I picked up the pen and looked at Mark’s name printed in dark capital letters across from mine.

For six years I had made excuses for his dismissive tone, put off my dream of opening my own design studio, and trusted his word about our joint finances.

I signed my full name along the bottom line without letting my hand shake.

Rachel took the paper, stamped it with her official notary seal, and placed it right inside my blue vinyl binder.

“Every document is stamped, certified, and sealed,” Rachel said, laying her hands flat on the desk blotter.