Just ten minutes into my divorce hearing, my husband laughed in my face.
Not a nervous laugh.
Not the awkward, misplaced kind people sometimes let slip when they are overwhelmed.
This was deliberate.
Confident.
Cruel.
The kind of laugh designed to shrink someone in public.
It echoed through the Fulton County courtroom in Atlanta and made every head turn toward him.
Julian had always loved an audience.
He stood at the petitioner’s table in a dark navy suit that looked expensive even from across the room.
His tie was perfectly centered.
His shoes gleamed.
One hand rested on a stack of documents, the other moved casually over his jacket, like he was checking that the cameras in his mind were getting his best angle.
He looked less like a husband ending a marriage and more like a man stepping up to collect a prize.
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