He had never asked why I used my mother’s maiden name professionally.
He had never asked why our wedding had been officiated by a “family friend” in a private garden instead of a judge in a courthouse.
He had never asked why the courthouse staff in Franklin County looked at me twice when I filed our emergency petition.
Marcus Vale did not ask questions unless the answer made him richer.
So when Judge Whitmore took the bench that morning, Marcus glanced up, saw an older man with silver hair and tired eyes, and dismissed him as another obstacle to bill by the hour.
Savannah did not glance up at all.
She was too busy photographing herself outside the courthouse doors.
I saw her do it through the tinted window of the town car Marcus had sent for himself.
Not for me.
Never for me anymore.
She tilted her phone high, angled her face, and smiled with the courthouse columns behind her.
