“Divorce documents can be very individualized. Trust me, I’ve seen some weird shit. With pets. With housekeepers. With sex. You can put anything you want in it, as long as both parties agree. Have you ‘cohabitated’ under the terms in the document?”

“No.”

“Just checking. It’s my job.”

“How can you even prove such a thing?” I asked.

“You will have to sign an affidavit for the court.” He sounded serious. “Now for the last icky question.” It sounded strange hearing Jake use a nonlegal term like icky. “Did you and Elliott ever have unprotected sex?” How much more personal was this guy going to get? I felt little pieces of my privacy and little pieces of my heart being slowly chipped away. By strangers. By people to whom we were paying by the hour. By a man I once—and still—loved.

“He was my husband, Jake.”

“Understood. You’ll need to get tested.”

“Why? I haven’t had sex with anyone else. Why would they want me to do that?”

“Elliott’s attorney isn’t asking for the test. I am.” Jake stared at me. The brain cells I had left were having a hard time comprehending.

“Are you saying … ”

“Get tested, Bailey.” Five syllables, three words, let me know that my husband had not been faithful to me.

“I think I will be able to get your money back for you. But there’s one last thing,” Jake said.

I wanted to ask: Do you promise?

“As a final condition of the proposal, Elliott wants all of the jewelry he gave you, which has been itemized: your wedding ring and band, the sea pearl necklace, the flower brooch, and the peridot and diamond earrings.” I could return everything except the earrings. My life was being stripped away little by little at an hourly billing rate. Everything was being picked at, not just in my heart but in my soul. Like leftovers. But they were my leftovers. The things that brought me pleasure I was having to give back. Jake provided an envelope for me to put all my worldly possessions that Elliott had given me into. The ideas of permanence and “forever” seem so shallow.

I stifled tears. “I just don’t want you to think I’m some emotional wreck of a woman who married the wrong man.”

“Because everyone who comes in here is looking to divorce Mr. Right.” He smiled, and the dimples stretched out with great ease. He walked me to the door.

Griffin walked into the conference room and told me I could leave. Henry took me to a smaller conference room and hugged me.

“It feels like being sent to the principal’s office a little bit, doesn’t it?” Henry understood.