Hi guys, I'm sure you're surprised to see another update from me so soon. Given what happened last chapter, I felt the need to soothe the wound a bit. I hope the following chapter does the job. I hope you enjoy it – though very little happens in this one. I hope you don't find it boring or repetitive, but I felt this was necessary to clear the air a bit.

I will give you all a fair warning. I'm not a lawyer or a cop – so I'm completely clueless where the legalities are concerned. So, for my sanity, please don't knit pick at them. I've researched all I could think of and used logic for the rest. I honestly don't know what more I could have done. So please, bare that in mind.

As always, please review.

In closing, I would like to offer up a special thanks to YaleAceBella12, sweetreader, Sarah1287 and Droolia. You, my faithful reviewers, keep me motivated. I would not be posting these chapters without you.

When it Snows

By TheBlueSwan

Chapter 20: Miss. Margaret Winters

Monday October 18th 2004, Hartford (Winters & Schuster Law Firm) 8: 57 a.m.

Dean Forester gulped down a large swig of black coffee, the bitter liquid nearly burning him as he did so. This, however, bothered him very little at the moment. The night had been a long and emotional one – spent lurking about hospital hallways and dozing in uncomfortable plastic chairs whose neon orange appearance tended to provoke headaches.

The news, once given, had been as reassuring as it had been disturbing.

Although, by some small miracle, Clara had been spared any severe damage to her organs and had not presented with any internal bleeding, the extent of her injuries had been nauseating. Not only had her left shoulder been dislocated, but her left wrist had been broken, three of her ribs had been bruised and her right ankle had been sprained. There had also been mention of a small bone in her right foot having been broken, but for that, there was nothing to be done but wait for it to heal on its own.

The same, however, could not have been said of Clara's shoulder and wrist. Once reset, her shoulder had needed to be splint – much to Clara's dismay. In addition, her broken wrist had needed to be set into a cast. And when the doctor had informed his little sister that she would have to suffer the cast for six to eight weeks, Dean had watched, choked, as she tried not to cry.

Needless to say, his parents had dealt with the situation about as well as he had.

The only thing which Clara had seemed grateful for that night had been the knowledge that the splint would only have to remain for the next three days and would be removed from her person prior to her release from the hospital on Thursday. For, despite the fact that the doctors had cleared her of any life threatening injuries, they still wished to keep her in the hospital for the next three nights for observation.

With his sister in the hospital, Dean had felt the need to postpone his meeting with his lawyer until a later date. His mother, however, had insisted that he attend the meeting as planned. In the future, Dean would never forget the fiery glint of determination and abject fury which sparked from his mother's eyes as she demanded he do anything and everything he could in order to obtain a divorce as quickly as possible.

And so, at half-past five in the morning, Dean found himself taking a cab ride back to Stars Hollow. Entering through the garage, he found his truck, still laden with the remains of the apartment, and the trailer still hitched. Sighing, Dean set about clearing the bed of his truck, stacking the items on the garage floor. The job successfully done, he unhitched the trailer from his truck and set about taking a shower and changing into a fresh pair of clothes.

By eight-fifteen, he had arrived at the offices of Winters & Schuster Law Firm and decided he had just enough time to grab a quick breakfast at the McDonald's he had spotted a couple blocks down. Equipped with two McGriddles and a large coffee, Dean returned to the law offices.

He had just finished eating his breakfast, and was gulping down the remainder of his hot coffee when the secretary announced, "Miss. Winters will see you now Mr. Forester."

As he entered the office, Dean was faced with a small, bespectacled woman in her early thirties. Her dirty blonde, curly hair was swept low upon her neck in a chignon. Her over-all appearance exuded refinement and grace. The image, however, was softened by a few stray curls sticking out here and there, where they had escaped the confines of her hairstyle. Her blue eyes, which sparkled mischievously behind her black cat eye glasses, also reinforced the impression that the woman was much more than she seemed to be at first glance.

"Mr. Forester was it?" the blonde woman asked, "My name is Margaret Winters, and I am the lawyer that has been assigned to review your case. Please," she waved her hand towards a plush, beige chaise, "do be seated."

"Thank you Miss. Winters," Dean hesitantly nodded his head in acknowledgement and took his seat, "it is a pleasure to meet you. I just wish it was under better circumstances."

"Yes," Miss. Winters smiled, "let's speak about those circumstances, shall we?"

He nodded his head solemnly.

"Now," the lawyer began, "I see that my assistant has listed irreconcilable differences as the reason that you are seeking a divorce. Could you please elaborate on that?"

"Well," Dean cleared his throat, "I will admit that, from the very start, my marriage to Lindsay was on rocky terms. Looking back on it now, I don't think either of us entered the marriage for the right reasons, and I'm pretty sure we both knew that. But still, we went through with it."

Miss. Winters tilted her head to the right and raised an eyebrow.

Dean sighed, "Things were fine – at first – they weren't great, but they were fine," he sat back in his seat and rubbed his right hand against his tired eyes, "I guess, if I have to pinpoint a time when the cracks started to show, it would be Christmas of last year. That's when everything went from fine – to bad – to worse. Lindsay started picking fights – and I'm not saying that sometimes there wasn't a good reason for it – but more often than not, the fights were about the silliest little things. Then, as time went on, things escalated. She started getting angry with me over who I talked to, what I did – hell, even over the fact that I was working such long hours. Of course, it didn't matter that I was working those long hours to buy her that stupid townhouse she wanted – all that really mattered to her was that I was too tired to take her out anymore," Dean shook his head.

"I see," the lawyer nodded her head.

"By the time summer came around, the cracks had grown to such a point that I couldn't just ignore them anymore. I knew that things were over – but I didn't want to disappoint my parents. They kept telling me it would get better, that I just had to put in the effort…"

Miss. Winters sighed, "But it didn't get better, did it?"

"No," Dean laughed derisively, "it didn't. Lindsay still wanted that damn townhouse – but I wanted to wait a bit longer, to earn a bit more money, so that we wouldn't get buried under bills we wouldn't be able to pay if anything happened. But Lindsay didn't care, she just wanted her townhouse, and she stopped bothering to ask for it. Instead, she began demanding it. And when I refused," he snorted, "oh, she would get so mad."

Frowning, Miss. Winters asked, "How mad?"

"Mad enough to break things – throw things all over the place. All in a fit to force me to give her what she wanted – but it never worked," Dean shook his head.

"When you say 'throw things', do you mean…" the lawyer trailed off and Dean could see that she didn't quite know how to ask the question.

"At me?" he finished for her, "yeah."

Grimacing, Miss. Winters made a note of it, "What kind of things?"

"Vases, statuettes, plates," Dean counted them off with his fingers, "her hairbrush, a stapler – oh, she even threw a box of tampons at me once."

"Anything," Miss. Winters bit her lip, "sharp?"

"Well," Dean began, "there was that one time with the knife…"

"Knife?" the lawyer repeated, alarmed.

"Yeah," Dean laughed hollowly, "it's funny, a couple of days ago, I would have sworn that it was an accident – that the knife just happened to be on the plate when she hurled it my way – and that plate was just the object that was conveniently closest to her. But now…" he shook his head, "now I just wonder if she did it on purpose. Of course, the knife didn't hit me or anything – but I have to wonder if she'd hoped it would."

Miss. Winters simply looked at him, frowning. Dean could tell she wasn't satisfied with his explanation – and that she seemed more than a bit alarmed at his confession. Still, she eventually decided to forge on, "Then what happened?"

"Lindsay stopped caring – stopped trying to pretend," he answered, unconsciously slouching down in his seat.

"Pretend?" Miss. Winters repeated, confused.

"Yeah," Dean sighed, "when we started dating, Lindsay was one of the sweetest, nicest, selfless girls I had ever met. But, after we got engaged, that particular façade, like our relationship, began to crack. Unfortunately, I was too much of an idiot to realise it was all an act before we tied the knot – fool's reward and all that. It only took a few months of marriage for me to realise that my darling wife wasn't as angelic or innocent as she pretended to be."

"How so?" the lawyer asked.

"Well," he began, "for one, whenever someone crossed her, she did everything she could to make them pay. For example, when we would fight, she would kick me out of the apartment until further notice – and when she would break things during our fights, she would have me replace them before she would even think of reconciling with me. Lindsay always went on about how it was my fault that her pretty little knickknacks were broken – that she wouldn't have broken them in the first place if I hadn't of made her so angry. Which, coincidentally, brings me to my second point – Lindsay has always – and will most likely always be – incapable of accepting blame for her own faults or mistakes. When she does something wrong, rather than accepting it and making amends, she immediately places the blame on someone else. It wasn't her fault for doing something – it was someone else's fault for giving her reason to perpetrate that wrong. Thirdly, Lindsay doesn't forgive the slightest mistake on anyone's part, but expects everyone else to overlook hers."

"I see," Miss. Winters nodded her head, taking several moments to digest the information, "and you say you've seen elements of these traits throughout your marriage?"

Dean nodded his head.

"But you also said that Lindsay didn't," the lawyer made air quotes, "stop pretending," she said frowning, "until last summer. What do you mean by that?"

"Simple," Dean stated, resting his chin upon his right hand, "before, Lindsay pretended to care about my opinion. She would ask me about my feelings and would seem to take those into consideration whenever we had an argument – although that particular facet of her veneer faded away quickly enough. In short, once upon a time, she would pretend to care about me. Before, she would at least try to pull her weight in our day-to-day lives. While I was gone all day to work, she would tidy up the apartment a bit or make dinner, since she refused to get a job of her own to help us out financially. She wasn't particularly good at either cleaning or cooking, but at least she was trying to help. However, by the time summer came to a close, she'd stopped putting in the effort. I would clean the place before work and she'd make such a mess of it that by the time I got home, we'd have a fight over it. Incidentally, the only time she bothered with anything after that was when I fought with her about it or when she would want something."

Taking a deep breath, Dean continued, "Otherwise, I would come home after eighteen hour shifts, to find the apartment a mess, my wife having just returned from a day at the spa or shopping with her mother, and shrieking at me to make her dinner because she was hungry. Lindsay simply expected to sit back, relax and contribute nothing to our lives and marriage while I did everything for her. She started deciding things – omitting my opinion altogether – saying that my opinion was stupid and short-sighted simply because it didn't align with hers. Then she began demanding things – and when I failed to give them to her, she would simply try to take them. For our anniversary, I came home to find Lindsay had actually bothered to cook us a meal for first time in months. Not even two minutes into dinner, she pulls out a contract for the purchase of a townhouse."

Dean snorted, "Lindsay actually went out, looked at some townhouses, and chose one without me. And she actually expected me to smile and sign it like it was nothing – like I hadn't told her time and again that I didn't want to buy a townhouse. And when I refused – well, Lindsay did what she did best – she started screaming and throwing things. As a result, I was thrown out of the apartment – and I haven't slept there since."

"Ah," Miss. Winters nodded her head. "I see – that was more than a bit high-handed of her."

Dean laughed, "That's nothing. A few days later, I found out that Lindsay had signed my name on the contract and handed it over to the realtor. I wouldn't even have found out about it until it was too late, if I hadn't closed out our joint account at the bank, making the cheque Lindsay wrote the realtor useless."

"I'm sorry," Miss. Winters said incredulously, "do you mean to tell me that your wife fraudulently signed your name to a binding contract?"

"Yeah," he confirmed.

"Do you have proof?" she asked, stunned.

"I have the signed contract and Mrs. Dabbinsky, the realtor's, word that she would give a statement if needed."

The lawyer pursed her lips and seemed at a loss as to what to say for several long moments. Finally, the woman seemed to regain her pluck, "Good," she said, "it might prove useful. If nothing else, it could be used to press charges – which I highly recommend you do."

"Oh," Dean laughed, "I intend to."

Miss. Winters fiddled with her pen, a frown beginning to form upon her features, "Did I hear you say that you had closed your joint bank account?"

"Yes," Dean sighed, "after the stunt Lindsay pulled on our anniversary, I had decided that I was done – that I was getting a divorce. But, given Lindsay's propensity for retaliation and shopping, I didn't think leaving Lindsay access to our funds a good idea. I drained the account, closed it, and placed the money in a savings account where she couldn't access it."

Frowning, Miss. Winters replied, "You do realise that if you're trying to hide the money, it won't end well, do you? In fact, the court might demand you give your wife an even bigger pay out – and there might be charges involved."

"I'm not trying to hide the money," Dean stated firmly, "it's still in the same bank – in a savings account I've had since I was sixteen. An account that Lindsay knows about – and have been making regular deposits to, with Lindsay's knowledge. Granted, she never knew just how much the account held – but she never bothered trying to find out. She just assumed that there was next to nothing in it. So no, I'm not trying to hide the money. I just didn't want Lindsay to have ready access to it so that she could waste it all in one of her fits."

"But you do realise that once the divorce goes through your wife will be entitled to a portion of the money which was in your joint account, as well as any other funds you accrued during your marriage," Miss. Winters pointed out.

"Yes, I understand. I won't do anything to impede my wife from getting her fair share," Dean spat, "my sole interest is to ensure that she doesn't find a way to weasel out more than what she is owed."

The lawyer sighed and nodded her head, "So, I believe that we have covered your irreconcilable differences. Now, is there anything else I should be aware of before we proceed?"

"Yes," Dean replied, "matters have," he took a deep breath, "escalated in the past few days."

"Escalated?" Miss. Winters prompted, her right eyebrow arched.

He shook his head, trying to clear out the cobwebs, "Last Wednesday I returned to the apartment to retrieve some of my things and I found Lindsay in bed with another man."

"Ah," the woman nodded her head, "who was he?"

"I don't know," Dean sighed, "but something Lindsay said made me think that that wasn't the first time she'd cheated on me."

"Yes, well," Miss. Winters began, "unfortunately, I will need a bit more than that. Is there any way you could maybe find out who the man was? If we could get a statement from him or someone who saw the two together, it could go a long way to get the settlement in your favor."

Dean grimaced at the thought, "I suppose I could ask around a bit, see if anyone might know who he is."

"See that you do," she nodded, satisfied. She played with her pen for a moment or two, and sized him up, "Now, given that the question of infidelity will be on the table – I need to know. Have you cheated on your wife?"

Dean fidgeted, uncomfortable.

"I see," Miss. Winters answered a tinge of disappointment in her voice, "is this a widely known fact."

"No," Dean answered, startled, "it happened twice, with an old girlfriend – and nobody knows – I don't want anybody to know. I couldn't bare it if this affected my ex-girlfriend in any way."

His exhaled noisily, "As long as the incident remains under wraps, I will not bring the matter up. However, you realise that if your wife's lawyer gets wind of this at the wrong time, it might affect the outcome quite a bit."

"I understand," Dean answered, nodding his head.

"Is that all?"

"No," he stated miserably.

Frowning, Miss. Winters indicated that he should continue.

"Yesturday," Dean bit out, tensely, "my parents and sister went to clear out the apartment. The lease was up, I had decided to divorce Lindsay and had already all but officially moved out of the apartment – I decided I didn't want to pay out for another year so that Lindsay could have an apartment for herself. I figured she could move back into her parent's house, like I did. So I terminated the lease and my family went to clear the place out. They didn't take anything that belonged to Lindsay – not her clothes or the things she'd brought into the marriage or that her parents had bought her. My parents had lent me quite a few things to start us out, and they'd wanted to get those pieces back. My mom was also worried that Lindsay might throw a fit and damage the furniture, so she wanted to get everything out of the apartment to store it for safe keeping."

Dean snorted derisively, "Not that that would have made a difference. I hadn't been to the apartment for a couple of weeks and Lindsay hadn't bothered to clean anything up since then. She didn't even bother to pick up all the broken glass from the fit she'd had on our anniversary – and the damage she did that night… The facts are, that despite my mother's intentions, it was all a bit too little too late. Almost everything had already been damaged – including a few antiques that had belonged to my grandparents. Needless to say, my parents weren't too happy about it. So, when a neighbor walked up to them, asking if my dented and scratched washer was for sale – they didn't hesitate to say yes. They, of course, kept all of the family antiques – but most everything else got sold off."

"I'm going to go out a limb here and say that your wife took exception to that," his lawyer deadpanned.

"No-" Dean stated emphatically before his brow scrunched up in confusion, "I mean yes-" he groaned, "I don't know…"

Miss. Winters frowned.

Dean sighed, "My mom had already left with the truck and trailer – which stored most of everything they kept – and my dad was just packing up a few stray things into his car when Lindsay and her father showed up. They'd seen my dad coming out of the apartment with some bags, and Lindsay wanted to know what they were doing. Lindsay tried to get to the car, probably so she could take everything back. But Clara, my little sister, got in her way – so Lindsay pushed her. After that, my dad figured it would be better to just leave. But Mr. Lister wanted Clara to apologize to Lindsay for some reason and he grabbed a hold of her and hurt her. A couple of bystanders pulled him off of her and my dad punched him – but Lindsay –" Dean hissed, "Lindsay started kicking her."

"They attacked your sister?" Miss. Winters asked, shocked.

"Yeah," Dean chocked out, "she was rushed to the hospital with a dislocated shoulder, a broken wrist, three bruised ribs and a sprained ankle. I spent all night in the pediatrics' ward."

"Pediatrics?" the woman hissed, "How old is your sister?"

"She'll turn fifteen this February," Dean answered.

Scowling, Miss. Winters asked, "What happened next?"

"Sheriff Jeffries came," Dean cleared his throat, "he arrested Lindsay, Mr. Lister and my father – but dad was released when mom went to pick him up. Apparently, the entire time he was there, Lindsay and Mr. Lister kept complaining that they had been wrongfully arrested – that my dad and Clara had stolen from Lindsay – even that Clara had attacked Lindsay first. It's a lie of course – Clara didn't so much as touch Lindsay. As for the stealing bit – well, most of what they took was theirs to begin with – the rest, which they sold, were all things that I had paid for. And I understand, that legally, those things were considered to be Lindsay's – but they were also mine – and they had my permission."

"Have your parents pressed charges as of yet? Has a report been filed?" Miss. Winters questioned.

"I don't know," Dean sighed, "we live in a small town where things like this never happen. I don't think Sheriff Jeffries even knows what to do in this case. I do, however, know that the Sheriff called the incident in with the Hartford police. They came to the hospital in the early hours of the morning, wanting to get statements. My dad answered their questions, but they were just starting to talk with Clara when my mom made me leave so that I could get ready for our appointment."

"Well," Miss. Winters said, distracted, "that probably means that a report has been filed with the Hartford police," she shuffled around with her papers before pulling out a business card, "and given the severity of the situation, I have no doubt that your parents will be pressing charges."

"Yeah," Dean snorted derisively.

Miss. Winters wrote down a number on the business card, "Here," she said, "this is my cellphone number. Have your parents call me when they have a chance. I'd like to represent them in this matter, given that the assault is interlinked with your married life."

"Thanks," Dean said, caught off guard.

"Your welcome," Miss. Winters gave him a small smile, but her face quickly turned solemn once more, "just be sure that they call me as soon as they are able. Given what has happened, I would like to file restraining orders against your wife and Mr. Lister."

"Restraining orders?" he asked, confused.

"Yes," she sighed, "I believe it would be best if those two were kept as far away from you and your family as possible – especially since they have both proven to act violently in the face of confrontation."

"But," Dean began, perplexed, "can I even file a restraining order against my wife?"

"Given that she might have accidentally-on-purpose thrown a knife your way?" Miss. Winters laughed, "Yeah, we can. This latest stunt she pulled will only bolster the legitimacy of the order – and, as disgusting as it might be, will go a long way into helping you obtain a speedy divorce. We'll simply emphasize the tumultuous aspect of the situation. No doubt that, barring any excessive impediment on your wife's part, the state will wish to settle your divorce as quickly as possible so that it doesn't interfere with the assault cases."

Posted November 28th 2017