"God damn! That f*****g bastard!" I hear mom yell from the living room. Jumping out of bed, I run in to see what's wrong. Mom's fuming as she walks back and forth reading a letter. She's wearing a short terrycloth robe that she must have slipped on to go out to the mailbox.
"What's wrong, mom." I ask, putting my arm around her shoulder and trying to read the letter. "What's that?" I ask.
"It's a letter from your father's lawyer." She yells, stomping her feet. "He says your father is entitled to half of the money from Uncle Harry's estate, because our divorce was never final."
"What do you mean?" I ask. "He's wrong isn't he? I mean about your divorce."
"Of course he's wrong." She says, hesitantly. "I mean, I'm pretty sure we're divorced." Mom says, thinking about it. "I signed papers an
