The following afternoon, Landon called.
I was at the kitchen table, reviewing the latest documents, when his name appeared on my phone.
I took a breath before answering.
“Hello.”
“Hi. Do you have a minute?”
“Yes.”
He asked about the remaining arrangements.
His tone was calm, almost casual.
For a moment, I felt as though we were back in the old routine.
He would ask a question.
I would explain what I had done.
He would tell me what remained.
We would finish the conversation and move on.
That routine had once made me feel secure.
Now I knew I needed to pay attention to the actual details rather than the comfort of familiarity.
“I've completed some of the checks,” I told him. “There are still a few points I'm waiting to clarify.”
“Which ones?”
I explained the outstanding items.
He said he believed the arrangements were straightforward.
I waited.
I had learned that repeating a conclusion was not the same as answering a question.
“Can you tell me which documents support that?” I asked.
There was a pause.
“I'll have to look.”
“All right.”
I kept my voice even.
I did not tell him that he should already know.
I did not suggest that he was avoiding the question.
I simply waited for the information.
He asked whether I thought there was a problem.
I looked at the folder beside me.
“I don't know yet. That's why I'm checking.”
He sighed.
I felt the old urge to reassure him.
I wanted to tell him I was not accusing him of anything.
I wanted to explain that my father had advised me to be careful.
I wanted to make sure Landon understood that I was not trying to turn the divorce into a fight.
Then I realized that I had already answered his question.
I did not know whether there was a problem.
I was checking.
I did not need to defend that decision.
“I'll send you the information when I have it,” he said.
“Thank you.”
We ended the call.
I sat quietly for a moment.
The conversation had not been pleasant, exactly.
It had not been terrible, either.
It had been an ordinary discussion about unfinished business.
I had asked for information.
Landon had said he would look for it.
Nothing more needed to be decided that afternoon.
I wrote a note about the call and returned to the records.
For the first time, I noticed that I had not spent the entire conversation trying to manage his feelings.
I had listened.
I had answered his questions.
I had asked mine.
I had not turned a request for documentation into an argument about our marriage.
That felt like progress.
My father called later that evening.
He asked how I was doing.
I told him about the conversation.
He listened, then asked whether I had made any conclusions based on Landon's reaction.
“No.”
“Good.”
“I did wonder whether he was annoyed.”
“He may have been.”
I frowned.
“That doesn't help.”
“I'm not trying to make you feel better by guessing what he thinks.”
I sighed.
My father continued.
“You can notice that he sounded annoyed without deciding what it means. The important thing is whether you get the information you need.”
I looked at the notes beside my laptop.
I had been trying to learn that lesson for days.
Apparently, I still needed to hear it.
“I'm getting better at this,” I said.
“You are.”
There was no grand speech.
He said it as though he were stating something obvious.
That made me believe him.
After we hung up, I made dinner.
I did not check my phone while I ate.
I did not open the folder again that night.
Instead, I watched television and went to bed at a reasonable hour.
The next morning, I returned to the outstanding questions.
I requested the clarification I needed from the appropriate source and recorded the date.
Then I reviewed the other documents.
I had begun to trust my own process.
That was different from trusting every answer.
I trusted myself to ask the question.
I trusted myself to keep the records.
I trusted myself to admit when I did not understand something.
And I trusted myself to wait for the facts before deciding what they meant.
A few hours later, I found a message from Landon.
He said he was looking for the information we had discussed.
I replied that I appreciated the update.
I did not ask him to hurry.
I did not promise to finish anything before I had the necessary documents.
Then I went back to work.
There was a time when I would have considered that response cold.
Now I saw it as ordinary.
I could be polite without pretending everything was settled.
I could be fair without doing all the emotional work for both of us.
And I could care about the history we shared without allowing that history to replace evidence.
The distinction was becoming clearer.
That evening, I took the folder from the drawer and checked the list.
The old black card remained in its envelope.
I put it beside the latest documents and reviewed the remaining items.
Nothing in the records justified a dramatic conclusion.
Some questions were still open.
Others had been answered.
I was learning to accept both facts without forcing them into a single story.
Before bed, I closed the drawer.
I did not know when Landon would provide the remaining information.
I did not know whether the final checks would reveal anything else that required attention.
But I knew I would not sign off on an arrangement simply to avoid an uncomfortable conversation.
I had done enough of that already.
Click here to continue reading: PART 15: The Records Were Teaching Me to Be Patient, but Patience No Longer Meant Waiting Quietly for Someone Else to Decide What I Needed to Know
My Marriage Had Just Ended, but My Father Was Already Looking at the Money I Had Forgotten to Protect
Part 14 of 20
