The Last Act: Facing Divorce
I have the same dress as when I got married, it almost looks like a photograph from an old-time film, where all the actors look at each other coldly and without saying a word. It borders on the silent cinema of the theaters of years gone by.
“How strange it is to be able to communicate even just with looks.”
Lawyers, secretaries, main actors and extras who keep each other company in the antechamber of hell; perception of the tension and malice that pours between papers and folders, between years of happiness spent together and sacrifices that led us to build a catastrophic love story.
You enter and you no longer understand anything; you can feel the tension of those who have given into the hands of perfect strangers what is a “piece of life” shared between two; you wonder who these people are who speak using words different from those you hear every day and you feel drunk; you don’t understand what they’re saying, yet they’re talking about you.
All these people in front of their own scaffold ready to judge in 6 minutes (because that is the time available to them) to be able to reconcile and decide whether what two lawyers, handsomely paid to make us fight, have decided for us is right or wrong.
Because let’s face it… we enter a studio, we think we can rock the world and then we find ourselves with a handful of flies and our tail between our legs.
The tension freezes the room and we cannot understand that there are human beings in front of us.
The judge, a woman (complete with attributes), reads what we have chosen for ourselves and our daughters; she stops, breathes, raises her eyes and looks at her mother, while she repeats what she has just read: “the daughters will maintain residence at their father’s house”; then she looks at me and smiles.
He continues reading but he doesn’t have time to turn over that damned paper and stops again to repeat the same scene as before, changing the words: “the lady, despite having the same income as her father, will receive a maintenance allowance of look…she looks at me…..I smile….she smiles at me and continues reading.
I found humanity in front of a woman who was able to read between the lines what erased the happiness of a family.
I entered that room 3 times (because the first separation I was abroad for work) and I always found humanity, because those who enter with malice inside only see cold people in front of them, without understanding the difficulty of the work they are doing : erasing the story of a love to write on stamped paper the condemnation of a failure.