At the time, the process felt unnecessarily formal.
But now, sitting on the hallway floor with Sophie’s baby monitor beside me, I was grateful I’d listened.
I read through the agreement.
There were provisions concerning marital assets, financial support, and infidelity.
I knew that no paragraph could guarantee how a divorce would turn out.
But I also realized something important.
I had rights.
I had my own career.
I had family nearby.
And I had options.
I wasn’t trapped.
The following day, I asked my mother to watch Sophie for a couple of hours.
Then I visited an attorney named Gloria Benitez.
She was around sixty, with short silver hair and reading glasses hanging from a chain.
Her office was quiet.
A bowl of peppermints sat on her desk.
And she listened without interrupting while I explained everything.
The phone call.
Sierra.
Elon’s plans to divorce me.
