Disclaimer: All facts gleaned from the filings stated hereafter are only as truthful as the petitioner. The tone of this article expresses a style of writing historically employed by America’s greatest writers and, as such, is for opinion purposes only. No intentional harm is due. Do not read if the topic of divorce (even your own) causes you emotional distress. Continue at your own risk.
Well now! June 18, 2025, Kansas City—Midwest thunderclouds hanging low, courthouse doors flung open metaphorically (they’re online now, but never mind that), and in walks one James Chandler Yeary. An ordinary name, a man with grievances, paper in hand and heart a little lighter for it. He’s got himself a lawyer, one Jennifer M. Platten of The Reynolds Law Firm, LLC—yes sir, the kind who knows her way through a legal labyrinth in heels and calm authority—and together they file a Petition for Dissolution of Marriage.
His wife, McKenzie Morgan Swan Yeary. No kids. No pending pregnancies. No salvation left. The scaffolding of the marriage had been weakening for some time, but on this day it’s official: irretrievably broken, the papers say. He can’t foot the whole bill, not for lawyers, not for life. He wants her to help—maintenance, fees, the works. He says she can afford it. He says he can’t.
No shared property agreement yet. The court will have to sort that out, carve up the assets and debts like a suburban Thanksgiving turkey, unless they beat the gavel with a deal. He doesn’t want her insurance coverage to vanish mid-fight either—he invokes Missouri’s statute to keep things frozen just like they were when the filing began.
It’s a quiet kind of dramatic—no screaming, no spectacle. Just a man, a courthouse, and a signature that begins the end.
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