Uh-oh. “Have you added to it since you were married?”
“Yes, but—”
Great. “Is it worth a significant amount of money or would it be hard to replace?”
His face paled. “I have original editions. Some signed. Some would be near impossible to replace. She can’t have it. That collection is…it’s my childhood.”
A sinking feeling settled in Rebecca’s stomach. “The dog or the records, Anthony. If you had to die on one hill, which one is it?”
“You want me to pick between my dog and a collection I’ve spent twenty years putting together? That’s impossible.”
She shook her head, her tone no nonsense. “I will work to get both, but if I have to cut one in order to get the other, I need to know which one to drop.”
But the door opened before he could answer, and everyone filed back in. Raul and Daphne looked smug as they walked the dog back into the office. Prince Hairy proceeded to duck beneath the table and plop down on Anthony’s feet.
Anthony gave Rebecca a forlorn look.
She lifted a brow and he nodded.
The dog wins.
The mediator took her seat. “Okay, why don’t we start again now that everyone has cooled down?”
Rebecca folded her hands on the table and straightened her back. Poker time. “I’ve talked with my client, and I believe we have a workable compromise. Mr. Ames will give Mrs. Ames the dog, his old records, the Mercedes, and her antique doll collection in exchange for the house and the SUV.”
Anthony went tense in his chair, and Rebecca could feel the what the hell are you doing vibe coming from him, but she didn’t look his way.
Daphne’s eyes went comically wide. “My doll collection? That’s mine anyway.”
“It was acquired during the marriage.” Rebecca kept her tone professionally bored.
“The doll collection is off the table,” Raul said smoothly.
Rebecca made a note on her legal pad. “Then the record collection is, too.”
“Fine.” Daphne nodded. “Take your crappy records.”
Raul frowned, his sentimental bargaining chip slipping out of reach.
Rebecca nodded crisply. One down. “Okay, Ms. Ames, so you get Prince Hairy and will be solely responsible for his care and vet bills. Mr. Ames will get the house and will buy you out of your half. Agreed?”
“No,” Daphne said, glancing at her lawyer with a do something look. “I’m not leaving here without the house. I picked every paint color, every tile, chose every piece of furniture. It’s mine.”
“You could move in with your parents, Daph,” Anthony said casually, playing his part again. “Until you find another place.”
She blanched. “I’d rather kill myself than live with them. I’m not leaving my house.”
Anthony propped his chin on his fist as if settling in for a really good movie.
Rebecca tried not to grimace at Daphne’s comment. She’d never gotten used to how easily people tossed around those dramatic words. Threats of suicide and murder rolled off people’s tongues all the time, especially in divorce mediation. She knew it was just hyperbole, but in high school, two people had made those threats and then carried them through. No one had listened. They’d thought it was an exaggeration. She’d thought it was an exaggeration. They’d all been wrong. So very wrong.
Her stomach flipped over and she took a sip of water, trying to shake off the memories that were like the off-key elevator music of her life, never far in the background and always ready to turn up louder. “It seems we’re at an impasse.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Ames,” the mediator said. “If we don’t resolve this here, this will have to go to court. Try to remember that compromise isn’t losing. Seeking things just for revenge feels satisfying in the short term but will drag this process out, cost you more money with your lawyers, and will create more stress for you. You will be dealing with each other for a long time. If we can resolve this here, you can walk away and not have to see each other again.”
“Well, there’s a bonus,” Anthony muttered.
“I’m not afraid to go to court to get my house,” Daphne said, tone frosty.