The second page laid out accusations of emotional instability, listing dates over the past three months when I had supposedly failed to handle household duties.

Brooke had left the folder open at page three, where a yellow sticky tab marked the spot for Cole’s signature.

The clock over the stove ticked over to one fifteen.

Downstairs in the main living room, the tall velvet curtains were drawn halfway against the late-afternoon gloom.

Judith sat on the edge of the ivory sofa with a porcelain teacup in her hand.

“Sit down, Mara,” Judith said.