Chapter 1: Happy Anniversary to You Too!

Three p.m. finally arrived, and I was ready to leave my office after a day I would rather forget, spent dealing with student issues involving scheduling and grade appeals. I am Dr. David Faeth, a professor of mathematics at a small state university I prefer not to name. That day was supposed to have been my wife Andrea’s and my fourth anniversary, a date that had always brought back pleasant memories.

I was quietly putting things away on my desk, preparing to turn out the lights and lock up, when a sheriff’s deputy knocked on my office door jamb and stepped inside.

“Are you David Faeth?” he asked. Something in the way he said my name made a knot form in my chest.

My knees went weak as the thought crossed my mind that something terrible had happened to Andrea or to one of our relatives. I suddenly felt lightheaded, my mouth dry, and when I answered, my voice shook. “Yes, I am,” I said. “What is this all about?”

All I could think was that Andrea or my mother had been involved in a fatal accident, and that he was there to inform me—as next of kin—of their deaths. I stood behind my desk, barely holding myself upright on trembling legs, gripping the edge of my ancient wooden desk as I waited for him to tell me who had been killed.

Instead, I received news that was far worse, news that would cause me more pain than any death notification ever could.

“Sir, I have a petition for divorce: Andrea Faeth, plaintiff, versus David Faeth, defendant, on grounds of abuse and mental cruelty,” he said in a voice so practiced I was certain he had delivered those words thousands of times.

The words didn’t register at first. Abuse. Mental cruelty. They sounded like they belonged to someone else’s life.

“Along with the divorce petition, you are being served with a personal protection order. It requires that you have no contact with the plaintiff and prohibits you from coming within one thousand feet of her or the former marital residence at 223 Warder Court. If you violate that order, you could be arrested and charged with a domestic violence felony.”

One thousand feet. I tried to picture it, but my mind shut down. It was as if my brain were rebooting itself.

I sank into my chair and stared at the documents he had placed on my desk. My heart pounded in my chest, and a cold sweat spread across my body. For a moment, I wasn’t sure whether I was in shock or on the verge of a heart attack.

Seeing my distress, the deputy’s expression softened, and he lowered his voice.

“Look, take a couple of deep breaths. Slow and steady,” he said. “I know it feels like the end of the world right now, but you’ve got to look out for yourself. No one else will. Take the evening. Think things over carefully.”