He laughed softly, bitterly. “Handled properly? You think a piece of paper gives you control?”

“It doesn’t give me control,” I said, “it gives me boundaries. Something you never respected.”

His face hardened, a mask of rage and disbelief. “I built this life. I made it ours.”

“You made it yours,” I corrected quietly, “but it was ours until you decided I was disposable. That changed when you tried to erase me from it.”

The locksmith approached the door, tools in hand, ready to secure it. The deputy stepped slightly closer, a silent warning. Ethan’s gaze flicked to them, then back to me. There was a tension in his shoulders, a calculation running through his mind.