not have a strong position in a settlement, and his lawyer told him so.
Jarrod kept his car and his clothes and whatever was in his own name, which turned out to be remarkably little.
He moved into the tiny apartment after all — just not the way he’d planned.
He moved into it with Sharon and Ron, the three of them crammed into two bedrooms, after the condo foreclosed and the house they’d counted on turned out to belong to the woman they’d tried to throw away.
I kept my house.
I unpacked every box Sharon had sealed, put my china back exactly where it went, and hung new curtains I measured myself.
My father came over the first evening and we had dinner at my kitchen table — my kitchen — and he raised his water glass.
“To reading the paperwork,” he said.
“To reading the paperwork,” I agreed.
