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.
In the quiet heat of August 1, 2025, a petition arrived in the Eleventh Judicial Circuit of Missouri, Family Court Division, carrying the name of Avery Nicole Dunard. Through her attorney, Aaron M. Staebell of Staebell Law LLC in O’Fallon, she asked the court to dissolve her marriage to David Irl Dunard.
Their wedding, held in Silex, Missouri, on October 12, 2024, had been brief in the measure of years—less than one complete turn of the calendar before they separated on July 4, 2025. No children came from their union, and neither sought maintenance from the other.
Avery’s petition speaks in the plain, unadorned language of necessity: the marriage is irretrievably broken, with no chance of repair. She requests a fair division of property and debts, the return of her separate belongings, and that David cover her attorney fees, noting his substantial earning capacity compared to her own. She also asks to reclaim her maiden name, Avery Nicole Ingle.
There are the practical points—a home address in Warren County for her, a Lincoln County address for him, the absence of military service on either side—but beneath them lies a truth common in such filings: something once bright has dulled, and the unraveling cannot be stopped.
When the court addresses this petition, it will not dwell on why the bond frayed so quickly. Instead, it will divide, restore, and release—leaving two people to step separately into whatever comes next.
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