His key didn’t work.
And taped neatly to the door was a manila envelope with his name on it.
When Derek opened it and saw the copy of the house deed, the separation filing, and the line that made everything unmistakably clear, he froze where he stood.
Because the house wasn’t his.
It never had been.
Derek read the first page twice.
Then a third time, slower.
Behind him, Gloria stood on the porch in a lavender cardigan, one overnight bag in each hand, already irritated from the drive. Melanie, in leggings and oversized sunglasses, dropped her suitcase and leaned forward to see.
“What is taking so long?” Gloria snapped.
“Open the door.”
Derek didn’t move.
His entire body had gone stiff.
I stood just inside the foyer where he could see me through the narrow glass panel beside the door. Calm. Still.
Not hiding.
That, more than anything, seemed to shake him.
He pounded once on the door with the side of his fist. “Amanda!”
I opened it halfway, the chain still secured.
“What?” I asked.
He held up the papers like they were written in another language. “What is this?”
“Read page three,” I said.
He looked down again, jaw tightening.
