The next morning I called the urology practice. The receptionist would not disclose Michael’s private medical information to me. I hadn’t expected her to. She suggested that he could request his own records or authorize their release.
I wrote down the date and what she said. Then I added a second note: Do not confuse what is medically possible with what can be proven. I had spent days defending myself against an accusation without realizing how little evidence Michael had ever offered.
CHAPTER 3: A LAWYER NAMED CAMILLE
Leah introduced me to Camille Ross, a family-law attorney with an office above a pharmacy. Camille read the proposed divorce agreement without interrupting. Then she placed a yellow sticky note beside the paragraph about repayment of marital expenses.
“This is a demand,” she said. “Not a judgment. You don’t owe him money simply because he wrote a frightening sentence.”
She explained that property division, support, parentage, and custody would be handled under applicable law and actual facts, not Michael’s private declarations. The house was titled jointly, and its ownership could not be erased by a coffee-shop ultimatum. We would gather financial records and respond through counsel.
