“Forty years, and he’s reduced it all to a spreadsheet,” she scoffed, her voice hollow. Matilda grabbed her phone, her thumb hovering over her lawyer’s contact. “John? It’s Matilda. I need you,” she said, her voice cracking. The line crackled before John’s voice steadied her.
“Matilda, what’s happened?” he asked, his tone calm and grounding. “Vincent has served me with divorce papers. He’s been thorough, John, incredibly thorough,” she managed, fighting to keep her voice steady. “There’s nothing left up for debate, nothing at all,” she added.