A request for a digital signature followed.

He turned the tablet face down.

“Was that about the house?”

“A minor portfolio acquisition.”

He adjusted his jacket, picked up the briefcase, and walked past me.

“I require full focus today.”

The garage door clicked shut.

I drank my water and listened to his engine.

I knew the sound of departure in every home I had occupied.

Six foster placements before eighteen had taught me to distinguish an ordinary exit from an angry one.

A door did not need to slam for the people left behind to understand that they should be careful.

Patrick had once promised I would never have to read doors that way again.

Near noon, I collected his clothes for the cleaners.

In the breast pocket of an older suit jacket, my fingers found a folded receipt.