4th April, 2025
- Black Lawyer
- Apr 4
- 3 min read
Updated: Apr 6
Entry No. 181: “The Paraplegic Bully”
Filed under: Matrimonial Meltdowns & Delusional Damsels in Sweatpants
Dearest Diary,
Some divorces are born of betrayal. Some, of financial ruin. And others… well, others crumble under the weight of a paraplegic father-in-law named Earl and a man so emotionally delicate he flinched at eye contact.
This, my darling, was a divorce I'll never forget.
I represented the wife—let’s call her Sabrina.
A no-nonsense woman with a sensible bun, designer flats, and the energy of someone who used to teach Sunday school but no longer has the patience for spiritual diplomacy.
Her husband, whom we’ll call Mark (short for Whiner), filed for divorce because—his words—he felt “disrespected in his own home.”
Not because of infidelity.
Not due to finances.
But because Sabrina moved her elderly, paraplegic father into the house after he suffered a severe stroke.
“He bullies me,” Mark declared in his petition.“With his tone.”
Diary.His tone.
♿ The Allegations
Earl—bless him—was a retired Navy cook turned full-time wheelchair commander.
Couldn’t walk.
Couldn’t drive.
Could definitely roast you into the shadow realm using only his eyes and a handheld mirror.
According to Mark, the man made him “feel small.”
He cited “constant side-eye” during football games and once claimed Earl “vibrated with disapproval.”
My personal favourite?
“He clicked his tongue every time I microwaved shrimp.”— Actual quote. Entered into evidence.
During discovery, Mark’s counsel produced three printed screenshots of Earl giving what appeared to be aggressive nods from his hospital bed. One was labelled “intimidation exhibit A.”
I too, if I am transparent, am guilty of aggressively nodding at those of which I disapprove.
In court, Mark took the stand with the energy of a man auditioning for a one-man musical called "Misunderstood Husband: The Falsetto Years."
He claimed the home had become "toxic.”
That he “no longer felt safe watching ESPN in his own den.”
And that Sabrina prioritized “her father’s judgment over his masculinity.”
The judge leaned forward, steepled her fingers, and asked:
“Are you suggesting the court grant a disproportionate share of the estate… because your father-in-law made you feel judged… from a wheelchair?”
Mark nodded solemnly. Like he was bravely testifying against Voldemort.
♿ Earl’s Grand Entrance
Then—because God has a taste for theatre—Earl rolled in on a fresh set of wheels wearing bifocals and a silk track jacket.
He parked himself at the front like he was about to announce the halftime score.
He never spoke.He didn’t have to.
He just stared at Mark with the kind of stillness that can only be described as ancestral disappointment.
Even the bailiff looked away.
Opposing counsel began to sweat.
I remained....vastly entertained and amused.
The judge ruled in Sabrina’s favour. She retained the house, full rights to care for her father, and her dignity intact. Mark received the living room recliner and a polite suggestion to seek therapy.
As we exited, Sabrina kissed her father on the cheek. Earl responded by tapping his armrest once.
Mark?
Mark tripped over the door mat. I tripped over my ability to keep a straight face.
Sometimes, the battle isn’t about property, parenting, or pensions. Sometimes, the battle is ego vs. reality—And reality comes with a wheelchair ramp and no tolerance for shrimp in the microwave.
I remain, as ever—Poised. Petty. Permanently Side-Eyed.
Disclaimer: This diary entry is a fictional satire. Any resemblance to real husbands, passive-aggressive in-laws, or shrimp-related trauma is entirely coincidental and probably deserved.
Tag someone whose in-law lives rent-free and emotionally untaxed.
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