nvelope that felt heavier than it should. I had expected a fight, a long, drawn-out battle. But David had s

my personal information, my social security number, my signature on a dozen shared documents, to streamline a process that would let him move on

work, but I was wrong. His car was in the driveway. As I walked up the path, the front door opened. He stood there, and b

, his voice strained.

I said, my voice cold. I tried to push

e, like a porcelain doll. "Scar, I'm so sorry. I never want

. And I was the bitter, angry wife standing in her way. David put a protective arm around her

he said to me, his

little touches that had made it ours were gone, replaced by a steri

le. He glanced at the screen. It w

ceiver even from across the room. Something about a doctor's appointment she couldn't miss. "I'll be right ther

mother's jewelry box. As I picked it up, I noticed something on the nightstand. It was a small, carved wooden bird, something I had given him on our first anniversary. He had told

ting by his car. He must have seen the look on my face, be

wait,"

f his hands on my arms was repulsive. It felt like a violation. I

words tasting like poison. "

ll away, and for a second, I saw the cold, hard man underneath. The man who had left m