29 March, 2025
- Black Lawyer
- Mar 29
- 3 min read
Dearest Diary,
Some cases leave behind a legal footprint.
Others leave you staring blankly at a beige wall, wondering how one might discreetly exit the profession and take up candle-making—or, in moments of desperation, apply to Chick-fil-A and master the art of saying, “My pleasure,” with unflinching sincerity in a red polo.
I once had a divorce case—Hell Nah county adjacent—involving a seemingly ordinary couple: two mid-level marketing professionals named Lauren and Troy. They’d filed for divorce after ten years, two children, and what I can only assume was one long and simmering silent war over thermostat settings.
On paper? Delightfully amicable.
In person? Polite as a tea tray.
In private? Still shagging. Each other. Routinely. With choreography.
Yes, Diary.
Now, let me be perfectly clear: it’s not illegal to engage in the occasional post-separation entanglement. But when you’re in the middle of a custody dispute, and the child walks in during one of said “encounters” and then proceeds to tell the court-appointed amicus attorney in harrowing detail that "Mummy was wearing Daddy’s old Spurs jersey and yelling 'giddy up'"—that, my dear, becomes a procedural problem.
The amicus attorney, God bless her, was a fresh-out-the-box idealist who still thought mediation was romantic. She showed up to court with 47 pages of typed notes, a colour-coded timeline, and the face of someone who had just emotionally dry-heaved in her Prius.
She opened her report with:
“The child is confused, Your Honour. She said, and I quote: ‘Are they getting divorced or are they doing gymnastics with kissing?’”
Reader, the courtroom gasped. I physically aged.
My lace front wig, I could have sworn, slipped back an inch away from my forehead.
Troy turned crimson.
Lauren dabbed her forehead with a tissue she’d folded into a triangle—as though origami could absolve her.
Opposing counsel looked at me with the same expression one gives a fire alarm during a job interview.
I looked at opposing counsel like he’d smuggled a goat into chambers.
We attempted to pivot.
Lauren said they were trying to "rekindle for co-parenting synergy."Troy described it as “a few meaningful relapses.”
The judge leaned forward, adjusted her glasses, and said dryly:
“So you’re divorcing, but also... rehearsing?”
And that’s when the child’s school counselor was called in. Apparently, the child’s twin brother (yes—there were two of them, naturally) had informed his entire second-grade class during show-and-tell that "Mum and Dad are divorced but still do wrestle hugs when the lawyer lady isn’t looking."
We spent three days in trial trying to clarify for the court that the divorce was indeed real, that the reconciliation was not, and that the children should not be the narrators of this emotionally chaotic audiobook.
By the time the amicus advocated for joint custody, she added this with the grace of someone who’s seen some things:
“But only if they agree to keep their post-litigation activities away from the children and out of the Spurs memorabilia drawer.”
It gets better….and worse….
They stayed married.
Happily, they claim.
Reconciled.
Renewed.
Currently attending trust workshops in Waco.
They now co-parent, cohabitate, and co-coach each other through “intentional eye contact.”
Meanwhile, their children are writing haikus about betrayal.
There is no precedent for this. Only vibes, poor impulse control, confused eight-year-olds with an incredible vocabulary, and my personal vendetta against court-ordered foolishness.
Some people divorce with dignity. Others turn it into a legally sanctioned situationship with trauma as the closing statement.
I remain, as ever—Poised. Petty. Permanently Pissed that I am not paid nearly enough for this.
Disclaimer:This diary entry is a satirical dramatization of fictional legal proceedings. Any resemblance to actual people, events, or Spurs jerseys is entirely coincidental and legally inadvisable.
Tag someone who thinks "on-again, off-again" is a parenting style.
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