At nine exactly, the glass doors swung open. Michael walked in flanked by Diane and — unbelievably — Khloe, in a billowing maternity dress, hands glued to her bump, eyes darting like a frightened doe.

Diane slammed her purse on the table. “Lawyers? You think you can intimidate us with expensive suits? You’ve lived like a queen on my son’s dime, and now you want to strip him bare?”

I held Diane’s eyes. “The only one lacking decency is the mother who brings her son’s pregnant mistress to a divorce negotiation with his wife.”

Khloe gasped into Michael’s shoulder. “Sarah, please — don’t be cruel. Michael and I are victims of circumstance. I never wanted to hurt you.”

“Save the community theater, Khloe. There’s no audience here dumb enough to buy a ticket.”

Michael slammed his hands down. “Enough. Let’s see these demands.”