You sat, staring blankly at the beige walls of the lobby. The only sound to you was the receptionist typing away and the slight tick of the clock above her desk.

The nerve wracking nature of this situation finally settled in your bones. Divorce seemed rather nice as a concept— freedom from your lousy husband who refused to amount to shit. But now that you were here for a consultation, your hands trembled.

As you waited, you could faintly head papers shuffling from inside another room, footsteps coming closer. Then you saw him. Higuruma.

“Can I help you?” he said monotonously, his tired eyes landing on you, seemingly unamused.