He did not ask whether the incision in my abdomen still hurt.
He did not look at the IV line taped to my hand or the heart monitor pulsing quietly beside me.
Instead, he stopped at the foot of my bed, removed a stack of papers from the folder, and dropped them across my blanket.
The pages struck my legs with a dry slap.
COMPLAINT FOR DIVORCE AND DISSOLUTION OF MARRIAGE.
For several seconds, I stared at the words.
Thad adjusted one cuff.
“You’ve fulfilled the single purpose we actually had for you, Coraly.”
His voice was gentle.
That was what made it monstrous.
Thad could tell someone their mother was dead in exactly the same tone he used to ask whether they preferred mahogany or walnut.
Behind him, his younger sister Marisol leaned against the doorway.
Her dark red lipstick curved into a smile.
“We don’t need you anymore,” she said. “You have until Sunday to remove anything you’ve left in the carriage house.”
The carriage house.
Not our home.
Apparently, even before the marriage ended, history had already been rewritten.
Marisol continued.
“We’ll have the locks changed at noon.”
I looked at my husband.
