I walk into a Denny’s diner, the smell of different meats filling my nose as I sit down at a booth. Infront of me sits a single mother of 2, a boy and a girl. We talk for a short time before her ex-husband enters and takes a seat with us. He lost no time, immediately arguing with her over their son, whom I attempts to grab from her, claiming he currently has custody of the children.
I break up the two’s argument and interject, I am a divorce lawyer. The mother reveals that their son, who is about 8, has a terminal illness and will not survive for much longer. The doctors had diagnosed him with a rare disease, the boy will suffer chronic pain for the rest of his short life. The father, overcome with grief and sadness, pleads with his wife, “We didn’t do enough!” He glanced at me, brows furled, and began berating me. When he had finally finished I calmly pulled two sealed envelopes from my suit pockets.
“Court dates,” I said, handing one to each of them, “And get your head out of your ass!” I yelled as I exited the building.