I didn’t ask her to turn the writing into evidence for the financial case.

Whatever he had promised then, the children needed a workable arrangement now.

That evening, Elliot found another copy in the desk drawer.

He brought it to the kitchen between two fingers.

“That’s Dad’s writing.”

“Yes.”

“Why did he write it?”

I read enough to see that he had written about fatherhood, the boys sleeping upstairs, and a noisy house.