He tossed a thick manila envelope onto my hospital blanket.
Divorce papers.
“You’re d*ad weight, Nora,” he said, without a flicker of regret.
“Sabrina saved my parents’ house. What have you ever done?”
Then his gaze drifted toward the bassinets, and his voice turned businesslike.
“I’ll seek custody of one of the twins. Sabrina thinks raising one child together will make us look like the perfect family.”
Something in me went very still.
I met his eyes.
“No.”
He laughed.
“What exactly are you going to do? You don’t even own a house anymore.”
For the first time since we married, I didn’t argue.
I didn’t cry, either, though a weaker part of me wanted to, two days postpartum and running on no sleep.
I picked up the pen on the tray table and signed the papers in silence.
Every page.
I even thanked him for bringing them.
He mistook my silence for defeat.
