Mr. Daneils arrived at our office, without an appointment, in a very emotional state. To call his behavior manic would be appropriate, if not an understatement. He was alternating rapidly between rage-breaking things, weeping into his hands, and calling our administrative assistant “a whore, like all women.”
By the time the police came, we had convinced him to sit in a chair in our waiting room placating him with the promise of seeing a lawyer as soon as possible. He had more faith in the justice system than most people have in their god.
As soon as he was handcuffed, a woman appeared. Mrs. Daneils. They lived in a condo in the building upstairs and apparently when he had fled the apartment during a fight, he only made it as far as the street outside when he was beckoned by our office. He decided right then that they would definitely have to divorce.
He was taken to the station. Mrs. Daneils told us they’d be back if they needed our services. And we never saw them again. We did, however, receive an edible arrangement a week later from the happy couple, assuring us that they’d reconciled but would employ our services if ever that should change.
Love is…. fickle, and sometimes toxic.