"Shut your trap!" Martha Potter snapped. "If I hadn't sunk into postpartum depression after carrying our daughter, I wouldn't have been this insecure. I'm not accepting this flimsy excuse for a divorce. It's absurd."She jabbed her finger at my nose, her eyes brimming with unshed tears, but I didn't even glance at her.Closing my briefcase with deliberate finality, I said coldly, "Sign it. You don't want to make things ugly."The crowd gawked at Martha, who was trembling with anger, while I remained composed.Whispers spread through the room.They couldn't comprehend why I'd torch our marriage over such a trivial matter. Before that, I had always bent over backward for her.Martha snapped out of her shock and lunged forward. Her father, Robert Potter, sensed the gravity of the situation, scrambling to his feet.I stood up to leave, but Martha's therapist, Sean Lynch, clamped a firm hand on my shoulder and shoved me back down."Your wife is battling severe postpartum depression
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