“If you put that medical neglect transcript in the permanent public record, my employer will see it by Monday afternoon.

I’ll lose my director position.”

“Then you should have thought about your position,” I said.

I reached down and twisted my silver wedding band around my finger, sliding the metal off for the first time since our wedding day.

I dropped the silver ring into his open leather folder, right on top of the unsigned quitclaim deed.

“Where are you going to live?” he asked, his voice dropping to a tight, harsh rasp.

“You have eleven hundred dollars in an emergency teapot savings fund, Rebecca.