Divorce, Take Two (with Extra Mayhem)

Divorce, Take Two (with Extra Mayhem)

Mr. Abernathy’s sigh was a sound that could curdle milk. It was a seismic event, a low rumble that originated somewhere in the depths of his perpetually rumpled suit and vibrated through the stale air of his office. I sat opposite him, clutching my briefcase like a shield, my palms slick with a cold sweat that had nothing to do with the lukewarm tea he’d offered.

“Mr. Nguetsop,” he began, his voice a weary drone, like a bee trapped in a jam jar, “we’ve been over this. Twice.”