could be another couple of months of waiting period after we file our papers, until a judge signs our divorce papers and finalizes it.
Building the proof of the broken marriage is tricky, because we've definitely been seen together at public events in the past six months. But it's also on record that we've spent more time away from each other than together: my college sessions from my parents' home and Freddie's frequent out-of-town business trips without me. It's easy for Freddie and me to get our stories straight—that the marriage isn't working for us, but that we're very amicable about it.
Our mediator also takes note on Freddie's status as a publicly recognized famous-ish person, and buys the excuse that we made up: we're trying to avoid being on the front page of gossip tabloids, and that's why we're still showing up as a couple publicly until the divorce is legalized. He still needs to bring me to certain work events, but we also decide to, very subtly, show less intimacy toward each other—little hints for the journalists to pick up on later after we officially announce our separation.
We're still in the process of preparing our documents. Freddie will be the one to file the petition, to avoid putting my full name on public records. After we finish our mediation, we'll have my attorney review all the paperwork before I finally file it.
The cheap one-bedroom apartment in Brooklyn that I'm renting will help serve as proof that Freddie and I aren't living together anymore. As predicted, Freddie insisted on helping me pay rent—but I convinced him to drop it. I do have my own savings, and I'm also getting paid as a classroom aide while doing my student teaching. I can deal with the rent without his help.
I've lived with him serving as my crutches for far too long. It's time I actually grow up and take care of myself, on my own.
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