Ruth slowly reached out and flipped the page over with one thumb.

“I signed the bank mortgage card four years ago,” Ruth said.

“I believed we were building a home together.”

“He wrote your pet name on the anniversary card he left on his desk last week,” I said.

“He brought me white roses and offered me a weekend away while he was filing a fake deed behind my back.”

Ruth snapped the folder shut with a sharp flick of her wrist.

“So what do you want from me, Penelope?” Ruth asked.