In October, My Husband Left a Manila Envelope on Our Kitchen Table and Walked Out Into the Rain
His reading glasses hung around his neck on a thin black braided cord.
“I brought thirty-two pages of corporate LLC filings, four bank statements, and a fourteen-thousand-dollar cashier’s check,” I said, laying the stack of paper on the corner of his green blotter.
Marcus pushed his glasses up his nose and pulled the top sheet off my pile.
He turned it over in his liver-spotted hands without saying a word for nearly a minute.
“I can’t afford a five-hundred-dollar legal retainer, Marcus,” I said, holding my purse tightly against my coat.
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