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Nothing to Contest

Page 1

Louise Zedda-Sampson


There’s nothing to contest, his lawyer says. The terms are clear.

We sit at the oval table, opposite, lawyers at our sides. Contestants. Combatants. He glares, I sit still, stoic. The room is big enough for twenty, but somehow small and close.

I still can’t believe it’s come to this.

He talks first. Says I have always had a needy nature. Points out He had the well-paying job, the house, the condo on the coast. Says it was my choice to give up the corporate job when I was pregnant. Now, I’m just a cashier. His lip curls in distaste.

He says too much money was spent on our children; they are spoilt brats.

He says I put their needs above his.

He says I’d lost interest in myself. He snorts. Looks me up and down.

His lawyer gives him a side-eye.

I keep my neutral expression. Push my feelings to the ground.

He presses on. Spittle flies as he shouts. None of this mattered – I’d stopped loving him years ago. My love affair was with his money. He says I shouldn’t see a cent. I could take my things now and leave. He’d look after everything, like he always did. Like he always will.

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