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Ed walked out of the huge oak double doors, and dropped dejectedly onto the hard wooden bench. Phyllis hadn't even shown up for the final hearing. Here he was, fifty two years old, and now divorced. Thirty two years of marriage had been replaced by the packet of papers in his hand. For several minutes he sat there, oblivious to the hustling herds of people streaming into and out of the courtroom. He didn't want it to be real, but the sheaf of legal sized documents, with the big red "FINAL" stamp on them, kept staring back at him. Finally, he picked up the papers, and headed for the parking garage...

He'd been home no more than twenty minutes when the doorbell rang. "Damn that realtor!" he thought as he headed down the long hall toward the front door. He still had several days of packing to do, but he didn't have to be out of the house until next Friday. At six feet four, Ed was a big guy; and he was more than ready to put a smarmy realtor in her place. He planned on telling the realtor to leave him alone, that he still had more than a week, as he jerked open the front door.

It wasn't the realtor. It was Carole Something-or-other, a divorcee who had been one of his wife's Tuesday night bridge club. His ex-wife, Ed had to remind himself. Like the rest of the bridge club, Carole lived nearby. Three divorced women, living on alimony from their ex-husbands, in houses paid for by their ex-husbands, meeting once a week with his now ex-wife to play bridge. Ed had never cared for the game, but he rather enjoyed the weekly evening on his own. Now one of those players ...

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