tax documents last month. I didn’t really read them. He said our accountant needed them.”
“What exactly did you sign?”
“I don’t know.”
“That becomes our first priority.”
After we ended the call, I sat very still.
The house had begun to darken around me. Afternoon slipped toward evening, stretching shadows across the floor. The rooms were neat, familiar, almost serene. There were two coffee mugs in the sink. Lucas’s old running shoes by the mudroom door. A half-read mystery novel on his nightstand.
Marriage was strange that way.
Even when trust died, ordinary things remained.
I went upstairs.
In our bedroom, Lucas had left his side almost bare. Closet half-empty. Dresser drawers pulled clean. The missing spaces looked accusing.
I opened the drawer of his nightstand.
Nothing.
Then the closet shelves.
Nothing but a few shoeboxes and a stack of sweaters he claimed were too bulky to pack.
In
