Manufacture confusion.
That was the phrase in one of the emails.
Not solve.
Not clarify.
Manufacture.
Elias told me not to react.
“Let them think you’re still shocked,” he said.
“Shock makes careless people generous with information.”
So I played the role they expected.
I let my mother call and tell me I was being unreasonable.
I let Jasmine accuse me of making the divorce uglier by refusing Julian’s settlement proposal.
I let Trent deliver a speech at Sunday lunch about how successful women often sabotage their own marriages by being too suspicious.
I even let my mother reach across the table, squeeze my hand, and say, “Honey, sometimes it’s cheaper to let a man feel like he won.”
That was the day I finally stopped seeing them as misguided.
They were not trying to preserve peace.
They were trying to divide the proceeds.
The final piece came from Julian himself.
Arrogant men love to explain their brilliance when they think the listener is trapped.
A week before the hearing, he came to the house to collect more documents.
He walked around my kitchen like it already belonged to the past, opened my refrigerator without asking, and spoke to me with the condescending patience people reserve for children.
“You’re dragging this out,” he said.
“You know how this ends.”
I leaned against the counter.
“Do I?”
