Page 60 of No Turning Back
“Mediation isn’t like a trial,” he continues. “There’s no judge making rulings, no jury, no court reporter unless we decide to have one. It’s just the mediator, neutral, not on either side, helping us see if we can agree on terms before this ever gets to a courtroom.”
“So… Markus will be here?” I ask.
He tilts his head. “He will. But don’t worry, you’re not going to be trapped in a room with him all day. We’ll start together for a quick overview, then most of the time you and I will be in one room, they’ll be in another. The mediator will go back and forth, carrying offers and counteroffers.”
I take a slow breath. “And if we can’t agree?”
“Then we walk,” he says simply. “No one can force you to sign anything. We go back to preparing for trial. This is just… an opportunity to resolve it sooner, and cheaper.”
“Sooner sounds good,” I murmur.
He smiles faintly, then adds, “Remember, anything you say directly to Markus or his lawyer in mediation is confidential. It can’t be used later in court. But that doesn’t mean you should say anything emotional or off-script. Let me do the talking.”
I nod again, feeling my shoulders relax a fraction.
“And Quinn,” he says, meeting my eyes, “you don’t have to prove yourself today. You just have to hold your ground.”
I nod, grateful for his calm guidance. The silence settles between us as we wait.
Philip glances at his watch, then toward the hallway with a frown. He checks his phone, scrolls through something, then looks at his watch again. The minutes stretch uncomfortably.
"I'm going to check what's happening," he finally says, rising from his chair. "I'll be right back."
Once he's gone, I pull out my phone, needing something to distract me from the nervous energy building in my chest. I scroll to the photos from last weekend with the boys. Sam playing with Blue, Sam cooking us dinner, our evening walks with Jackson and Alex.
It's exactly the kind of future I always pictured for myself, except in this reality, the boys aren't mine, not really. They're godsons, and Sam is "just a friend" who thinks I’m pathetic.
The door opens and Philip returns, his expression tight with annoyance.
"What's wrong?" I ask, noticing Philip's annoyed expression.
"Your ex and his lawyer aren't here yet," he says, checking his watch again.
I pocket my phone and groan. "Oh, come on. Is he seriously going to do this? What, is he drunk somewhere?"
Philip shrugs. "Maybe they realized just how weak their case is."
I lean back in my chair, rubbing my temples where a headache is starting to form. At this point, I'm almost ready to just sign over the house and everything he wants just to end this nightmare, but I know I can't do that. Won't do that. That house represents eight years of my life, my investment, my future. Markus already took enough from me.
We wait another hour, the clock on the wall ticking away precious minutes of my life. Finally, Philip suggests we leave.The mediator apologizes profusely as we make our exit, but I barely hear his words. I'm too busy cycling between anger and relief.
As we get off the elevator in the lobby, Philip's phone rings. He steps away to take the call, his back to me. I watch his shoulders stiffen, then relax, then tense again.
When he returns, his face is a strange mix of confusion and disbelief.
"That was my office," he says, his voice low with bewilderment. "Ms. Connelly, Markus's lawyer just had the original divorce settlement delivered to my office. Signed. By Markus."
My mouth drops open. "Just like that?"
"The boy finally saw sense," Philip says, shaking his head slightly.
I laugh, the sound coming out strangled and disbelieving. "Now what happens?" I ask, my heart racing with sudden hope and suspicion.
Philip adjusts his tie, seeming to collect himself. "Well, if it's legitimate and my assistant says it appears to be, then we've essentially won. He's agreed to the terms we initially proposed. You sell the house, split the profit, no alimony either direction, no other division of assets."
"But why?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. "After all this fighting, all the delays, the lies about my inheritance..."
"Hard to say," Philip replies, guiding me toward the building's exit. "Could be several things. His lawyer might have realized how thin their arguments were especially after that DUI," Philip says, lowering his voice.
