FFS, page 13
Breathe, Mia. Breathe.
I glance at the last page. “Satan” has asked the court for full custody of Schatzi. The papers fall from my hand and scatter all over the floor. I drop to my knees to pick up each sheet. Something inside of me has created a level of urgency to grab the pieces of hurtful lies before either Daniel or Ben can see them for themselves. I know that the words are nonsense, but it still hurts, and the reality is that people assume that if someone has enough gall to file an actual affidavit with the court, then there must be some actual truth and merit to their statement. I am not sure if this goes back to the gaslighting part of the history of abuse, but narcissists know how to sprinkle in a little bit of truth to the rest of their lies to make you doubt yourself or think that somehow some or all of what they are saying is true. Especially when they do it with a level of confidence that would make any rational person believe they must be speaking the truth. Yet, “Satan’s” entire affidavit is filled with lies and unqualified personal attacks against me based on his opinion and not facts. The paper has my name and that’s accurate, but the rest is nonsense. I am reminded of memories of constantly being put down and arguments that turned into word salad where I ended up apologizing for what he did wrong to me.
The whole concept of “if there’s smoke, there’s fire” is a falsity and should be seen as such. Sometimes the smoke and fire are started by the same versus the concept of “there are two sides to every story.” Maybe. But there is also the truth. Not sides. Just pure facts.
The last page says the law firm of Maxwell and X. Wow. Okay then. I guess Mr. Rescue From Jail was a farce. I swallow hard.
Do not cry here. It could just be business.
I stand up and straighten out my dress. Both Ben and Daniel have crinkled foreheads of concern. I smile at them.
“Wow, so that was awkward. I’m sorry about that. What were we talking about?” I rummage through my purse and grab my campaign card. Might not mean anything at this point, but I don’t want to toss this opportunity to meet with Daniel’s group. I hand one card to each of them.
“Yes, here’s my card, Mia. Let’s do lunch this week.” Daniel hands me his card and waves goodbye.
Ben nods. “I don’t have a campaign card, but here’s my business card. Let me know if you need some help with that situation.” He nods at the papers in my hand.
I let out a small laugh. “Oh, this is no big deal. Ha. Yeah, it’s cool.” I force a smile. I guess the benefit of this is being able to handle a horrible situation without having a full-force breakdown in front of strangers. I’ll save that for my closet. Time to get home.
“Well, have a good night.” I nod and turn to leave. I need to get into the privacy of my walls, actual brick and mortar that can provide me a place to hide and let go of my utter embarrassment and sadness of this battle that I have been dragged back into. I can’t believe my ex-husband would have me served at a political event, but, wait, yes I can. Any place where he could embarrass me and cause me harm would serve as the perfect place. And this was the most ideal spot. He was always good at this type of planning.
I plan my exit the best way I can and avoid any further conversations. Which is another tick of unfortunate misfortunes on my part. I needed to stay and mingle to get people to come to my fundraiser, to put a face to my name. I’ll have to make it up somehow. Right now, all I know is that I need to be in the comfort of my home, so that’s where I head.
A few minutes later, I barely put my purse on the kitchen counter when a knock comes from my front door. I am not in the mood for company at this moment. Especially not unexpected ones. I peer through the peephole. I cannot believe the man that is on my doorstep.
“What are you doing here?” I stare at Maxwell, the man who provided me with my deepest level of embarrassment to date only an hour earlier.
“I came to explain.” He lifts a bottle of wine from his hand.
I’m aghast. Wine, from a guy that just had me served at a campaign event. Like, are you serious?
“No explanations necessary. Have a good night.” I push his wine away from my air space and pull the door shut.
I head back to the kitchen and my doorbell rings. Unbelievable. I swing the door open and find the doorstep empty. Except the bottle of wine with a note. I lean down and pick it up. It is a good wine. And I will not turn away a nice bottle despite the deliverer. The note reads Please let me explain, with his phone number.
I pour myself a glass and check the note again. I don’t want to be a fool, but I also don’t want to jump to conclusions. When Maxwell came to the jail, he seemed like a decent human being who finally understood what kind of human “Satan” was. I almost thought I could trust Maxwell. Against my better judgment, I let my guard down, and now I’m angry. But I am not going to beat myself up about this. I need to see what he has to say for himself.
My phone is within hand reach. I text: Explain in less than five words.
The little word bubble is in motion. I wait and take a sip of my wine.
Not on the case anymore. He follows it up with a second text: I apologize for improper grammar, but I was limited in my response. If you give me a minute, I can explain, but I’ll need some leniency on the word cap. I’m not one to maintain my brevity.
Not, the response I had ever thought. And it leaves a lot to consider, but tonight is not the night for that. Regardless of what the text actually means, I still have a case to contend with. I need to focus on the scars that have been reopened. Stitches have to be pulled tighter, and that is not going to happen overnight. It’s going to take a huge pile of strength, which means a good night of sleep. I’ll tackle this next mountain of emotions over coffee. This wine is going to deliver me to a place of zero thoughts. No need to drive. I’m parked in a place of solitude. Alone. No Schatzi. All by myself. Cue Celine Dion, pajamas, and a bottle of wine. If Schatzi were with me, we would be snuggled up together. I hope she is inside for the night.
I place the glass of wine on the table and close my eyes.
Chapter Twelve
“Another battle, another fight—how can one keep up and not lose sight?”
The papers are in front of me. Each word is like a razor blade that cuts against my skin. My tears run over the open wounds and the burn increases. I can’t read them again. The fact that other adults participated in this nonsensical filing is what really makes me even more infuriated. I get that my ex-husband is a modern-day Satan, and he is going to do evil, cruel things. That is his MO. But other adults with brains who must function enough to process the paperwork? The lawyer—I still have to figure out that situation—or the judge who was willing to sign the order for me to be served? Served at a political event no doubt. I haven’t even been elected, and I am on round two of controversies. What’s next?
I rub my arms. The chill is like a mix of frostbite in a cabin that can’t be warmed by the fire. The level of depression runs rampant inside my mind, it cannot be quieted. This is the part where I want to bury my head in the sand and pretend I am alone until everyone leaves the room or I run out of air. Whichever comes first. I don’t care at this point. If there was an oasis of quicksand, I would dive in. The branches of pain and too much struggle would wrap around my limbs and air would be compressed in my body until my heart made the last pump.
Ginger is fully on solve mode. “Hey, no ostrich time today, okay, babe?” She taps my hand with her pen. “No tapouts. We are full-on going to end this dude. This is ludicrous.” Ginger stands up and pops her knuckles like she is going to handle this old-school style. “Listen, I contacted my legal aid through my work. I have some more time available, and I vetted the lawyer. It’s not Maxwell. Though he did a good job getting you out of the pen.” She lifts her glass of wine as if she is virtually toasting him.
I will not participate in that. I know he said he could explain, but I saw the law firm’s name on the papers when I was served in front of two strangers and left to feel like a complete mess of a person. It is the ultimate level of humiliation to be served. But to be served with a lawsuit in front of strangers, especially ones you are in the moment of negotiating a business deal is a whole new level of horribleness. Despite this, I obviously can’t let Ginger down or ignore all of her efforts, both financial and emotional, to right the course of this next-level effery of my life. I have to do my part, which, at this moment, is to be present and let go of my imagination of no longer being able to breathe.
“Okay, so what’s the scoop? Who is the lawyer?” I lift my head and stare at Ginger. On cue, the doorbell rings.
“Well then, didn’t know you could summon legal services. I was sitting over here logging into my app, scrolling through all the options to find someone, and you just summon one to my house. Okay then. Nice, Mia ... nice.” Ginger sashays to the door and opens it.
A tall man in a semi-fitted suit stands at the step. His eyes are dark, and I am curious if that is his disposition, or if he can actually solve this situation. A small amount of hair tops his head in what might be a buzzcut or an attempt to hide the balding of age. The suit is pressed, and a thin blue line runs through the navy material. I still want to tap out, but I made a promise to myself and all things decent that I won’t. I let go of a bit of air in my lungs.
“Hello there, you must be ...” Ginger pauses. She obviously can’t remember the name of the lawyer who was sent over. For all we know, this could be a serial killer and we are his next two victims. Well, maybe not, but it is possible.
“Yes, hello, I’m Alex Dominguez. Are you Mia?” His hand reaches out toward Ginger.
“No, thankfully I’m Ginger, her friend. Only participating in this battle from the sidelines. Have you had a chance to review the file?” She motions for him to join us at the table.
I stand up. “Hi, I’m Mia, the one on the field.” I laugh at my lame joke.
Alex smiles with a level of professionalism that does not go unnoticed. “Nice to meet you, Mia. Yes, Ginger, I have reviewed the case. I must say, I’ve heard of these dog custody cases ... but this is another level.” He pulls at his tie and sits at the table. “Good news is that we have PETA involved, and they are on our side. I’m going to get an affidavit from them to help support our claim.”
“Are you sure we want to continue to include them?” I glance at Alex and Ginger.
“Yes, Mia, you are fighting against evil forces. You need the righteousness of PETA to pull up with you. Thankfully, you have them.” She tsks. “I wish there had been a group of righteous doctors to go against all those BS bad online reviews he spammed the internet about my work as a doctor.” Ginger presses a hand against her head. “I still get questions about it, even after paying for that company to push them down or have the fake reviews removed.” Ginger shakes her head.
My heart sinks. This is the part where I am reminded that not only do my friends and family have to deal with the emotional trauma of this situation, but “Satan” has gone after them as well. He wrote horrible reviews about Ginger’s bedside manner on multiple sites trying to kill her career as a doctor and, for the record, her bedside manner is second to none. He is simply horrible.
I shake my head as well. I need to focus. PETA on my side is a good thing. I need to regain my attention on the silver linings at present. This is how I can stabilize and not lose sight of the goal. The goalposts might be in a constant motion of change, but this game still has to be played. Schatzi is supposed to be with me. I adopted her, and this whole thing with “Satan” is a farce. Maybe Alex can help. At least Maxwell isn’t on the case.
“Have you checked out opposing counsel?” I raise my eyebrows at Alex.
“Yes, that lady ... Well, excuse me here, but that might be a bit too generous, as she doesn’t exactly have the qualities of a lady.” His face forms a grimace.
“Hold on ... the opposing counsel whom you are dealing with is a woman?” I squint my eyes. This doesn’t make sense. I saw the law firm print on the service stamp. Could this be what Maxwell meant? Maybe I do really need to talk to him.
“Yes, we’ve had a few conversations. Her voice is very squeaky. She sounds like she is going to cry, but every statement out of her mouth is nonsense. I’m not sure if she was able to pull that kind of BS with her parents and it transferred over to her professional performance, but it’s bad.” Alex scrunches up his nose.
I immediately like him. He has had to deal with Maxwell’s co-counsel, Holly Coursey. She is full-on trash. But to see a man not buy into her nonsense makes my heart soar. I am disgusted by the sight of a woman who has zero restraint and is no holds bar ready to destroy another woman over money. That is trash. She is trash. She was horrible in the courtroom with Maxwell. She presented as if she took pleasure in trying to find anything in her stacks of files that would make me look bad. Or try to find a place where I had lied. I remember how her face lit up when she misunderstood where I said the vet was located. Like she had found the clue to prove why I should not have any custody of Schatzi. I was stating the street, not the town. Her puffed-up feathers deflated in the courtroom, but I took no pleasure. And yet, she continued to flap through her multiple binders, her eyelashes fluttered as she searched. Holly presented as if she were a toned-down version of Annalise Keating, and was so sure she could find some piece of testimony that differed from anything they had recovered from their interrogatory questions from me. She had beamed with pride, with what she thought had been uncovered. But she was wrong, again. How can someone be so thrilled and do everything in their control to try and limit a person’s ability to be able to see their dog, their lifeline, their more than a best friend, I will never understand this.
“Agreed, she is a pathetic excuse for a human being, let alone a lawyer, but is she handling the case alone?” I will admit my breath might be absent for a second while I wait to find out the answer to this question.
“She has a law firm that she works with, but she is the sole lawyer on the case.” He flips through his papers. “I wish there were someone else to work with. She is unscrupulous. I have heard about her from other lawyers, and she edits orders to benefit her clients. Enters things that are not what was agreed to at trial. Only lawyers that are paying attention catch her on it. Most assume she is honest, but the reality is that she is one of the biggest liars we have ever seen in our Texas family court system. We have a name for her ... Hole Full of Lies.”
I nod. “Yeah, that makes sense. You don’t want to know how many transcripts I have had to order and pay for to prove that she was lying. It’s just awful. She needs to be disbarred.” I shake my head.
“Maybe we can make that happen.” He pats the papers. “She hasn’t exactly made a lot of friends.”
“That’s not surprising. But how do we handle this case, excluding the bar reports?” I appreciate all the behind-the-scenes, but I need action now, not later. I know we are on a tick-tick time bomb, and I want to make sure that I am on the right side of the release of the bomb when that happens.
“Well, I will work on things legally. But outside of that, you have to follow all of the orders as they were written in regard to Schatzi. I don’t care what you think is significant or not. They will make it seem more important than not. If you are two minutes late to pick up or deliver Schatzi, they will say you are disrespecting the court and their orders. You can’t have that. I know life happens et al, but we are not playing in the world of ‘life happens.’ We are in the world of a ‘how can they bury you.’ And they will find the way.” He rubs his chin. “I know it’s ridiculous and not fair, but you aren’t dealing with justice right now. You are dealing with the very ends of society and how much they can flex before the case is settled or appealed.” Alex bites his finger. “I think you have a case. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think so. But it is what it is.” He stands and flexes his fingers. “It’s imperative that we know what they are coming with but also not to second guess them.” He pats the paper on the counter. “They think that you are irrational and incapable of making decisions by yourself.” Alex shakes his head and motions for me to stop.
I am ready to rant, but he wants me to stand down.
“I know you are not incapable of decisions. Let’s get a video of you and him at police headquarters doing an exchange of Schatzi. They will crumble.” He bites his knuckle. “I want for the court to realize it’s all a farce.”
I appreciate his willpower, but it doesn’t matter. You can show this group the smoking gun, and they will blow it out. Sometimes the level of gaslight is so difficult to temper. Studies have shown that the first people to report the crime are the ones who are believed even if they were the actual perpetrator. The whole concept of what was she wearing. Had she been drinking? All the ownership of the crime is placed on the victim. The questions are rarely focused on the alleged criminal. Why would he do this? Why did he feel it was acceptable to harm another individual? Regardless of what happened. The history of the court is still too fresh to be hopeful. Too many injustices to get over.
I swallow. I wanted to be hopeful, but it was not a hopeful place in the courtroom. I am not sure that I will ever get over that.
“Okay, Alex, besides being on time for my pick-up and drop-offs, is there anything else?” I slide onto one of Ginger’s bar stools.
“Yeah, I know this sucks, but litigation sucks, so imagine that every moment you are being monitored and watched. And, technically, you are—I checked out the file. This guy ... your ex ... wow. He really likes to record stuff. I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t have a car out front of your house.” He makes his way to the windows and peers through the blinds. “Yeah, totally possible. Anyway. I know it sucks. Totally, I get it. I don’t like being monitored/watched, etc., but that is what is happening right now. You have to know that and expect that.” He takes a sip of the wine Ginger poured. “Listen, every moment that you are outside of your house, you need to pretend like you are competing in the contest of ‘Who can be the best person of Texas’ award.”
