I went
back to work that fall, in the field I’d quietly trained for years ago and set aside to keep the peace in a marriage that never deserved it.
Real estate, as it happens.
I’m very good at it. I make sure, now, that every woman I work with knows exactly whose name should be on the deed, and why.
“I’ll handle you,” my husband told me, so sure of himself, over a cup of coffee.
“You always make everything difficult,” his mother said.
They were half right.
I did make it difficult.
