“I wasn’t aware.”
“No,” I answered gently. “I don’t believe you were.”
Ethan shifted uncomfortably.
He leaned toward his attorney.
“What is it?”
Mr. Collins didn’t answer immediately.
He kept reading.
The courtroom became unusually quiet.
Finally, he looked at Ethan.
“When were you planning to mention this?”
Ethan frowned.
“Mention what?”
“Your wife’s complete military compensation.”
“I…” He hesitated. “I didn’t know.”
Mr. Collins blinked.
“You didn’t know?”
“I never asked.”
The attorney stared at him in disbelief.
“You’ve been married for over 20 years.”
“I know.”
“And you never discussed this?”
Ethan’s face turned red.
“I figured…”
“You figured what?”
“That it wasn’t much.”
Nobody spoke for several seconds.
Even Linda looked confused.
The judge calmly folded his hands.
“Mr. Parker.”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Did you truly never ask your wife about her military career?”
Ethan swallowed.
“I knew she worked for the Army.”
The judge tilted his head.
“Worked?”
“Yes.”
Another pause.
Judge Hayes looked genuinely astonished.
“You believed a United States Army colonel merely worked for the Army?”
“I… yes.”
The judge leaned back slowly.
“I see.”
There was disappointment in his voice, not anger.
Disappointment.
And somehow that sounded worse.
The judge turned toward me.
“Colonel Parker.”
He stopped himself.
“My apologies, Mrs. Parker.”
I smiled slightly.
“Either is acceptable, Your Honor.”
He nodded.
“For the record, this court recognizes military rank only as background information. It provides no advantage in these proceedings.”
“I understand.”
“I trust you do.”
“I do.”
Professional. Respectful.
Exactly as it should be.
Linda leaned toward Ethan and whispered loudly enough for several people to hear.
“I still don’t understand why everyone is making such a big deal out of this.”
Ethan didn’t answer.
He was staring at the financial records spread across his attorney’s table.
For the first time since filing for divorce, he looked uncertain.
Not because of my rank.
Because he had just discovered something much more painful.
After 20 years of marriage, he had no idea who his wife had been.
Judge Hayes looked down at the next document in my folder, then back up at me.
“Mrs. Parker.”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“I believe Exhibit B may significantly affect today’s proceedings.”
I nodded.
“I believe so too.”
Across the courtroom, Mr. Collins slowly reached for the next stack of papers.
Whatever confidence he’d walked in with that morning was beginning to disappear.
And we were only getting started.
Mr. Collins took a slow breath before picking up Exhibit B.
The confidence he’d carried into the courtroom was fading, replaced by something far more cautious.
He adjusted his tie.
“Your Honor, may I have a moment to review these documents?”
“Of course.”
The courtroom remained quiet except for the sound of pages turning.
Ethan leaned closer.
“What is it?”
His attorney didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, he continued reading.
I recognized that expression.
I’d seen it on young officers many times.
It was the look someone wore when the facts no longer supported the story they’d been told.
Finally, Mr. Collins looked up.
“Mrs. Parker?”
“Yes?”
“These financial records—they’re certified copies.”
“I can see that.”
He looked genuinely puzzled.
“Why weren’t these disclosed during our preliminary discussions?”
“They were.”
He frowned.
“I never received them.”
“I sent them to your office six weeks ago.”
I handed another document to the bailiff.
“The certified-mail receipt is attached.”
The judge examined it.
“It appears they were delivered and signed for.”
Mr. Collins looked embarrassed.
“I’ll need to speak with my assistant later.”
“It happens,” Judge Hayes replied calmly.
Then he turned toward Ethan.
“But these records are now before the court.”
Mr. Collins carefully reorganized his notes.
“Your Honor, we’d like to continue.”