the judge had signed our divorce papers ninety minutes earlier.
He wouldn’t look at me.
“Could you at least help me carry my bags?” I asked him.
It was a simple request. After seven years of marriage, I thought I deserved at least that much.
Margaret laughed.
“Why? So you can pretend you still belong here?”
Ethan finally lifted his eyes.
“Claire, please. Don’t start.”
Those four words had followed me throughout our marriage.
Whenever his mother criticized my clothes, he told me not to start.
Whenever she questioned my
