Dear you,

If you've found this page, chances are there's a lawyer's letter somewhere in your house that you can't stop thinking about. I know, because that was me.

On the day my marriage ended, the first letter arrived — three pages of formal language and a deadline measured in days. More followed. Offers with expiry dates. Numbers that changed between versions. A deadline hiding in paragraph six of a letter I was reading at 11pm after the kids were asleep. I'm an organized person, and I was drowning anyway — because this process is built to overwhelm exactly the person least equipped, in that moment, to handle it.

I've spent my career in tech and SaaS, watching software make hard things easier. So I went looking for the tool that would help me manage my divorce. I found lawyer directories and blog posts. Meanwhile, for the day you say "yes," there's an entire industry of beautiful apps — planners, budgets, seating charts, countdowns.

In a divorce you're negotiating your life savings, the home where you lay your head, and time with your children — with fewer tools than a dinner party.

That gap made me sad, then it made me determined. I built what I needed: every deadline in one list, every offer with its history, every issue marked open or agreed — and the exact quote behind each fact, so I never had to wonder if I was remembering it right. My lawyer got a client who arrived organized. My legal bills got smaller. My nights got quieter.

SortMyDivorce counts instead of opining. Nothing saves without your approval. It isn't legal advice — it's the difference between walking into your lawyer's office with a shoebox of paper, or with your whole case, clear.

If you're where I was: I built this for you. There is another side, and it's brighter than it looks from where you're standing.