I had already decided to take her home.

I might have stopped her immediately if she hadn’t slipped through the small space beside the auction table while I was opening my purse.

I pulled out the letter Daniel Bennett had prepared outlining the next steps we could take to protect our joint assets.

It wasn’t a court order or a magic document that could dissolve a marriage in a ballroom.

It was something steadier: confirmation that I no longer had to face the coming weeks without advice.