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.
On a warm Wednesday in April, when the city’s rhythm pulsed against the cracked sidewalks of Cook County, Kevin A. Schaefer walked his petition into motion. Filed on April 16, 2025, through his attorneys at Angelini & DiLeo, P.C.—namely, Donald J. Angelini Jr.—Kevin’s filing marked the beginning of the end to a union that had lasted just over two years. The marriage to Briana L. Schaefer had begun in Darrow, Louisiana, on April 7, 2023, a Southern ceremony now reduced to paragraphs of partition and prayer in a courthouse many miles north.
Kevin, a 32-year-old resident of Chicago, described a marriage built on irreconcilable differences, where reconciliation had not only failed—it had long ceased to be viable. Briana, 30, had moved away, perhaps chasing purpose in Tennessee, between the city limits of Knoxville or Franklin. There were no children, no shared legacies apart from property lines and debt tallies, and Kevin sought to divide the remains with equity and finality.
He asked the court to recognize both the marital property acquired and the non-marital assets he claimed as his alone—trusts, personal property, real estate. He argued for a clean break: no maintenance to be awarded, no fees to be shared. His petition spelled out a quiet narrative of dissolution—not bitter, not bruised, but cold and procedural. There was no drama here, just the slow, quiet unraveling of two people who had stopped being us.
What remained now was the law, and the quiet ink of a judge’s signature, poised to close the chapter.
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