But when I opened the front door, the house felt different.
It felt erased.
His coats were gone. His gaming system was gone. Our wedding photos had been stripped from the walls. Even the framed picture from our honeymoon in Maui had disappeared.
Only pale rectangles remained where our life used to hang.
On the kitchen island sat a thick stack of divorce papers. Beside it was a sticky note in Ryan’s handwriting.
Sign here. Leave the keys. No drama.
I stared at the word “Dissolution” printed across the first page.
How long had he been planning this?
I did not sign.
Instead, I went to the bedroom, opened the closet, pushed aside my winter coats, and dropped to my knees. Hidden behind an old duffel bag was a dusty shoebox I had found months earlier and forced myself to forget.
This time, I opened it.
Receipts spilled out.
