Heard through the grapevine. You okay, brother?

I typed back a reflexive lie, a soldier’s response. Been through worse.

But as I climbed the stairs to help Charlotte with her homework, forcing a smile, pretending my world wasn’t disintegrating around me, I wondered if that was actually true.

Three months later, I sat in the cramped, cluttered office of Sally Sawyer, the best divorce attorney my modest savings could afford. Sally was sharp, in her mid-forties, with a no-nonsense demeanor that came from spending two decades navigating the treacherous waters of Virginia family courts.