My husband arrived at my door with my cousin, two babies, and a smug grin, declaring, ‘She lives here now.’ I handed him the keys, smiled back, and said “HOPE YOU ENJOY THE HOUSE UNTIL TOMORROW”

me,” he said.

Laura didn’t even blink. “No. You handled that part yourself.”

He turned back to me, searching for something—sympathy, hesitation, the version of me that used to soften sharp truths.

He didn’t find her.

“You have until tomorrow night to remove your belongings,” I said. “After that, anything left becomes inventory.”

He opened his mouth, probably continue reading …