During our divorce trial, my husband showed no emotion as he sought to end our 20-year marriage. Moments before the judgment was read, my 8-year-old niece stood up and asked the judge to show a video of what she had witnessed at home, shocking everyone in the courtroom.

The divorce papers arrived on a Tuesday morning.
A young courier stood on my doorstep, shifting his weight uncomfortably, clearly uneasy about handing an envelope to a sixty-four-year-old woman in a faded floral apron. I was still holding my first cup of coffee, steam rising lazily from the mug, when he asked for me by name.

“Catherine Stevens?”