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.
KA-BLAM! Another romance rips through the gentle Midwestern gridlines, leaving a crackle in the quiet July air. On July 1, 2025, in that courthouse sanctuary of shredded vows—Independence, Jackson County—Cloy E. Whittington Jr. filed for dissolution of marriage from Alzora M. Whittington, and oh, the paper trail! Formal! Clinical! Decisive! And yet, beneath the bureaucratic veneer: echoes, gestures, glances now etched in ink and statute.
The name on the filing? Cloy Jr. Yes, Junior. The man who once pledged forever now speaks through his lawyer, Emily B. Null, of Drama-Free Divorce LLC—yes, Drama-Free, as if one could ever siphon heartbreak out of a courthouse declaration.
The reasons? Irretrievably broken. Done. Over. Finito. The filing dances around details like a gentleman sidestepping a minefield. No screaming matches. No custody tangles. No maintenance sought. They have property—marital and non-marital—and debts, naturally. The petitioner wants it divided fairly, equitably, the way good Missouri statute demands.
Alzora, the respondent, will sign a waiver—no courtroom showdown. A flick of a pen, and a marriage dissolves. And Cloy Jr.? He asks the court to approve any marital settlement agreement—let it be fair, not a trap door with velvet drapes. Both parties, the documents declare, can stand on their own two feet. No support. No alimony. No hand-holding.
Just two names on a petition, a past behind them, and July 1, 2025, stamped in the ledger of endings.
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