All is Calm Until Divorce Mediation Begins
Containing my emotions.
My last article about walking away from my marriage with almost nothing struck a nerve with a lot of Medium readers. I appreciate everyone’s support.
One question comes up in comments and emails is how I’m entitled to Joseph’s inheritance since it was “comingled”; the money went straight into our joint bank account and then put towards the marital home.
This is the mediator’s reply when I asked whether I’m entitled to any of it.
Yes, that is definitely commingled. What the impact of that comingling will depend on whether the separate money can be easily traced back to the inheritance, how you both looked at the inheritance (joint or his separate), and ultimately what you each agree to. You can agree to share it, or he may not agree. If you cannot agree, then a forensic accounting can be done to determine how much is traceable. There is no clear answer for issues like comingling. However, in mediation, you are free to agree to whatever you want to agree to.
I replied that forensics isn’t needed, it’s black and white when the money came in and when the money went out. Our mediator-slash-lawyer replied,
Yes, so the fact it is all easily traceable goes in his favor because it is easy to show what was used from his separate money.
For those inquiring about why my mother-in-law’s shitty, dilapidated house was worth so much: the house was worth a dollar. The land is in the Bay Area of California, aka, one of the most expensive places to live in the United States. And I wouldn’t say it’s worth “so much” since only a real estate person would buy it to tear it down, but it was enough along with her life insurance for us to put 50% down on our current house and pay for renovations.
So, as I said in my last article: I’m fucked. And maybe because I know I’m at his mercy financially, I’ve been extra nice to him and there haven’t been any arguments.
Last month, Joseph went through a moment of panic trying to get a cash-out refinance because the bank has some Divorce Deal (that’s not a good sign of the times when it’s a promotion) with low rates. He sent me a massive list of documents he needed because, of course, he has never had to fill out paperwork for a home loan or any of our multiple refinances in twenty years. Joseph can’t even figure out how much our current monthly payments are, despite that they come out of our joint bank account, which he has full access to.
“You know you can’t refinance when you don’t know how much you’ll need to cash out,” I tell him. “You can’t just hand over roughly what you think you owe me before we’ve even started mediation. That’s literally the point of mediation.”
Joseph gets all huffy with me. He’s scared of losing out on the rate. He genuinely thought he could eyeball how much he could pay me.
“Okay, let’s say you refinance and pay me out now. I can’t move out until the market makes houses available, so that will be in the fall. Let’s say the kids ruin the carpet. I’m not contributing to fixing your carpet. So what do I owe while I stay here until I move if you’ve paid me out? That’s what mediation will decide.”
You know, logical and rational thoughts.
Joseph throws the pen he was holding onto the table. “Then forget it, I’ll just sell the house then,” he complains.
Since then, he’s been amazingly amicable.
I don’t know what prompted it, but Joseph and I had a chat about the division of household goods.
“The spreadsheet from the mediator says that we should put the used price for appliances, but that’s so hard to figure out. I’m thinking, we should put the new price for these things since whoever has to replace them would buy them new anyway,” I offer.
He agrees.
“I’m not including the furniture that I brought over from when I was a kid. Like the dresser drawers in the kids’ rooms. My dad built those when I was five.” I tell him.
He agrees.
Getting bolder, I say, “we didn’t pay for the air fryer. I earned that through points at work.”
He agrees.
I think he feels guilty that he’ll be living in this 4000sq ft house (newly-renovated with a pool, sigh) while it’ll be unlikely that I’ll have anything even a fraction of it.
“I will not leave you with nothing,” Joseph says. “I want the kids to be somewhere good when they’re with you too.”
That’s a sweet gesture. But there is no planet where he can afford to keep this house while I walk away with enough money to buy a small little house. If we were that rich, we would have done it already and used it as a rental property.
Joseph agreed last year to split the inheritance if, in return, I put in the post-marital agreement that he receives half of my inheritance when my parents die. I think that’s a fair deal. But he reneged on that this year, so I don’t have faith in him upholding his word to not fuck me over when it comes down to anything that will jeopardize his ability to keep this ginormous house.
With nervous trepidation, Joseph tells me he got a new job. It pays more and, most likely, will let him work 99% remote. Meaning, no more long commutes where he’s absent every day.
“Awesome, that would have helped us a decade ago, but whatever,” I grumble in my mind. Out loud, I congratulate him.
Joseph is insecure and unsure if he should take the job. I pep talk him like a good friend, reminding him he’s been miserable for years and that there is a zero chance for growth at the current job.
I’d like to say that I’m supportive because I genuinely care about him, but in the grand scheme, it’s because it will help me financially if he makes more than me and can pay some child support. I’m an asshole, I know. But I did a thousand times more work than he did for twenty years, and clearly, I’m not walking away with the financial benefits of those years.
Since he had a doctor’s appointment this morning, Joseph asked if I could take the kids to school. While the kids ate breakfast, I bluntly asked if he received the divorce papers in the mail yet to sign.
“Not yet,” he replies. No anger or sadness. It was like I asked if he had received a coupon. “That reminds me,” he says. “I still need to do the financial stuff for the mediators.”
I tell him that when he gets the Dropbox link for the files, just look at mine because they’ll be relatively the same numbers for most things. I also offer to help him fill in the required spreadsheets this weekend. Despite that, it’s Mother’s Day weekend.
Joseph mentions my daughter is excited to make my food for every meal that day, but she’ll need his help. As in, he’ll be the one making the Mother’s Day meals. I tell him I just want to do a movie marathon day and toaster waffles for breakfast will be plenty. Surprisingly, there are no tears over this discussion.
Our wedding anniversary is in two weeks, and I’m hoping he’ll have the same casual attitude as well.
Despite things going fantastic the past few weeks, I’m angry. I’m really, really angry.
It’s like I’ve been renting our homes while he gets to sit on the inheritance (the inheritance was put towards our current house, I get to split the small amount of equity we gained on our other homes). I’ve been nothing more than a glorified employee.
I gave up my career and any social life because I was a single mom during the workday since he chose a job far away (with the threat of divorce when I begged him to switch careers to be closer). It’s like my paychecks went into being his nanny, accountant, personal shopper, doctor, and mother.
When it’s distilled down to it, my essence as a human was meaningless. Not that it should have a dollar sign attached to it, but he didn’t half to do a fraction of it but sat atop a pile of money doing the bare minimum.
Deep down, I’m beginning to hate him.
That’s an awful thing to say, especially since things are going so well right now. It’s like I’m holding in the urge to scream, “this is why I want a divorce because I did all the work and you did nothing but get the benefits of it all!”
As I’m writing this article, I get an email from Medium saying that last month; I was in the top 1000 writers who received claps, likes, and comments (I’m truly humbled, thank you to anyone who reads my writing). As a gift, they’re giving me an extra $500. That feels awesome to have my writing validated like that since it’s the only skill I have other than retaining the lyrics to eighties commercials.
And then I remember: I have to split those earnings with Joseph.
Sigh.
I’m hopefully in the home stretch of this divorce. Staying amicable and calm has been hard the past year, given the level of hostility and rage he displayed when we started down this path. But if things can stay at this level of civility, then maybe there’s a chance I won’t end up overly fucked over by this divorce.
I’ll end up mildly fucked over in this divorce instead.
