“Please don’t let Martha put a lien on my hand tools,” he whispered.

“I need to work, Audrey.”

“I have to pay rent on a room somewhere.”

Martha leaned in close to my shoulder, her open fountain pen held over her legal pad.

“We can include his personal toolboxes in the receivership inventory, Audrey,” Martha whispered.

“The court receiver will put them up for public auction next week.”

I looked at Julian sitting on the hard bench in his rumpled suit.

The anger that had carried me through the cold months felt thin in my chest, leaving behind only the quiet truth of what had been broken.