In October, My Husband Left a Manila Envelope on Our Kitchen Table and Walked Out Into the Rain

“Take Greg and Sophie down to the sedan,” I said.

“Give me five minutes.”

“Claire, you don’t owe Arthur anything,” Lynn said, adjusting her silver bracelet with a sharp tug.

“I know what I’m doing,” I said.

I walked across the wide stone terrace toward the brick planter box, where Arthur sat alone while his lawyer walked toward the parking kiosk.

A dry oak leaf blew across the concrete, scratching against Arthur’s polished dress shoes.

He did not look up when I sat down on the far end of the stone bench.