him from behind.
His eyes moved from me to Martin.
Then to my father.
“Richard?”
My father had never allowed Daniel to call him Dad.
That suddenly seemed important.
Daniel forced a laugh.
“What is this?”
Martin stepped forward and handed him a thick envelope.
“You’ve been served.”
Daniel looked at me.
“Claire.”
“Divorce petition,” I said. “Financial separation notice. Property inventory. Temporary communication terms.”
Vanessa scoffed.
“You’re divorcing him over a train seat?”
“No.”
I looked directly at Daniel.
“I’m divorcing him because the train seat showed me what
