I stood, wiped my palms on my sweatpants, and walked to the hallway closet. I pulled out the small metal lockbox my dad had insisted I keep “just in case.” Ethan’s eyes narrowed.
“What’s that?” he asked.
I turned back, lockbox in my hand, and said, “It’s the part you forgot existed.”
And Madison’s smile finally faltered.
Ethan didn’t follow me into the bedroom. He didn’t have to. In his head, the story was over: he’d announced a divorce, I’d signed, and now he got to slide into a clean new life with a woman who wore heels in my living room like the floor belonged to her.
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