MARTINEZ'S LOVE

It was another day at work. I woke up feeling very tired and exhausted from the previous day's work, but I just had to squeeze myself out of bed. It was going to be another hectic day. The company was working on a certain project that involved proper documentation. Since I began work as the Legal Manager at The Legends, one of the largest Law firms in the whole of Hatwick City, I decided to always prove myself diligent and up to the task, to be promoted in no time.

I arrived at The Legends in no time and climbed upstairs to my office. Inside my office is a dark walnut bookcase lining the entire left-hand wall. There is a black leather sofa with a fur rug over the back and an Indian blanket draped over the arm. There is a television on the shelf to the left, but it is only used for XM radio. My chair is Captain style on wheels with leather seat and back. To the left behind me is another bookshelf on top of a matching file cabinet. The ceiling fan keeps the air blowing in an otherwise enclosed space.

I sat down to begin work, and before I knew it, time was far spent. I remembered to get something from the room next to my office. In no time, I walked out of the room that housed our network server, plotter and printers, and into the foyer of our large office suite. Then I met the Manager of The Legends, George Harrison, who gave me a grin.

“Hey, Boss, I was about to call you. It’s 3:45 pm, time for you to act like a sheep herder and get the flock out of here.”

I chuckled when he called me Boss. Yes, I was the Legal Manager of the Company, and I was in charge of the office staff; but George was the Company's Manager. George was organized, efficient, and didn’t take any shit from anyone, me included. He was also loyal to the extreme; I knew everything he did, whether I liked it or not, was in my best interest. Working with George, a widower and father, seems like one of the best things happening to me.

“I'll tidy up work for today and hand over those documents to the Secretary, and I’m out of here,” I said breezily.

I was in a rush to leave because it was my anniversary, and I had big plans for my handsome husband.

Before George could reply with his usual smart-assed remark, the heavily tinted front glass door swung inward and a man wearing a neatly pressed light-weight black suit walked in from the bright sunlight. The tall man came straight up to me and spoke before I could introduce myself.

"Are you Sandra Douglas?” he asked.

I nodded.

“You can call me Sandra. Now how can I help you?” I replied.

While I was still talking and smiling at him, he didn't seem to give a corresponding response; instead, he slapped a manila envelope into my palm.

“Mrs Douglas, you have been served,” he intoned sonorously.

He tapped the brown envelope and continued,

“This is a petition for the dissolution of the marriage between you and Martinez Douglas.”

Then he placed two smaller business-sized envelopes in my paw.

“This envelope contains an order of protection enjoining you from contacting or approaching Martinez Douglas. And finally, this is a note from him and the key to unit seventeen at the U-Store on Fifth Street. All your personal items are already there, except for a duffle bag of items he thought you might need immediately. That bag is in the back of your truck.”

When the man was done speaking, he spunned around and departed, leaving me devastated. I looked down at the envelopes in my hand, and the significance of them hit me like a ton of real bricks. A wave of vertigo swept over me, and I sank into the chair by George’s desk. The next thing I remember is George pressing a pill into my hand and handing me a cup of water.

“Here, take this,” he ordered.

I took the tablet from him and gave him a questioning look.

“Xanax,” he answered my unasked question.

I nodded and popped the pill, swallowing it with a slug of water. Then with shaking hands, I opened the envelope with the note from Martinez and started reading. The note was short and to the point.

Sandra,

I know this comes as a shock to you, but after much considerable thought, I decided that this was the best way to handle things: a clean break with no histrionics.

First of all, I want you to know that I am not doing this out of malice and that I bear no ill will. It is just time for me to move on. I have hopes and dreams that, sadly, don’t include you. But the truth is, you’ve always known that my feelings for you weren’t as strong as yours for me. I hope you love me enough to agree and let me go.

Be well, Sandra, you are a good woman.

Fondly,

Martinez

I read the note twice, not believing my eyes the first time I read it. After the second pass, I handed the flimsy sheet of paper to George and watched his reaction as he scanned it. When he finished, his eyes lasered in on mine.

“You had no idea this was coming?” He asked incredulously.

I shook my head dumbly.

“Not ... a ... clue,” I answered.

It was his turn to shake his head as he handed the note back to me.

“Springing this on you on your anniversary is possibly the most wicked thing I’ve ever heard of,” He said angrily.

I nodded. On that I could say, we were in complete agreement.

As soon as he said that, George stood up from his desk, fished his car keys out of his purse and grabbed my arm.

“Come on, you are staying at my place tonight. I’m not about to leave you alone,” he ordered.

I did not argue with him, because I knew the alternative was sitting at a bar and feeling depressed and sorry for myself - or worse. I did protest when George insisted on me riding with him, but in the end, I grabbed the duffle bag the process server had put into the bed of my truck and got in his three-year-old Toyota Camry. George was quiet on the ride to his house, leaving me alone with my thoughts. Those thoughts went way back to when this all started.